Searching For His Omega - Harper B. Cole Page 0,11

by six and the bus would leave the motel at 15 minutes before.

I hated him calling it a set. Made it sound so fake. This is a real place where people relax and enjoy excellent coffee.

The café emptied, and the crowd outside groaned and yelled, “We want Chet!” as the alpha in question appeared at my shoulder in his usual jeans and tee. “Is it always like this?” I asked.

“Yeah. A short segment you see on TV takes hours of preparation, multiple takes, and more hours during editing.”

I meant the fan club. “Well, goodnight.”

He stood just inside the door and peered through the window. The crowd was playing music and some were swigging from their vacuum flasks.

“I’m guessing that’s not coffee or hot chocolate. Hope they don’t smash anything or leave their garbage on the sidewalk.” I pictured myself on cleaning-up duty before the sun came up.

“Fans are always eager to watch us filming, but they’re usually well-behaved. But this being a rural area, the crowds are way smaller than usual.”

“And you like that? The devotion. It’s almost as though they worship you.” My whiny voice had me wondering if I was jealous? I didn’t think so.

“Nah. I’m not a rock star with omegas on each arm or a politician who says one thing and does another.” He paused and bit his lip, and I assumed some fans threw themselves at him. And he’d probably accepted their offers. “What I do makes people feel good. It’s easy, no one has to think too hard or gets hurt, and hopefully we teach people about amazing places around the country.”

“Okay.” When he put it like that, it all seemed harmless.

His fingers gripped the door handle and said, “You ready?” before poking his head out the door. A chorus of “Chet! Chet! Chet!” greeted him along with one, “I love you, Chet” and another, “I want to have your baby.”

“For what?” I hoped no one wanted my autograph, and I definitely didn’t want to have his baby or anyone else’s right now. Being interviewed on TV tomorrow was terrifying enough.

“I’m leaving. Aren’t you going to lock up and come too?”

“With you?” I snorted, half wanting to accept his invitation and half wanting to punch him in the nose for assuming his magnetic personality had overwhelmed me, and I was blindly following him to his bed. “Your magic doesn’t work on me.” I was such a liar.

He made a face. “I wasn’t… forget it. No, I mean aren’t you going home?”

“I am home.”

“Chet peered around the darkened café. “Please don’t tell me you sleep on the floor in the kitchen. If the company can’t pay you enough for rent, we do not want to give them free publicity by putting Café Om on TV.”

“Are you finished?” I asked.

“I guess.”

I pointed upward, and Chet squinted at the intricate carved ceiling. “You’re a modern-day Michelangelo and you paint murals at night? Tough gig.”

“Please. There’s an apartment upstairs. Stairs are around the back.”

“Oh, nice. Maybe you can show it to me some time.”

I doubted that was in my future. More screams of, “Chet, we want you,” were followed by clapping and honking of horns.

“Your fan club awaits. Goodnight,” I said and shoved him outside. With my back to the door, the muffled shrieks had me wanting to peek outside. And I couldn’t resist.

Alphas and omegas were hanging off him, getting his autograph. When he finally broke free, a handful of fans hurried after him as he got in the production company’s SUV, complete with driver.

As he tried to close the door, one over-enthusiastic hanger-on grabbed it. They were too far away and there was a tree in the way. Did that guy get in the car with Chet? I locked the door and stomped up stairs to my place where I tossed and turned all night.

Eight

Chet

“This was delightful, and you really didn’t need to get up early for me.” Although I had a feeling she did. When I told her the early call time, she insisted since I missed breakfast again, telling me it came with the room.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it.” She picked up my empty plate. I had enjoyed it, too. She had made a delightful breakfast bake with just the right amount of cinnamon. “I do have unfortunate news, though, my sister called and I need to go.”

“Anything I can do?” I didn’t know her, but her suddenly serious tone had me wanting to offer to do something to help. “I can make breakfast