Page 19 of Bonded By Christmas
The little omega comes to a stop next to thetreatment tableand exhales heavily. It almost seems like she’s trying to work up the nerve to be close to me.
It’s disappointing.
My instincts know she’s the one for me, and my system fully believes she should feel comfortable in my presence. It’s unrealistic, but instincts don’t make sense when alphas and omegas are involved.
She doesn’t leave me suffering for long.
Lacey climbs onto the edge of the mattress and tosses a leg over mine. My head tilts as she climbs directly onto me.
Huh.
If I had known she planned to lie on top of me, I would have stretched out fully instead of leaning against the pillows.
She wiggles around, plastering her face to my chest. “You know, this is why they tell us not to wear makeup. You’re goingto have evidence of me on your shirt. I was in such a rush, I didn’t have time to wash my face before my first session.”
I quirk an eyebrow, but I doubt she sees it. “I’ll wear your makeup stains with pride. That’s a weird rule, though.”
“Not if you really think about it. Some clients don’t want their significant other to know they’re coming in for treatment.” She laughs. “Though, you’d think the guys who used to come into the strip club would pay more attention to that kind of thing. They didn’t, but you’d think they would.”
I know she spent a year dancing.
No, I donotlike to think about it.
“Christmas is right around the corner,” I murmur, moving a hand to cradle her lower back. “Are you on the naughty or nice list this year?”
I cringe.
Jesus.
I’m smoother than this.
Lacey throws me off my game in a way no one ever has. Or perhaps it’s the three years I’ve taken off from flirting withanyone.
“I’m always nice,” Lacey says indignantly. “If anyone is likely to be on the naughty list, it’s you, buddy.”
“Fair enough,” I agree. “What are your plans for the holiday? It’s the first year our parental units have been unreachable for Christmas since they wed.”
Even the year they got married, they put off their honeymoon until mid-January just to avoid leaving Lacey alone for Christmas and her birthday.
“Ehh, my plans are mostly to snuggle up at home.” She runs her finger over the collar of my shirt. “It’ll be nice not having to be social or dress up, but I’m still undecided if I’ll decorate.”
“You really put it off to the last minute.” Memories of my mom flood back, and my chest gets tight. “My mom letThanksgiving have its day, but that night or Black Friday at the latest, she went ham, enlisting all of us to do her dirty work. It was her favorite holiday, and you could tell by how all-in she went on decorating.”
“It’s mine too,” Lacey says softly. “When I was little, we were seriously poor—like making our own decorations and snagging Christmas lights from the trash that someone didn’t want to bother untangling. That kind of broke, but my mom always made it special.”
I tilt my head down until I can see her face. I wasn’t aware of any of that. Although, I’m not sure how I would have known. My dads skated a fine line of telling me enough that I wasn’t stunned when they proposed to Dawn, but they didn’t offer up unnecessary details either.
I’ve always assumed they did that out of respect for my mother. I’m only just now realizing how little I know about Lacey’s life before our paths converged.
“I think all moms are good at not letting their kids know when they’re struggling.” No matter how sick my mom got, she never let on in front of me, and I was a teenager. I could have handled it, but she did her best to hide how much she was suffering.
Lacey pushes up on her knees and buries her nose in my throat. “I’m sorry about your mom.” Her hand slides under my arm and around my back, and she hugs me. “I can’t imagine how hard that must have been.”
“It was a long time ago, but I appreciate the sentiment.” My nose twitches, trying to determine what changed in her scent. The electric tinge is still there, but the subtle notes of white gardenia and pears become easier to pick out. “Are you soothing me with your pheromones?”
“I guess I am,” she whispers against my throat. “But you need as much of my pheromones as you can get, so don’t make it weird. Just shut up and breathe me in.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I chuckle despite the discomfort churning in my gut.
