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His smile is perfectly cocky and achingly kind all at once. Just like him. “Had to, precious. Needed to get home to my best girl. Did you watch my game last night?”
I chuckle. He knows I did because I texted him a billion times, commenting semi-competently on all of his amazing plays. I also sent him the victory present I’d promised—a racy photo of me wearing the jersey he got for me and nothing else. I know he got it because the dick pic I received in return was nothing short of epic. I almost slipped into another heat-breakthrough just looking at it.
“You were amazing, big guy,” I tell him, squeezing his middle. “So proud of you.”
That’s just what he wanted. His smile grows as he gives a contented sigh. “I tried to get Ronan to let me make you another orange poster, but he’s all paranoid about press.”
The mention of media makes my throat close. I need to get over it, though. There’s a gala for the pack’s philanthropic efforts next month, and the guys have already asked me if I would attend with them. As much as I want to see all the good they do for the community, I’m also completely terrified.
What if I disappoint them? What if the paparazzi take horrible pictures of me and I become a meme? What if I somehow embarrass or offend Declan even more?
Theo interrupts my silent panic. Oblivious, he pumps his brows at me. “We have a surprise for you, peaches.”
I blink, thrown. No one has given me a surprise in ten years. Since my mom died, at least. There weren’t exactly birthday and Christmas presents in the government’s group home for omegas. Remi and I never have extra money to exchange gifts, either. She usually bakes me something, and I mostly just make her crafts.
Before I can squeal or panic, Archer appears on the landing, looking unfairly handsome in a white linen button-down and tan trousers. The light colors offset his dark skin, turning the nerdy professor look into a sexy men’s cologne ad.
The ginger and bourbon spice wafting off him soothes me. I step into his arms without a second thought, loving the way he curls his long-fingered hand over my head and holds me to his chest.
“I have something to show you.”
With a nod, I let him drag me down the hallway.
God, this place smells so good. Declan may be on my shit list, but I really have missed his scent. It’s everywhere I turn in their house. The combination of all four of them pretty much makes it my own personal heaven.
Or so I thought.
Because ten seconds later, Archer opens the door to actual heaven.
The suite occupies the end of the long, wide hallway. Taking up the entire end of the floor, it’s almost a wing unto itself. Absolutely sprawling in every direction.
I freeze on the threshold, scared to enter. Scared it might actually be what I think it is. Which would mean that that door over there isn’t a third closet or a second en-suite, but…
“The nest,” Archer chimes quietly, winding one arm around my belly. “It has its own separate bathroom attached and a little butler’s pantry, as well. We built it that way to ensure we would never have to leave our omega during their heat. Anything we could ever need, there’s a place for it.”
I want to make a joke about how, with so much space, no one would expect anything less. But my throat is bone-dry, and I’m stifling the humiliating urge to bawl.
The room is beautiful. It has all the modern elegance of the rest of the house, blended with distinctly homey touches like warm wood floors, high, arched windows, and lovely white molding along the domed ceiling. The glass chandelier is pretty, but unnecessary; golden slants of sunset shaft into the airy space, making patterns over the empty floor.
With a gentle nudge, Archer guides me a bit further in, pointing out the spacious reading nook built into a curved pocket, both walk-in closets, and a marble bathroom.
“There’s space for a desk over here,” he goes on, pointing to the most well-lit corner. “I know you’ve been doing so much to help Ronan with the social media stuff for the team. This should be a great place for you to work.”
Archer goes on, “The bed area is…well, spacious. We once discussed sleeping arrangements in the event of our pack finding an omega and pretty much agreed we’d all prefer one main bed, hence all the space. But, of course, it’s whatever you’re comfortable with.”
I know he’s telling me all of this for a reason. Obviously. But I can’t force the thought of this being my bedroom into my brain. For the love of God, my apartment was the size of the bathroom, here.
It isn’t really mine, I tell myself, the thought both a comfort and a pang of pain. I’m only borrowing it.
I chant the words to myself again and again, especially when we near the nest. For the first time since I arrived, Archer lets go of me, stepping back.
Being a gentleman, I realize. I don’t know much about omega stuff, but Remi did teach me basic nest etiquette. I never thought I would need the information, so the memory is fuzzy, but I recall that it’s considered disrespectful to approach an omega’s nest without his or her explicit invitation.
This isn’t my nest, though.
So I nod at the door and peep, “You should open it.”
Really, my scent shouldn’t even be in this room. What if they chuck me to the curb within the week? Then they’ll have to have the whole place de-scented for their next omega.
