by Aria Grace
Just one of my perfections.
Marc nods, as if considering that timing. "So you'll be done by two at the latest?"
My heart leaps into my throat. "Yes."
He meets my eyes, his gaze kind. Genuine. "How about I at least treat you to some coffee? As thanks. I know of a great place down the road called Grounded For Life." He indicates the direction with his thumb.
I'm very familiar with the place and have been known to stop by there after I pack up. Really, I can't say no to the offer. "That would be great."
Marc grins, and it's the most adorable thing I've seen all day—aside from Reilly. "Great! It's a date."
Reilly lets out a scandalized oooohhh, and Marc's grin falters and he blinks rapidly, as if the weight of his choice of words hits him. "Uh, I mean..."
"It's a date," I find myself saying, and we both look at each other, as there's no taking back the word now. And as I say it, I want it to be a date. I haven't had one in so long. "I'll meet you there?"
"Yeah." Reilly slips his hand through Marc's, and the omega looks down at his son. "Oh, I don't have a babysitter today, and it's kind of Father's Day, and--"
I hold up a hand. "I'd love to have Reilly come along, too."
Reilly looks up at me. "Really?"
"Of course." I give him a conspiratorial wink. "I think you're a pretty cool kid—trust me, I don't give gifts to any normal kid."
He giggles and hides behind Marc.
"Two o'clock, then," Marc says.
I nod. "Two o'clock."
As the father and son leave the market together, I can't help but watch the sway of Marc's very fine ass in a pair of jeans. I can't wait to meet them for coffee. And get to know both Reilly and Marc better.
I'm excited. And I haven't been excited in a very, very long time.
20
Marc
"Da-aaad," Reilly says, drawing my attention back to him, and I realize that I've been staring out the window again, hoping to see Joel come through that door.
"Hmm? What?"
He's taken one of the kids' menu mats and is coloring with the provided crayons. He holds up his latest drawing, and I stare at it for a bit, trying to make sense of it. "What do you think of my drawing?" Reilly asks, in a tone that makes it seem like it's not the first time he's asked me that.
Admittedly, ever since we left the market, I've been preoccupied thinking about Joel. After all, I'd gone to the market prepared to hear that my son had stolen the figurine—even though I had no reason to not believe him, and I hate that I questioned it—and met the hottest alpha I'd seen since Chris. His light, sandy hair and handyman demeanor made my insides go all squishy in a way that I haven't felt since Chris passed away. And to find out that he likes my son—that was a great feeling that I hadn’t expected from a stranger.
As a now-single omega, the thought of dating again has been terrifying, because I know that I come to any relationship with baggage. There are a lot of alphas out there who won't get into relationships because they don't want to deal with someone else's kid.
Yet the way Joel looked at Reilly makes me think it's genuine.
Not to mention that he was completely fine with having Reilly tag along for our date. If we can call it a date.
Yes, call it a date. Embrace it.
"Dad!" Reilly exclaims, bringing me back to the present and the coffee shop.
"Sorry." I pay more attention to the drawing that my son is holding up for me to see. "That's great, Reilly." It's a summer scene, with HAPPY FATHER'S DAY scrawled across the top in shaky letters. I’ve always been amazed at his spelling skills at five—something that he got from Chris. And I've seen enough of his drawings to recognize his rendition of me as a tall, skinny stick figure in blue and him as a smaller, green figure. But there's another figure standing next to us, a little taller than me.
"Who's that?" I ask, pointing to the third figure.
Reilly shrugs. "Joel."
This gives me pause. "Joel?"
He nods as he sets the sheet of paper back on the table and finishes coloring it. "He makes me happy."
I watch my son, wondering if I'm not treading carefully enough. He's already taken a shine to this stranger, and while my gut says that Joel isn't dangerous, I'm worried about Reilly getting attached too quickly.
I don't have a lot of time to dwell on it, though, because Joel shows up at the coffee shop, looking like he just stepped out of a magazine. His jeans are tight around his hips, his button-down shirt has the top few buttons undone.
He looks every bit like someone who spends his time outside building things with his hands.
I wonder what it would feel like to have his hands on me.
The thought comes unbidden to me, and I blink a few times to focus.
"Hey," Joel says, flashing us a dashing smile. "Made it."
"Yes, you did," I answer, sounding only a little bit strangled. "I ordered us some mochas and scones. They'll bring it here in a bit"
He puts his hands in his pockets. "That’s exactly what I would have ordered."
I try not to look into it too much, how he and I have the same taste in coffee.
"Joel, sit next to me." Reilly pats the area next to him, which, unfortunately, is not by my side.
Joel casts me a surprised glance, as if looking for permission, and I nod. Joel slips into the booth next to my son. He waggles his eyebrows, and I think I'm about ready to swoon, because it's so sexy.
Why do I feel such a connection with him?
"Here are your mochas," the barista says as she sets down the mugs and scones. "Sorry for the wait."
Joel smiles at her as he picks up his mug. "Perfect timing."
That charming, charming smile.
I'm so busy focusing on his smile, I almost miss the fact that Reilly picks up his drawing. "Hey, Joel, look at my drawing."
