by Troy Hunter
I’m reminded of coming home to my apartment morning after morning and having him there waiting for me. I don’t want to be taken care of. I don’t want to be a charity case, but at the same time, there’s something…charming, appealing even, in the way Nate is so persistent in trying to help me.
I laugh, hoping Nate won’t look too closely at me or realize too much of what I’m thinking. “Yeah, so have you,” I say, yawning. “Great sex game.”
“Sleepy?”
“Tired, yes.”
“I’ll call room service and go ahead and get you new sheets,” Nate says. “I might take a nap myself. Do you want a shower?”
I don’t want to leave the bed. I’d be perfectly content to lay here and maybe have him join me, but I force myself to sit upright. A shower does sound very relaxing even if I’d already taken one this morning. I pause by the bathroom door. “Hey, Nate?”
He’s on the phone already, but he inclines his head towards me to show he’s listening.
“Thank you,” I say. “It was fun.”
6
Felix
After a week spent with my best friend, it’s difficult not to wear a smile when I return to work. Admittedly, I was a bit underprepared. I started getting ready for my shift later than I should’ve, only to realize that my clean pair of khaki pants had evidently shrunk in the wash. Either that or I’m gaining weight, but that doesn’t seem likely. I’m the worst for missing meals, and while I ate very well when I spent time with Nate, it definitely wasn’t enough for any significant weight gain.
I scope out the women’s clothing as I walk in. The swimwear is a mess as usual, and many of the racks look overcrowded. The stock team is either getting careless, or the floor team didn’t have time to properly fix the swimsuits. I feel a small pang of guilt for leaving my teammates hanging, but this feeling is now accompanied by something more akin to satisfaction.
Maybe now management will realize they need me, and if not, I did at least get a good break from it all. I’m completely refreshed, and I haven’t felt like that in ages. Maybe all my tiredness and sickness really was just me working too much.
Nate was right to talk me into doing something different for a change.
Nate.
I take a deep breath when I think of him. What am I going to do with Nate? Where do I even start with Nate?
We tried that before, and it didn’t work out.
Nate was absolutely right. We’d both decided we were better off as friends and that we’d really just been trying to force ourselves into a relationship built primarily on the expectations of others. After all, we were an alpha and an omega so why wouldn’t we be together? I hadn’t even considered us being in a relationship until he brought up that we’d tried it before.
Now, though? Now, I’m thinking about how I left my post-sex shower and found crisp, new sheets already on the bed. Now, I’m thinking about how, even though Nate is not a cuddly person, he climbed into bed beside me and watched a movie, while letting me rest my head against his shoulder. The sex was great and I thought it was destined to become one of those things between friends. A funny story we might use to simultaneously blackmail one another. Like the time Nate stole another school’s mascot. Or the time he accidentally blew up a microwave. There’s just one problem.
It's far past the end of my heat and I’m still sexually attracted to him. I still shiver in delight when I think of his cock inside me and the way he looked down on me. I’m not supposed to be attracted to him. He’s my best friend and he’s not attracted to me. If he was, he would’ve said something.
Selene grins when she sees me. “How was your week off?”
“Wonderful. Yours?”
“Great! So tell me…” She glances around to be sure it’s safe. “Did those sons of bitches call and try to get you to come in, too?”
I nod.
“And did you?”
“Nope.”
“Right on!” she exclaims. “Maybe now management will get a fucking clue, but I won’t hold my breath. Some alphas just don’t get that omegas aren’t doormats.”
Nate wasn’t one of them and never had been. “No kidding. So what’s going on today?”
“The usual,” she replies. “Oh! Except for someone pissing in the fitting room.”
“Really?”
Selene rolls her eyes. “But wait. There’s more. See; I’m not properly certified to clean up bodily fluids, right? So I had to call over the radio for someone to clean it up, and Haley is the only person certified to do it. But you know she damn sure isn’t going to clean piss off the floor.”
I grimace. “So how did that end?”
