Page 23 of The Bright Omega

Joke’s on him. Leith and Finn seemed to like my fat ass just fine, thank you very much. Not enough to text, but I refuse to linger on that. It only reminds me that Finn never replied to my last text and Leith practically sprinted out of my apartment the next morning like the place was on fire. Nope. Not going there.

I give myself one last look in the mirror. Black mini skirt hugging my hips, mile-high black Louboutins that make my legs look incredible, and a scoop-neck long-sleeve tee that’s somewhere between soft lavender and neon purple. It’s loud. It’s me. If these Overstreet boys can’t handle a little color and curve, they can kick rocks.

I fluff my hair, grab my purse, and head for the door.

Tinto’s is exactly the same as I remember, and that makes me stupidly happy. Last time I was here I didn’t even get to finish my drink before Old AF Doug started insulting my ass. This time I plan to enjoy every damn sip.

I pause inside the door, letting the cool air and low lighting settle over me. Let them look. My body is all omega in this outfit. Makeup’s done to perfection, eyeshadow and liner working overtime to make my blue eyes pop even bigger and brighter. And my bright blonde bob has a little too much body, but today’s hair gods have spoken and I’m not arguing.

An alpha with a curly mop of ashy blond hair waves me over. He’s seated near the middle on the right side of a much more reasonably sized booth than when I was last here. Only three of them, I remind myself. Thank God.

I head over, hips swinging just enough to draw the eye.

The curly blond stands first, offering his hand with an appreciative once-over that lingers on my legs. “You must be Cammie. I’m Dane.”

“Nice to meet you, Dane.” I shake his hand, taking in his crisp apple scent, then turn to the other two.

The second alpha is broader, with similar curly blond hair, the same bright smile, and the same apple scent. “Greg,” he says, gripping my hand a beat too long while his eyes flick down to my chest. “Damn. You look even better than your pictures.”

The third one is slimmer with softer features. He stays seated but leans forward with a grin. “Cade. I’m the beta.”

“Brothers?” I ask.

They all nod in unison.

“Nice to meet you all.” I slide into the booth, noting how all three of them are watching me like I’m the best thing that’s walked through the door in weeks. Damn straight.

The waitress comes quick. I give her my order. French 75, with cognac.

Greg tilts his head. "Cognac? Most people do gin."

"Most people are wrong," I say pleasantly.

He laughs, and for one brief, shining moment I think maybe this date will go well. Then Dane leans in, elbows on the table. “So, Cammie, what do you do for a living?”

“Marketing,” I say, hoping the waitress comes back soon. We’re not off to a great start. Seriously, does no one even think about conversation topics before a date?

Greg laughs like I told a cute joke. “Marketing? That’s cool. But it’s temporary, right? Once you find your pack, you can do what you were made to do. Omegas should be focusing on the house, you know? Keeping everything running smooth for their pack.”

She’s back, handing me my glass. I smile then turn back to my dates.

Cade nods enthusiastically, jumping right in. “Exactly. Once you’re bonded. No need to stress over deadlines and meetings when you could be home where you belong. Plus, it’s less stressful. Omegas aren’t made for stress.”

I blink once. Sip my drink. Say nothing.

“So where do you do this marketing work?” Greg asks.

I contemplate chugging the remainder of my glass and leaving. I don’t. “I’m the head of marketing for OmegaBox. It’s a busy job, but I’m lucky because I’m able to do it from the house.”

Dane looks pleased. “Remote? That’s awesome. It’s important for omegas to be near the home.”

Cade nods like he knows things. “Exactly. When you’re home you can still cook, clean, and handle the nest while we’re out handling business. If the job ever gets too overwhelming or when we have kids, you can quit. We’d take care of you.”

I take another sip of my drink, trying not to wince at how quickly they’ve inserted themselves into their vision of my future.

Greg leans closer, grinning like he’s offering me the moon. “Yeah, we’re traditional like that. A good omega knows her place. Besides, I bet you’d look amazing in an apron.”

Cade chuckles. “And out of one, too.”