Oh, shit, he'll see himself in our family drawing, and then what will he think?
I fight the urge to reach across the table and snatch the drawing before Joel can see it, but I keep my hands tight around my mug. That would be drawing too much attention to it, and maybe he won't think about it too much.
"What's this?" Joel asks as he takes the piece of paper from Reilly. "Oh, is this you and your dad?"
"Uh-huh." Reilly nearly climbs up on the table to point to his drawing. "And this is you."
He raises his eyebrows in surprise. "Oh?" He glances at me.
"Yeah. We make a big happy family."
"Reilly," I say, and because this conversation is not supposed to go this way, I reach across the table to take the drawing. "You don't need to--"
"I love it," Joel says, as if surprising himself. "You're a great artist, Reilly."
That warms my heart, especially since it's coming from an artist like him.
"What do you say?" I ask Reilly.
"Thank you." He takes the paper back and continues coloring on it. I adore my son, but sometimes he's too smart for his own good.
"Well," Joel says, "now that we're 'alone,' why don't we get to know each other better?"
I laugh and pick up my mug. "Right."
I've had some really great conversations in my time—I've stayed up with Chris to watch the sunrise, just talking—but my conversation with Joel ranks among the best. Talking to him is just easy. I learn that he's always been a woodcarver, having been taught by his dad, and he's been at the farmer's market every weekend. I don't know how I've always missed him, especially since Reilly and I frequent the market so much, but I'm usually there for the organic, local foods. Perhaps I've just been in my own mind.
We talk for hours. I lose track of time, but thankfully, Reilly spends his time coloring and showing off to Joel. Joel always patiently looks at the drawing and compliments it.
He does really well with my son, and I'm just amazed at it.
"We close at five," the same barista says, cutting into our conversation. She looks at us apologetically. "Sorry about that."
&nb
sp; "Oh my goodness," I exclaim, sitting back. I look at my watch, and I can't believe that three hours have passed by, and it’s past five. "We'll get going."
"You know," Joel says as we're cleaning up, "I could go for dinner as well."
I look up at him, feeling that flutter in my chest again. "You could?"
He nods. "Why would we cut our chat short? I'm having fun."
"Me, too!" Reilly exclaims.
I laugh and ruffle my son's hair. "Yep."
"I guess this will be our second date?" Joel asks.
I meet his eyes and grin. "Only if you promise there'll be a third date."
He chuckles. "I'm sure there will be at least that."
21
Joel
It's been seven dates across three weeks since I first met Marc, and those have been the best dates of my life. I know that averages out to a date every three nights, but I can't seem to get enough of him. We just click together, and despite our unusual way of meeting each other, we really seem to be hitting it off.
I can't remember a time that I've been this happy. I've never been this comfortable with another man, and as we spend more and more time together, we reveal more about ourselves and our hopes and dreams. I never got that kind of connection with my exes. Hell, I've been more honest with Marc than I've ever been with myself.
For our seventh date, I've taken him to a swanky Italian restaurant downtown Reilly's tagged along for a few dates when Marc couldn't find a babysitter, and even though Marc was apologetic about it, I loved having the kid here. He's just a reminder of what I want in life.
And maybe, that life is entwined with Marc's.
Right now, though, it's just Marc and me. Reilly is staying over at Marc's mother's place, giving us some privacy. And if tonight turns out the way I hope, I want to take full advantage of that privacy.
I shift in my seat, as the very thought of me driving myself into Marc's ass has caused me to get hard. He has this effect on me all the damn time.
"What are you thinking?" Marc asks, and I feel my cheeks heat, wondering if he saw me adjust my trousers.
"Lots of things, actually," I find myself saying.
He smiles and twirls his forkful of spaghetti before popping it in his mouth. That shouldn't have been as sexy as it was, right?
"I was just thinking," I say honestly—but leaving out the part where I’m so damn turned on for him at the table, "that I've been really happy going out with you."
He chews thoughtfully while nodding. "Me too," he says when he finishes swallowing. "I haven't been this happy since before Chris died."
At the mention of Marc's late alpha, I somber, thinking about it. Sure, I've been in long-term relationships, but I don't think I've ever had the kind of connection that Marc had with Chris. He genuinely seems to love him, the man he was, and I'm glad that he had those moments of happiness. "I'm so sorry about that."
"Yeah." Marc wipes at his eyes. "It was so sudden, too. The shock of it has made it hard for me to get close to anyone else."
I reach across the table and put my hand over his. "I can't even imagine."
"I didn't want to go through that heartbreak again," he adds. "Didn't want to risk it. Because I don't want to lose someone else like that ever again. I thought I could just go through life and take care of Reilly."
My heart aches for him, and I wish I could help take away his pain. But I know that's something that Marc has to sort through himself, and I don't want to push him any further. It's why I haven't pushed for sex in these past three weeks, even though my balls are so blue, they could be mistaken for ripe plums—albeit bigger. I want Marc to come to his own realizations himself. I want him to decide to take this to the next level, and I don’t want to pressure him into it.
Perhaps tonight, privacy won't matter. But even if Marc wants to cuddle up and just be here with me, I'm completely fine.
