Page 2 of Executives' Omega
“You know, one day you won’t be able to sit on me like this anymore,” he murmured. “You’ll find an alpha, or maybe I’ll find an omega, and it’ll be weird.”
“Shut up,” I huffed. “You’re warm and comfy.”
“It’s the extra padding.”
“No shit, Sherlock. My ass is bony enough for the both of us.”
He snorted. “It’s filled out in the past few years. When was the last time I griped at you about it?”
“You’re not supposed to notice my ass, weirdo.”
“You’re the one who brought it up.”
I let out a long breath as Owen rubbed a hand up and down my back.
“Feeling better?” he asked after a couple of quiet minutes.
“Yeah,” I murmured, tracing the tattoos on his arms with a finger.
“Maybe you should put the job search aside for a few weeks. It’s not as if you’re unemployed. Talk to your bosses and ask how you can improve instead.”
I shook my head. “I can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“I’m not going to poke the bear. They’ve probably been looking for any excuse to discuss my problems.”
He snorted. “Trust me, if a boss has issues, they don’t wait to talk to you. I’ve been on both sides, so I know.”
“That’s restaurant work though.”
“That’s all jobs,” he corrected. “Problems fester, and a good boss addresses them quickly.”
I leaned in and tucked my head under his chin. “Liar.”
He chuckled. “I keep telling you: no boss wants to go through the hiring process. It’s time lost, it stresses the other employees, and it’s expensive to train somebody new. It’s better for everybody to work to fix things than start all that again.”
“Only if that employee isn’t a lost cause.”
“You’re not a lost cause, Bug,” he replied, hugging and using his childhood nickname for me.
“You’ve met me, right? Or am I thinking of a different cousin who was always saving me from myself as a kid?”
He sighed. “You haven’t been a kid for a while. You’re over thirty. You can let all that bad stuff go. It’s not who you are anymore.”
“I wish I could believe that.”
∞∞∞
I yelped and pulled my hand from the sink. A line of red appeared, and I immediately plunged my finger beneath the faucet in an attempt to rinse any dirty dishwater from the cut. Then I was off in search of a bandage and some antibiotic ointment.
I returned to the kitchen a moment later, intent on finding some rubber gloves to protect my hand, when I saw the sink on the verge of overflowing.
“Fuck!” I shouted, rushing over and turning off the faucet just as the water reached the top.
I breathed out a sigh of relief, then remembered that I’d have to remove the stopper. “Damnit…”
The sound of a door opening. “Ryan?” my roommate, Alicia, called out. “You home?”
