Ricardo ‘Ricky’ Garcia

Ricky Garcia has always been a lover. Well, and a fighter. Mostly a lover though—maybe not according to the judge, or his lawyer or the guy whose jaw he broke but...yeah, he was a lover.

It’s why he was so excited for his assigned Omega. Well, he wasn’t at first—not when he found out they were Panda rejects, but he quickly warmed up to the idea when he realized a warm body—and hole—was in his future.

The Omega was nice, not really his type but nice enough. He did most of the talking, like usual, and she nodded and smiled. Guess he should have noticed earlier how she wasn’t really paying attention, and that during their conjugal visit she was squeezing her eyes shut and looked like she wanted to be anywhere else.

It took getting out for him to realize she had only signed up for the money. The minute he got in her car she asked him to sign the ‘Mate Release Forms’ and explained how she only signed up for the money, how it was her Beta boyfriend’s idea, how she was so so sorry and desperate and blah-blah-blah-blah. Ricky didn’t fucking care. She was just lucky he was happy to be out and that he wasn’t considering doing anything to her that would land him back in those concrete walls.

So he signed the fucking papers and had her drop him off at his Ma’s place. Whatever. She’s not the only Omega in the world.

He’s been focusing on himself or whatever his court assigned therapist said to do. It’s been nice, he’s been working on saving so he could get out of his Ma’s apartment, doing a lot of introspection and stuff, thinking about what he wants for his next Omega. Now that he’s out he’s got time to be a little more picky.

He wasn’t even thinking about getting shacked up before the experiment. Before prison he was cool sleeping around, smoking, selling stuff to people who needed it. He didn’t do that shit anymore though. He knew he would never touch another kilo when he heard his Ma sobbing in the court room. ’30 years for drug trafficking, arms dealing and assault in the second degree’ and whoosh, his Ma broke down. His younger brother held her up, glaring at him the whole time. That’s when he knew he’d turn it around.

Now he’s got a job working on airplane parts in some big factory, gets off late at night though. It’s nice on one hand, cause he doesn’t have to see his Ma’s disappointed expression every day, but it’s also fucking wack because he can’t meet any bitches—er, Omegas if he’s getting off at eleven pm every day. Not a good one anyways. Though, luck did seem to be on his side lately.

“Hey, Rick, there’s a small diner ‘round the corner we like to frequent, they got good pie, wanna join?” Brad, one of his coworkers asks.

People were generally afraid to talk to him, so this was a first. It was such a first that for the first time in Ricky’s life, he was speechless and could only nod.

The diner was small, and mostly empty. The booths were covered in the same peeling, red vinyl plastic, the tables were stained and sticky, and the room itself stunk of coffee, cigarettes and Alpha.

Guess a lot of Alpha’s frequent this place...

They sat down in a booth, two of them on one side, Ricky on the other. He shifted his weight in the seat, worried about his ability to get back out of it after filling up on pie, but that was a problem for later.

“What kind of pie is the best here? I like fruit pies, most of the time, but not apples. Don’t know why but I think they’re are just too crunchy. I don’t want anything crunchy in my pie...’course cream pies are always...” The joke died on his lips when he realized no one was listening.

It didn’t bother him much when he noticed that they were looking at someone.

Oh.

They didn’t come here for the pies, no one did. They came here for {{obj}}. The most beautiful Omega he’s ever seen, wearing an apron, serving coffee and pie at midnight in a tiny diner in the middle of nowhere.

For the second time in his life, Ricky was silent.

“Call {{obj}} over, Ricky,” Brad says quickly without taking his eyes off of {{obj}}.

“Yeah, you’re good at talking,” Tomas adds.

Good at talking? They just mean he talks a lot. Which means he’ll probably make a fool of himself...

He remembers a book Bret had given him, about some guy who fell in love then got rich and went back for her, only to find she was married, but he kept trying to get her attention—then he died. He didn’t want to be like that guy. Waiting and waiting.

He’d be himself now and if {{sub}} doesn’t like it, then he’ll move on. Even if he really...doesn’t want to.

He puts his two fingers in his mouth and whistles while using his other hand to crook a finger for {{obj}} to come over. Instantly Brad and Tomas shrink into their seats, but his eyes stay on the Omega.

As soon as {{sub}} is close enough he starts talking. “Hey, baby, I was hoping that you could tell me what sorta pie you recommended. See, I love a good fruit pie, but you know they get soggy at the end of the day. Unless they got good crusts, do your pies have good crusts? I’m not going to say no to a good cream pie though. Chocolate, key lime...you guys got a lot of...cream pies back there?” He grins as he looks up at {{obj}}. “What’s your name, anyways? Can’t keep calling you baby all night...though I’d like to...bet your Alpha wouldn’t like that...”

“You got an Alpha, baby?”