Without him being the one to initiate, I’d probably still be miserable and torturously alone in my too big cabin with no one to fill it with.
Yet here we are, on this boat, looking for an Omega for our pack. There’s no way I’d be able to navigate this without Wells. He’s the social one, good with any person he meets, he can fill the silences I can’t.
“She’s probably just as nervous as we are. It will be fine, just be yourself,” he tells me, likely able to tell I’m overthinking everything about tonight.
What if being myself isn’t enough for her, or any Omega on this ship?
Fuck.
I groan, swinging the door open and following the fish on the floor on the carpet to the front of the ship. Wells walks behind me because the hallways are too narrow to walk together. I have to duck my head every few yards when the ceiling lowers.
When we’re on the elevator, Wells doesn’t seem on edge in the slightest, and I envy his easy nature. He’s so good withpeople, I wonder often what it is he sees in me when he could have anyone he wanted.
He hasn’t wanted to officially bond yet. He says it’s because he wants me to bond with our future Omega first, but part of me always wonders if maybe he thinks that this won’t work out. Not that I tell him this. I was extremely reluctant to come on this cruise, but I worried if I didn’t agree he wouldn’t put up with my shit anymore.
He’s been insistent on a pack, and I know he’s right. Being around Claire for just the night has made my need for an Omega completely apparent. Doesn’t mean that I’m happy about being stuck on this floating over-crowded city though.
Wells lets the hostess know that we’re waiting on Claire, and we stand at the entrance.
When she walks down the hallway to the restaurant, I’m again taken away by how stunning and well put together she is. She’s wearing a tight black dress that effortlessly falls off her shoulders, exposing her delicate collarbones.
She smiles as she approaches us, either ignoring or oblivious about all the Alphas that hungrily stare at her. She waves, her motion sickness bands nowhere to be seen, and I frown.
“You look unbelievable," Wells tells her and she smiles.
Her raven hair is in loose curls, covering one shoulder as she turns to me.
“You all clean up well. It’s both nice and devastating to see you with a shirt on, Forrest,” she says.
I don’t respond, instead I go into some sort of coughing fit. She likes how I look without a shirt on?
Wells smacks my back, giving me a sly look. “Our table is ready,” he says, placing a hand on Claire’s lower back and leading her to the table.
I at least have the forethought to pull out her chair. She gives me a quick smile as she sits and I help push her in.
Wells and I take a seat on each side of her as the server fills our water glasses and asks if we want anything to drink.
Claire orders a ginger ale and my need to take care of her overwhelms me.
“Is your stomach hurting? You’re not wearing your bracelets.”
The server is standing there, waiting for my order, but my gaze is locked on Claire.
“He’ll have a vodka soda, and I’ll have the white sangria,” Wells orders for me, and the woman promptly leaves our table.
Claire clears her throat. “I’m feeling fine for now, but I’d rather be safe than sorry and not have any alcohol. Plus, the bracelets would look ugly with this dress.”
“Nothing you could wear would look ugly,” I tell her honestly.
I thought she was the most beautiful woman in the world wearing pajamas, throwing up off the side of the ship. Who cares about some stupid bracelets?
“I appreciate that,” she says softly, grabbing her menu and hiding her face.
Did I make her uncomfortable? Did I say something wrong?
What am I going to talk about? What could I possibly have in common with this woman? My fingers are tapping on the table as I half read the menu, half try to figure out what to say.
Claire places her menu down first, almost like she didn’t read it and came prepared with what she wanted to order.