Page 12 of Generation Omega: Revealed
Concern blossoms in his eyes but he doesn’t say anything. He waits for me to share whatever’s weighing on me.
I wave my free hand in the air, gesturing toward the convention space. “I love this. I love everything about it, except the length of the Gideon Blake line. I love the omegaverse and all its possibility. I want it to be true.” I frown, feeling ridiculous.
His thumb soothes over my hand and I force myself to continue. “I want it to be true, just not for me.” I quickly add, “I want my present. It’s wonderful and the best gift anyone could ever give me. Just because I don’t want to be an omega doesn’t mean I don’t love it with my whole heart.” I still find uncertainty in his gaze and I hate that I put it there. “Sorry.”
“No, don’t be sorry. I’m just surprised. You want this to be real for someone else, but not for you. Why?”
A lie tingles on my tongue and I almost free it, but I can’t. I’m looking into the most open, nonjudgy gaze in the world and I can’t abuse that gift by not telling the truth. But there’s no hourglass spilling sand just now. “Do you mind if I explain later? Tonight? When we’re snuggling together in the best place on Earth?”
He leans closer, his undecorated cheek resting against my undecorated cheek. There he murmurs, “That would be perfect, just like you.”
I breathe him in, safe in his closeness. How far we’ve come already, when just yesterday I didn’t know how close I was to winning everything I ever dreamed.
When he leans back, he’s wearing a goofy grin. “One more question, okay?”
“Sure.”
“What’s the deal with all the flowers?”
I blurt a laugh. “Oh, that. Okay, so when omegas perfume, it’s like flowers blooming in spring, only it’s for their alphas. But in omega mythology, it’s more than that. When omegas and alphas lived, it was known as theTime of the Garden, almost like an omegaverse version of Eden. Gardens are about balance in all things and that’s what the designations were meant to ensure. Our current society is a tragic example of what an out-of-whack world looks like. Weomegeeswant back into the garden.”
He glances around at all the omegees excitedly exploring the convention space. “They’re a bubbly group, aren’t they?”
“Yes,weare.”
I’m once again the center of his universe. “Yes,weare, because if you are a card-carrying omegee, then so am I. Are there cards and applications?”
“Nope, just face paint, a hopeful heart, and that leather jacket. You’re good. Now, are you ready to meet Gideon Blake?”
Ethan launches out of his chair, deals with the remains of our lunch, stuffs the oven mitts in his pockets, and then extends his hand to me. I take it and stand with him, leaning into him as he wraps his arm around me. When we reach the scene of the line crime, we are both pleased to find it much shorter, though still epic.
Ethan and I chat with the others around us as we inch closer to the promised land. We share our favorite Gideon Blake moments—both on-screen and celebrity-related—and do our best Gideon Blake impersonations, trading back and forth his signature movie lines like it’s a speed round with a million-dollar prize.
I don’t even realize how close we are until Ethan taps me on the shoulder and I spin to find myself face to face with Gideon Blake.
“Holy hotness!” All subtlety and coolness abandon me completely, and I’m left gaping in the presence of an idol who is even more stunning in real life than on the big screen. Cameras, lighting, editing, and a soundtrack—this man needs none of that to glow like a freaking war god. He’s taller and broader than I thought he’d be, slightly taller and broader than Ethan. He must be preparing for another action movie where he’ll spend most of the film shirtless—please, be shirtless. His smile is a shimmering diamond and it’s aiming directly at me.
Gideon Blake’s intensity turns my insides into a lit sparkler in the hand of a sugar-infused nine-year-old.
“Hello,” Gideon Blake says, oozing charm and lusty intent—or possibly just sayinghito a random fangirl who needs to be put out of her misery ASAP.
“A greeting, picture, autograph?” Ethan mutters, clearly amused at my embarrassingwonderstruckness—if that’s not a word, it should be.
“Hi…hi… um, could we get a pic with you?” I ask while leaning precariously toward the man-god. There is no barrier between us. There should be a barrier, possibly a security detail, because I am two seconds from demanding to smell him or hug him or possibly revoke my monogamous intentions with Ethan by inviting Gideon Blake back to my nest.
“Of course.” Gideon speaks to me like I’m not an awkward, fluttering mess, proving he’s a benevolent god.
His assistant, a woman with enormous purple hair—who totally couldn’t prevent me from launching at her boss—takes Ethan’s phone, and Ethan and I move to each side of Gideon Blake.
“Say OMEGA!” big hair squeaks while snapping pictures.
“OMEGA!” Ethan and I crow.
I don’t realize until it’s too late that I’m not just leaning toward him. I’m actually touching Gideon Blake. My side is against his side—I’m not a groper… seriously, I’m not groping, but it’s taking a ginormous effort to restrain myself.
“Take another,” Gideon Blake demands, as his arm surrounds my shoulder, his hot fingers brushing my arm.
His assistant sends him a confused and petulant glance, but complies with his order.
