Mardi Gras with His Omega: A Mapleville Mardi Gras Novella: MM Non Shifter Alpha Omega Mpreg (Mapleville Omegas Book 3) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Epilogue

  Mardi Gras with His Omega

  By

  Lorelei M. Hart and Ophelia Hart

  Copyright

  The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of a copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by fines and federal imprisonment.

  Please purchase only authorized electronic editions and do not participate in, or encourage, the electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Mardi Gras With His Omega Copyright 2018 Lorelei M. Hart and Ophelia Hart

  Editor Wizards in Publishing

  Cover design by Fantasia Frog Designs

  Published by Wizards in Publishing

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Brent

  Chapter Eleven

  Joaquim

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Epilogue

  Other titles by Lorelei M. Hart and Ophelia Heart

  Mardi Gras with His Omega

  Whatever happens at Mardi Gras stays at Mardi Gras—unless you leave there pregnant.

  When omega Reid accepts his future stepfather’s all-expense paid trip to NOLA to meet his future half-brother, Jaxon, he anticipates they will hang out together, drink a little too much, and collect beads. What he doesn’t expect is for Jaxon to fly out of town as soon as he arrives, leaving him with an apartment full of mooching guests.

  Alpha Joaquim is nomadic by nature, taking one traveling nursing job after another, never growing roots. After his last day working in NOLA, he decides to burn some of his restless energy and explore the town. The second he sees Reid on the balcony, he knows he needs to meet the sexy nerd who captured his attention.

  After one steamy night, both are hooked. Unfortunately, fate has other plans—a fire at Jaxon’s apartment calls Reid away, and a misplaced note ruins all chances of them reconnecting—or does it?

  Mardis Gras with his Omega is a super sweet with some knotty heat non shifter mpreg romance.

  Prologue

  Brent

  #RosesareRed

  “K-man, how’s it going?”

  My cousin Kayson was at the counter of my mom’s flower shop, fiddling with a bouquet of flowers. It looked fine as it was to me, but then again, if I had any sort of eye for these things I’d have been behind the counter with him. I tried three summers in a row. It just wasn’t my thing.

  “I should ask the same of you.” He stopped what he was doing and looked up at me. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”

  It was true. Aside from his needing to be home more now that his omega, Reid, was about ready to pop, I had a ton of things I needed to do for my new TA position at the college. I still was working at the planetarium, but that was for dollars, not love. I loved teaching the intro math classes at the college, which was the true definition of TA apparently. Not that I would ever complain about basically being a poorly paid replacement teacher because, to me, it made it the best job ever.

  “That’s because you have been too busy with your pregnant omega to be bothered with the likes of your lowly cousin.” I waited for his retaliation, but his attempt was thwarted by my mother handing him the store phone I’d only half registered had been ringing.

  “It’s Reid.” She handed it to him, and he disappeared into the back room.

  “Do I need to take you over my knee, young man?” Not that she ever had, not even once as I grew up.

  I just rolled my eyes at her. I might be almost a quarter of a century old, but around my mom, I was still a petulant teen.

  “Mom, I was joshing him.” I rolled them again for good measure.

  “And I was messing with you, too. I can’t wait to see you when the love bug bites.”

  She’d been on me to find an alpha and settle down ever since I reenrolled at the college as a grad student. She was sure I was doing so in some attempt to find meaning in my life, refusing to believe I was doing it simply to make myself more marketable.

  I’d had two “grown-up” jobs since my first stint in college, both long-term substitute positions and those just didn’t pay the bills, not if I planned to live in anything other than a studio apartment and wanted crazy extravagant things such as health insurance. No, I needed more than just my teaching degree, I needed my masters in my field so back to college I went. Thankfully, Mapleville had an insanely good, yet tiny school complete with insane amounts of endowments to keep costs to a minimum.

  “I’m here for flowers.” I puffed my chest out as if I’d just announced my engagement. Truth be told, it was for Chad who was nice enough and hotter than hell, but thought I was a little too predictable and boring.

  Flowers for no reason were my best counterargument for him, which probably only proved him right, but I was trying.

  “Flowers for some guy doesn’t make love.”

  Why did she always have to be so blasted right? Heck, she told me the day Reid came to town that Kayson found his omega even if neither he nor Reid had a clue.

  “He’s really nice.” Because telling her he was hot just seemed inappropriate even if my mom was the queen of oversharing, especially when it came to her and her Henry.

  “That’s the best you got—nice?”

  It kind of was, so I just shrugged. No sense engaging when the battle was doomed to result with me on the losing side. I was in college; it wasn’t like I needed to find Mr. Right. Mr. Right Now was good enough for the moment.

 
; I was such a liar, especially to myself.

  “Here, take these.” She handed me a premade bouquet of random flowers, the kind you would bring to your date’s mother or possibly your grandmother. They were not flowers for a beau, to be sure. “They say nice.”

  “They say old lady.”

  “Same difference.”

  “Roses.” I stood firm, refusing her pathetic offering. Really, like men want gladiolas to woo them off their feet. “I need roses.”

  “If you insist.” She put the flowers down before heading to the cooler. “Red?”

  “Of course.” But the more we talked, the more I realized how right she was, even if her method of “helping” was less than ideal.

  “Youth. I swear you alphas don’t get a brain until you hit twenty-five.”

  “I’m twenty-four. I think I’m good.”