“Oh, it hasn’t. We’ve had to declare the stall damaged. It was someone’s kid,” Selene says, her voice softening a bit. “Two or three years old. So they haven’t quite got it down, but the nerve of that mom when she just waltzed out and told me about it. Ugh.” Selene plants her elbow on the fitting room attendant’s desk and cups her cheek with her hand. “That’s the sort of day it’s been, but on the good side, we’re closing together again.”
That is good news. I grab the schedule and skim for the manager’s name. It’s Jake tonight. He’s kind of unpredictable, so we might actually get to leave at a decent time. Either that or we’ll be stuck here forever.
“How do you want to split it?” I ask.
Selene shrugs. “Flip a coin, maybe?”
“I’ll take women’s clothing,” I offer.
She arches an eyebrow.
“I’m in a good mood,” I say. “So I’m up for a challenge tonight.”
“Don’t let the management team hear that,” Selene replies, as she gathers the returns for the men’s department. “They’ll find something stupid for you to do.”
That I don’t doubt. It’s best to keep busy, then. I grab the rack of clothes with an unusual amount of zeal. I really don’t care at the moment if I am here all night. I had a great week off, and if anyone I dislike asks for details, I’ve got half a mind to make the week appear even more extravagant.
Admittedly, I know I’d never actually go through with that idea. I don’t try to make people jealous, and lying makes me feel guilty. But it’s fun to imagine telling my manager that I went away to some exotic place and had amazing sex with an attractive billionaire. I could just leave out the fact that I already know said attractive billionaire.
Not that most of the people I know would believe that. Everyone in the store knows about Nate because he has a habit of waltzing in here like he owns the store and everything in it. He’s downright obnoxious to the managers, and while he claims he doesn’t notice, I know he’s making their jobs hard on purpose. Nate doesn’t bother the cashiers or floor associates. He’s always polite to them, but if it’s a manager? It’s on.
Though I work for them, sometimes I wish I could be that obnoxious with the management team. If I was, though, I know I’d be haunted by how horrible I’d been. It would eat away at me, but not Nate. Nate has no shame. Why can’t I be like that just every now and then?
I dive into the racks, although it’s a little harder to place everything this time. Our spotlight color was petal pink. Now it’s a bright, orange-hued coral, the color of jasper, so everything is a jumbled mess. Pink wars for space with a color it clashes terribly with. Our old, soft grays are fighting for dominance against new pieces with bold, black and white color block patterns. Still, I manage, I put out what I can, and when I can’t find a piece, I return it to the rack. If I’ve learned anything from working the women’s clothing department, it’s that if I can’t find an item when I’m looking for it, I’ll find it when I’m not trying.
We really need to change up the mannequins. We have all these bright colors, and all four of them are wearing black. That’s just not a very cheerful thing to see when you walk into women’s clothing, although I suppose you might want to see that if you’re preparing for a funeral. Then, it’s probably helpful to have a bunch of black clothes on dis
play right beside the aisle.
I make my way down, making sure to greet every customer and offer assistance. Nobody seems to want any at the moment, although customers usually discover they want help once they reach the fitting room. Something won’t fit, and they’ll want another size. When I reach swimwear, it’s even more trashed, and I know it’s imperative to at least get everything off the floor to ward off any complaints, both from the managers and from the customers.
So I pick up piles of bikinis, all bright and summery. I think the worst decision we made was in offering cup sizes in the bikini tops; it makes them impossible to organize. We never have enough sizes to put on the hangers for them. We have a billion smalls, but only about three 36DDs in the whole store.
“Felix,” Selene’s voice crackles over the radio. “Can you come to the fitting room? There’s a customer who needs your help finding an item, and I’m covering fitting room.”
So she can’t get it. “Yeah, on my way back now!” I reply.
I grab the fitting room rack, mostly empty, and roll it back to the fitting room with me. This isn’t necessarily an easy task because the rack doesn’t steer well, and several customers aren’t very good at realizing that it’d be infinitely easier if they simply moved out of the way. Still, I patiently wait while a couple of women leave the fitting room, head right into my path, and prevent me from going any further.
