The Arrangement (Omegas of Hunter's Point Book 1)

Chapter 20

Damian sat in the back of his chauffeured company car, excited to be going home. He wasn't sure exactly when the simple act of going home had become an exciting one, but it had everything to do with the magnificent creature who waited for him there. He glanced down at the pizza on the seat beside him. Something had told him to bring dinner with him, and that there would be no feast awaiting him this time.

Von had been somewhat aloof since they'd gotten hot and heavy in the dining room, for which he blamed himself. He'd pushed her too hard when she clearly wasn't ready. She'd just looked so wonderful, and he'd wanted to show her how much he appreciated the amazing meal she'd made - appreciated her - that he let himself get carried away. It wouldn't happen again he'd assured both her and himself. Admire from afar. He was almost sure he could do that.

Though, as he got into the elevator, his mind began wandering. What would she be wearing? She looked fantastic in any old thing she threw on, but he was torn between hoping she was wearing the capris and blouse ensemble she'd had on the other night, or the stretchy shorts and university shirt combination she habitually wore.

Making a detour through the kitchen to set down the pizza, he found her a short distance away on the couch in the living room with an open storage bin on the floor and a stack of his old textbooks on the table, nearby. She was absorbed in whichever of the texts she had open on her knees.

"Hi."

She started. "Damian? Oh, gosh, you're home already? What time is it?"

"A little after six," he said, jerking his chin toward the growing twilight outside the picture window behind her.

She rubbed her eyes. "I'm so sorry. I got caught up in this,' she held up a blue-covered hardback, "and I didn't make dinner."

"That's fine. You're not under obligation to cook every night just because you live here. Besides, I brought pizza." He opened the fridge and set to work putting together a salad.

She stood up and stretched.

Gym shorts for the win! Oh, to be those shorts, molded to that luscious ass. "Do you want a beer?"

She nodded, coming to join him in the kitchen.

"What were you reading?" he asked. "It must have been good."

"Statutes and Principles of Omega Law in Practice," she said, rattling off the title.

It should be practically new, then. He'd purchased it for a class his second year in law school to open it only once. It hadn't even been for a class on omega law. There hadn't been any such class. The most exposure he'd gotten to it was a two-chapter unit as part of another class. But that was how things went for omegas, wasn't it? Nobody granted a thought for them unless they wanted something from them. It was the same at the firm. The Omega Division was consistently underfunded. It was currently manned by two interns and a law school student, all alpha males. Maybe that needed to change.

"What's that?" he asked, as she set a small bottle of red liquid on the counter.

"Hot sauce. Popular with betas. Fancy puts this stuff on absolutely everything. She got me doing it, too," she replied, twisting off the top and sprinkling a number of drops onto the pizza slices on her plate. "Here, try it." She held up a slice with a noticeable round splatter of the stuff right on the end.

He took a tentative bite and instantly regretted it. His mouth was on fire! His tongue burned like the eternal flames of the fifth hell, the inferno shooting up the back of his nose as his eyes watered. Unwilling to show weakness, he swallowed, chasing that mouthful of fire with the entirety of his beer.