Page 9
I’m pretty good at reading people—I have to be in my job—and it’s a relief when I see her shoulders relax.
“What’s her name?”
“Amokura.” I don’t go into the story behind her name. It’s too much information to bombard her with. Instead I find a recent photo on my phone, from a day when we walked up to the summit of Maungauika. “There she is.”
“She’s beautiful. She looks like you.”
“Yeah, she does.” I pocket my phone again. “So… is that a problem for you? Amo has always been very stern in that none of my girlfriends have ever been her mum, she’s just not interested in that. I think it’s helped that this is all she’s known. Her parents have never been together.”
“It’s not a problem at all. But do you want more?”
“Kids? Fuck no. Sorry.” I clear my throat. “No. I’m good. I’ve done the nappies, the daycare, the school, the homework, the dropkick boyfriends that I want to beat up for making her cry. She’s smart and capable, and I’m seriously good with having had one child who has technically reached adulthood and I can have almost all of my time for me. I know that sounds bad, I know parenting doesn’t end when they fly the nest, but I spent my twenties with my kid when others were out doing… whatever. An OE. Getting pissed on the weekend. I mean, I still did that sometimes,” I admit. “On every off week.”
“You won’t change your mind?”
“I’ve been contemplating getting a vasectomy. The only reason why I haven’t yet is that I’m a wuss and the thought of someone cutting into my balls is a bit daunting. So no. No more kids.”
“Okay. Cool. Good.” Her lips twitch, until she’s half cringing, half smiling. “Do I just rip all the bandaids off?”
I take a swig of my beer because that’s the easiest way to keep my face straight. “Sure.”
“Okay.” She takes a long drink of her juice. “Well… I have inattentive ADHD, or at least I’m certain I have it but I haven’t gotten a diagnosis yet because it’s something I’ve put off doing, because of the ADHD. When I was working in an office I was able to completely mask at work and act like a person with a regular amount of executive function—except for my desk, that was a mountainous disaster—but at home I’m a mess. I try, but organisation is not my strong suit. It doesn’t matter in a nest, but when it extends to other areas of the house—and it will—it tends to piss people off. And I’m time blind. I almost missed my first flight from Ottawa to Toronto. They gate checked my carry-on because I was last on board. My carry-on had my heat suppressants in there. I couldn’t access more, and it’s too late now, so…” She cringes again. “I’m probably going to go into heat while I’m here in New Zealand. How’s that for selling myself on a first date? Woo!”
“I’ve heard worse.”
She buries her face in her hands, letting out an unhinged laugh. “That’s your reaction?”
“None of that bothers me,” I tell her truthfully. “Lizzie,” I say, when she still won’t look in my direction. I wait until she lifts her head. “None of that bothers me. It shouldn’t bother anyone. If someone has an issue with you having ADHD or whatever, they’re a fucking dick.”
“And my suppressants? I still don’t have my carry-on case. It’s still in Canada last I checked. I know it’s my fault for running late but it’s still annoying that they haven’t sorted it yet.”
“It’s gross incompetence on the airline’s part,” I tell her. It’s an exaggeration but… “I don’t understand how it can still be in Canada? Why was it not put on the very next flight?”
She nods. “You heard the part where I said I’m going to go into heat, right?”
“I did. We’ll cross that bridge when the time comes, if you want me around for it. For what it’s worth, I’m happy to help.” A heat with a scent-matched omega is the dream for most alphas. Although logistically, I’m going to need assistance.
And she’s scent matched with Scott.
She must be thinking along the same lines, because her next sentence is, “So you said you know Scott.”
“I do.”
She bites into a chip, chewing it slowly. “I don’t want to come off as pushy, and I don’t want to sound like I’m not…” She covers her face with her hands, her muffled “Oh god,” barely audible. “Let me just start again,” she declares.
“Let me ease your mind,” I interject. “I’m gonna call him today. Soon, if you like.”
“Okay. Because I don’t want you to feel like I’m not into you, because I very much am into… I just…”
“You’re an omega. You need more than one alpha. And scent matches are rare.”
“So rare. It’s…” She shakes her head, staring out at the water. “I don’t know whether to feel overwhelmed or amazed at how everything has aligned the way it has. Who finds their scent matches this way?”
I bite my tongue, keeping the Don’t count your chickens yet to myself. I wish I could share her optimism. “I’m into you too,” I tell her truthfully, pushing down the stress I feel whenever I think about Scott being involved.
Lizzie blushes prettily. “I should use the bathroom. That’s the public restroom over there, right?” At my nod she asks, “Do you want the last bite of this? I’m too full.”
“Sure.”