He's worth waiting for. His love and his life are worth waiting to be a part of it.
"I can't say that I've ever felt that way about my exes," I say. "There was someone who I thought could be the one, but he wasn't interested in kids."
Marc snickers softly. "Well, I guess you know where I stand on that. Reilly is a part of the package. Any guy I date or get serious about has to be all right with me having a son."
I sit back in my chair. "He's one of the best parts of the package."
He raises an eyebrow. "'One of the best parts,' eh?" His smile turns a little lopsided, and it's adorable. "What are some of the others?"
"Well," I say. I pick up a breadstick from the basket and break it into three pieces. "If this is the package, I'd say that this piece," I hold up one of the end pieces, "is Reilly. And this one," I hold up the other end piece, "is you."
He nods to the remaining piece of bread. "What's that one?"
"This one," I say, as I put the two pieces on the table, and then put the middle piece in, "is the final piece, and it's the bond that I know you feel for Reilly. It's what ties you together. Makes you whole." I look at him and swallow nervously. "And I hope to one day be a part of that bond. That breadstick, so to speak."
Marc watches me, wonderment in his eyes. "You have a wonderful, weird way of expressing things."
"I could say it's the artist in me, but I just came up with that one on the spot." I pick up the piece that represents Marc and pop it into my mouth and wink at him. Delicious.
"I like it," he says with a laugh. He then pauses, seeming to consider something, before looking around. "And I know that you've been waiting for me to make a move."
I swallow the lump that the piece of bread became. "I've..."
He laughs. "And meanwhile, I was hoping for you to make a move, so that I know you're okay with the whole...breadstick. But..." He looks around. "I don't think I can wait any longer. Do you want to get the check and go home?"
I pick up the middle piece and eat it. "I would love to."
I call the waiter over and ask for the check, even though we still have our plates full and he only delivered them a few minutes ago. The waiter asks if we're not happy with the food, and I tell him that no, we have a pressing engagement.
He nods and runs off. I think he got the hint about what Marc and I were about to do.
We pay and leave, and I can't help but pay attention to the way that Marc holds my hand and leans into me as we walk to my car, the way his body heat warms up my side. I'm about to combust from anticipation, and I know that he can't wait either.
"I think we just paid two hundred dollars for breadsticks," he says as he gets into the passenger side of the car.
"Worth it," I say as I get in the driver's seat and turn it on. I sit back in my seat, because I'm so hard, I'm about to burst through my pants, and I know that would be a horrible way to end the night. "My place or yours?"
"Yours," Marc says. "Reilly may be with Mom for the night, but if he wants some macaroni and cheese, Mom will come over to my house rather than go to the store."
"So my place to avoid being interrupted."
"Right."
"Works perfectly for me."
The drive home may have been ten minutes, but it feels like days, as I all can think about are the ways that I want to make Marc come. You only get one shot for your first time, and I want to make sure that Marc knows how much he means to me after all this. How much I want to be a part of his life and world. The anticipation is killing me.
I finally park in my driveway and don't even bother putting it into the garage, because that would take an extra thirty seconds to wait for the door to open. Marc and I get out of the car, and he gives me a shy glance that tells me he's as ready for me as I am for him. I manage to keep my hands steady as I take my keys and unlock the door.
We burst through the foyer, and I flip on the lights. "My bedroom or the living room?" I ask him, because I have many, many plans for either of those.
"How about right here?" he asks, and he captures my lips with his. We've kissed a few times on our
dates, always chaste kisses with the promise of something more. But this is Marc unbridled and ready for more. He knows that there will be lots of panting and fucking on the other side of this kiss, and I've realized this one thing about him in the moment.
He is a wanton lover, and I love it.
I sweep his mouth with my tongue, tasting him, and he moans against me. "I've been wanting this for so long," he whispers.
"Me too," I promise him. "But we're just getting started."
I unbutton his shirt, exposing the bare expanse of his chest, and I run my fingers down the planes of his body, wanting to memorize every square inch of him before the night is over. "Will my omega let me take care of him?" I undo the top of his pants and feel his glorious cock in his boxers. He's as hard and ready to go as me.
He lets out a shuddering yes, and I briefly wonder if I should grab a blanket or something as we both kneel and I help him lie back on the tiled floor. "Take me, my alpha," he whispers.
As my omega wishes. I shimmy his pants down his legs, and his cock springs free, already glistening with precum. Fucking perfect.
"You're so beautiful," I murmur to him. "So damn beautiful."
He blushes adorably. "It took me a long time to get my body back to where it was before my pregnancy with Reilly."
"I think I'd like you any way I can get you." I spread out his legs so he's spreadeagled and ready for me. I lean forward and lap up the precum with my tongue, and I can see the shiver travel down his body.
"Oh, fuck yes," he mutters, pressing a palm to his face.
I grin wickedly just before I take him fully in my mouth. He cries out and grabs at the back of my head, guiding me as I work up and down his shaft, playing at the mushroom tip with my tongue. He tastes better than any fucking breadstick I've ever had. He's like the nectar of the gods.