Once I manage to make it to the fitting room, I see this alleged customer. It’s Nate. His hair looks damp, and he’s wearing canvas shorts and a short-sleeved shirt, with tennis shoes. He must’ve just left a work-out. Nate doesn’t wear tennis shoes any other time. Selene winks. She intentionally worded it, so I wouldn’t get in trouble. Obviously, I can’t prevent people from coming to work and seeing me, but some of the managers—especially Haley—are strictly against it.
“What’s up, Kitten?” Nate asks, as I push the rack to the side and out of the way.
“The usual. Working to make a living, being distracted by people coming in to harass me,” I say with a smile. It’s nice of him to come see me. I’d have honestly been disappointed if he hadn’t.
“Harass you?” Nate inquires. “I’m hurt that you consider me stopping by to visit as harassment.”
“So what do you want?” I ask.
“I didn’t have anything better to do on my way home from the gym, so I thought I would come shop at my favorite Target which has my absolute favorite management team,” Nate says.
“Your favorite manager is in today, too,” Selene says. “In case you were wondering. But she’s very busy, so don’t ask her for anything.”
“Busy doing what?” Nate asks.
“She says paperwork,” Selene replies, “But it’s funny how there wasn’t any paperwork until she came in.”
“How interesting,” Nate says. “It would be unfortunate if I had a customer complaint, then.”
Selene turns away abruptly to get the clothes from a couple as they leave the fitting room. “You might want to talk on the floor, though,” Selene says. “Haley gave me a lecture this morning about how we should never all be at the fitting room at once.”
“But we aren’t,” I reply.
“We are during shift changes. I tried to tell her that’s when we calculate lunches and zones, but she insists we need to do that over the radio instead.”
I frown and question the logic of that. It’s easier to get everyone in person, to plan it all out, and to write everything down than it is to get on the radio and try to coordinate multiple people. Although, to be fair, we’re so understaffed these days that it’s three people at most—two sales floor associates and the fitting room attendant.
“This place is a nightmare,” Nate says. “No wonder you’re the worst in the district.”
Selene shrugs. “She’s just mad because she had to work extra last week. Don’t be surprised if she comes and tries to lecture you, too, Felix.”
“If she does, she does,” I reply, shrugging. “I’m sure she’s said worse to me.”
“That doesn’t make it okay,” Nate says.
“No, but I’ll be fine,” I say.
Nate looks unconvinced. He’s probably calculating twenty different ways to inconvenience my boss.
“Anyway, let’s talk in women’s,” I say. “What did you want?”
“I really just thought I’d swing buy and see you. Maybe buy a couple of things. I need snacks to eat while I’m over at your apartment.”
“Seriously?”
“Don’t be rude,” Nate says. “I thought I might come and see how you are, too. After your damn manager had the nerve to call you during your vacation.”
“Oh. Well, I’m good. You know, the usual.”
“Right. What time are you—I don’t know why I bother. You’ll get off when the manager lets you off,” Nate says.
“Well, it’s John tonight. You never can tell with him.”
Nate sighs. “I’m going to crash at your place tonight,” he says. “I thought you might be interested in joining Mobicon’s artist alley that’s coming up in May. You could sell some of your more fantasy-inclined jewelry there.”
I hadn’t heard of Mobicon and I don’t know how my sales would go at a convention. “Oh,” I say. “Yeah, I should look at that. Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it,” Nate replies. “I’ll come over to your apartment tonight and we can hash out the details, fill out your application, pull out all the stops. It’ll be fun.”
I nod in agreement. I might get home at two in the morning, but I’d never tell Nate he couldn’t come to my apartment. He’s practically a permanent fixture at this point.
“Anyway, I’ll head out before the manager comes to give you a lecture like you’re a freaking four-year-old,” Nate replies, rolling his eyes. “I swear.”
“She’s just doing her job,” I say, “Or trying to, at least. I mean, she is right. We don’t need to be hanging around the fitting room counter.”
