AllFreeNovel
Share Us
If no one ever looks too closely, I look nice, too.
An innocent, big-eyed, fine-figured omega. Whistles on the street, leering eyes across the counter at the coffee shop, phone numbers inked into receipts and drink sleeves, and—in one especially audacious case—my own wrist.
Which is why I now have on the baggiest joggers I could find in my size and an old hoodie that swallows me whole. Wouldn’t want anyone to, you know, see me. And heaven forbid someone catches a whiff of my omega-ness under the layers of de-scenter I spritz on each morning.
I usually wear a hat, too, but that fell off somewhere back by the storage closet. And I think I might just leave it there.
Not that I’m too exhausted to go grab it.
Which is another lie.
Put it on my tab, universe.
The sunshine slanting through the shop’s front window shifts from soft morning light to a harsh afternoon glare. The extra sun helps the small brick space’s overall aesthetic, but it hurts my eyes a bit. Omegas tend to prefer softer lighting and dim rooms.
We used to have curtains—but they were removed when the shop came under new management. Along with the hand-made pastries I used to bake in the back; the comfy armchairs people used for reading; and the previous shift leader—an eighty-year-old grandma called Nan.
Apparently, this new company has no interest in anything soft or homey. Even grannies.
I’m still sad about losing my baking outlet. Aside from the occasional batch of cookies, my kitchen at home is too small to make anything worthwhile. After four years here, I had gotten used to using Proper Coffee’s industrial kitchen for my more ambitious experiments.
Now, that space is used for storing the shrink-wrapped baked goods that come in on a truck every other Thursday.
I may not have any formal education, but I’m not stupid. I can see the writing on the wall. And when a group of suited-up alphas comes waltzing in, each of them squinting around the room and tapping at tablets, my stomach sinks. They’re here more and more, lately, which means they must not be happy with the way their investment is working out.
The men march right past the counter, heading to the back of the shop. I make a face at the latte I’m preparing, silently thanking the Lord that this place still uses decent industrial scent-neutralizers, so I don’t have to smell any of their alpha stink. Or worry about any of them scenting me.
It’s never been an issue before, but it’s become a problem lately. Ever since I had yet another solo heat over Thanksgiving, my hormones have gone from unpleasantly insistent to downright demanding.
I know I’m only twenty-four, and everything, but I think my biological clock may be broken. Because its alarm has been blaring at me for months, a shrill reminder that I need things no one is giving me.
“Hey, sexy!”
I jump, whirling and pressing a hand over my thrumming heart. When I see it’s my best friend, Meg, grinning at me from the other side of the counter, I shake my head.
We used to have a bell on the door to prevent this sort of thing. Guess that’s not necessary, either.
“What are you doing here?” I hiss, whispering and glancing at the back door. “I’m working!”
Lord, if one of these uptight alphas sees me goofing off and fires me, I’ll truly be hopeless. It hasn’t been easy, being an omega on my own, with no access to education and no family support. If I lose my income, I’ll be right back in the same group-home situation I came from.
Meg tilts her head, sending her kitschy orange-heart sunglasses listing to the left. Her blonde brows snap into a frown. “It’s Saturday. You’re coming over for dinner, right?”
Oh. Right.
Above the mirrors, our clock tells me it’s well past four. I’ve been here since five a.m. and haven’t eaten a single bite of food. Maybe my stomach’s seething has less to do with my agitation and more to do with not eating.
Also, I was supposed to be off at two.
It would have been nice if the manager had noticed.
I untie the plain black apron tied over my baggy clothes and start to slip out of my hoodie, too. It’s big enough to tent me, which is exactly why I’ve always loved it. Underneath, though, I’m dressed for an afternoon at Meg’s place.
Calling it a “house” is like calling the Mona Lisa “a painting.” Really, it’s more of an estate. Much too modern and masculine for my taste, but still something a magazine could easily feature on its cover.
Which makes sense, since all of the alphas who live there have, in fact, been on magazine covers.
It’s easy to forget Meg is sort of famous now. Aside from being beautiful, she doesn’t even look the part. Currently, she has on a simple black bikini with a strapless romper over the top. And even though she’s the center of the most famous pack in professional sports, she’s still the exact same person she’s always been.