“But you aren’t anyway,” Nate argues. “You don’t preemptively lecture people. That’s ridiculous.” He pats my shoulder.
“See you later,” I say.
“Yeah,” Nate answers. “Try not to work hard. Text me if you need a fake emergency!”
He walks away before I can offer a snarky comment. I have never taken Nate up on calling with a fake emergency, but he insists on offering. I shake my head and return to the clothes racks.
I spend my fifteen-minute break throwing up in the bathroom. One of my coworker’s eyes me warily as he leaves his stall. “Sure, you aren’t pregnant?” he jokes.
It’s not a weird question. All omegas, regardless of sex, are capable of having a child. Alphas aren’t. Some betas are, but betas themselves are rare. The only one I’ve ever met is Eleanor, Nate’s butler and caretaker. Amongst omegas and betas, the childbearing process is relatively similar. The main difference is in the delivery. For men, it’s almost always a C-section. And because I’m an omega, I’m used to this joke. Any time I mention being sick, the reply will inevitably be are you pregnant?
It’s then that it hits me. I’m sick and tired all the time. My clothes aren’t fitting right; it isn’t that they’ve shrunk, I’m gaining weight. On my lunch break, I go to the local Walgreens and buy two pregnancy tests. Sure, I could’ve bought them at Target, but if I bought them there, the whole store would know. After I’ve taken the tests, I stare in disbelief at them. Positive.
Both of them.
I’m pregnant. Numbly, I sit on the toilet and stare at them. Very slowly, the realization of everything sinks in. Pregnant. I’m going to have a child. I had sex with Nate, but this obviously can’t be his child. I must’ve gotten pregnant during the heat before last. That would put me four months along, but I’m always so careful! Sure, no birth control is a hundred percent perfect, but it’s…strange to think that this could happen.
Sobering thoughts hit me. Who’s the alpha? How far along am I? I’ll need to visit a doctor. I’ll n
eed to rearrange my whole life. What do I do first?
Make an appointment with a doctor. Find out how much time I have.
I laugh in disbelief. “I’m pregnant,” I whisper.
This will be hard to figure out and fit in with work, and it’ll stretch my paycheck even more. But I can do it. I’ll make it work. I’m nothing if not tenacious, and I’m pregnant! I throw the tests into the trash and wash my hands. Pregnant!
I’ve never been pregnant before. I don’t know anything about what it’s like, but I’m going to have a baby! This is terrifying and wonderful all at once. A baby. I’m going to have a baby!
I leave the bathroom and call Nate.
“Fake emergency?” he answers.
“No,” I say. “Guess what?”
“You realized that you’re too good to be working at that dead-end job where no one appreciates you, and you left?”
“I’m pregnant,” I say.
There’s a pause. “How…how far along?” Nate asks. “Is it mine?”
His? Something in my heart flutters when he asks. He doesn’t sound angry. Would he have wanted this baby to be his? Why would he assume it’s his? He knows I’ve slept with other alphas. I try to think about it rationally. It doesn’t mean anything. I’m reading more into this than I should. “It can’t be yours,” I say. “I’ve been sick and tired. I’ve gained weight. I must be months along, and I just didn’t notice. I mean, I’ve never been pregnant before.”
“You need to see a doctor,” Nate says. “I can get you an appointment with mine. Very quickly, too.”
“Great,” I say.
I don’t have a regular doctor. Whenever I need something, I go to whatever the cheapest place in town happens to be.
“Are you excited?” Nate asks.
“So, so much,” I reply, grinning.
7
Felix
In the following months, Nate is a dream. He helps me buy everything in anticipation for a new baby, accompanies me to doctor’s visits, and helps me narrow down the list of names. I’m having a girl. I don’t know much about girls. I don’t have any female friends; the closest I have to that is Selene, and we never even speak to one another outside of work. I don’t have any sisters. No nieces. I don’t know the first thing about raising a child, much less a girl, but I’m determined to do a good job.