  Before she could respond, my cousin came barreling back in as if the place was on fire, his face a cross between excited and freaking the fuck out.

  “Gotta go. Baby time. Love ya.” He kissed my mom on the top of the head and ran, yes ran, to the front door.

  “Call when you—never mind.” She gave up as the door closed behind him.

  “Need me to stay and help, Mom?”

  Her jaw dropped open before she quickly snapped it shut. That would be a resounding no.

  “I’m good.” She handed me a half-ass bouquet of roses. “Go find your alpha and give him those.”

  And that was just what I planned to do, except it turned out that saying about life being what happens when you are busy planning or whatever it is—yeah, that sucker turned out to be true.

  I reached my beau’s, as Mom called him, office just during his break. Chad worked in the bursar’s office and was one of the few people who had an office with walls. I was kind of jealous of him in that. Holding student-help sessions in a cubicle was less than ideal.

  As I stepped up to his door, I got a crappy feeling. A swift knock on the door later, followed by a thud and an “Oh shit!” and that feeling multiplied.

  I opened the door to find Chad pulling up his pants and a very poorly put together Professor Hahn of the Art Department standing there looking every bit as embarrassed as he should be.

  “It’s not what it looks like,” Chad began not directing it at either of us and earning him an evil look from both. It was as if he thought if he threw it out there, one of us would forgive him. Any anger I had at Professor Hahn flew out the window as he slapped Chad and walked out mumbling about being stupid for trusting his sorry ass.

  I wanted to throw the flowers at his head but thought better of it as I walked on out of the office and through the main corridor, handing the flowers to Mrs. Henry as I passed her smiling face instead.

  She’d been with the college for decades, and if my failed attempt at romance could keep that smile going, I was all about that. Lemonade and all that jazz.

  Mom was freaking right. I did need the old lady bouquet.

  Chapter One

  Joaquim

  #ThrowMeSomethingMister

  “Rock, paper, scissors, shoot.”

  I stepped in before they started betting actual money. “Look, I’ll do it. It’s not a big deal.”

  Every hospital I worked at, a different hated task existed. At one hospital, the nurses hated to refill the blanket warmer. At another, all eyes would roll when a certain patient pushed the call button.

  This time, it was cleaning out the ice machine. For some reason, they didn’t like it, but it had to be done once a month or so when it got clogged.

  “Let me get my rounds done and then I’ll handle it. It’ll be my farewell present.”

  Today made thirty days at Tulane Hospital in New Orleans. I was asked to come in because they were short staffed and, in particular, had a ton of patients who spoke little English. That’s where my bilingualism came in handy.

  It also made for a pretty nice boost to my paycheck.

  “J, you don’t have to. We can do it.”

  At least Renee tried to relieve me of it. The rest of the nurses scattered as soon as they heard I would take on the task.

  “It’s fine. Really. Thanks for the cake, by the way. I’ll miss the king cake around here.”

  I straightened the stethoscope around my neck and got to work. There were only six patients to watch over, and most of them slept through the night. Only one woke up with pain, but I would be long gone before Mr. Simmons came to.

  Rene laughed. “You still have plenty of time for king cake, cher. And beads and parades. But most of all”—She gave a little chest shake—“you have time for someone to give you a little lagniappe love, if you know what I mean.”

  It had been a while since I got some lagniappe.

  “Maybe I’ll find someone on Bourbon Street,” I joked while waggling my eyebrows.

  “I could say so many dirty things right now, honey, but I’ll leave the dirty to you. Have fun.”

  “I will. Thanks.”

  Mr. Simmons surprised me by being awake when I checked in on him.

  “Mr. Simmons, everything okay?” His face was turned to the window and stayed that way while I took his vitals. HIs blood pressure was spot-on, which wasn’t the norm for him.

  “Ever look at your life and wonder if one decision could’ve made the difference?”

  “All the time.”

  He sighed, and I jotted down the numbers. “I’ve never married. Never had kids. Never traveled. Now, here I am, waiting on a cardiologist in the morning to tell me how long I’ve got.”

  Mr. Simmons was in his forties. Although he was ten years older than me, I could empathize with him. I’d spent my life as a nurse, and I was damned good at it. I traveled everywhere and never stayed in one place for too long.

  No kids. No omega to speak of. Not even a long-term relationship.

  Just me, running like a chicken with my head cut off.

  “It’s not too late, Mr. Simmons. Forty is the new twenty. My dad says he really didn’t know who he was until he turned forty. There’s always time.”

  He looked at me in disbelief. I didn’t blame him. I sounded like Dr. Phil in scrubs.

  “Can you get me a piece of paper and a pen?” he asked. I nodded and grabbed a hospital notepad and a pen from his bedside table. Mr. Simmons didn’t have any visitors. No flowers adorned his window sills. No cards or get-well balloons.

  This room was as sparse as my life.

  “What’s this for?” I asked, handing it to him.

  “I’m gonna make a list. All the things I want to do. I’ve got plenty of money. I’ve spent all my life making money, and look what I’ve got to show for it. Nothing. I’m going to Europe!”

  I stayed with Mr. Simmons for a while. I found out his first name was Eric, but everyone called him Pop Tart. I didn’t ask for the story behind it, and he didn’t offer it.

  He made a list, and I helped.

  Europe. Asia. Parachuting. Scuba Diving. The Eiffel Tower.

  My list would be so different, I thought, as I watched him get excited about his new life.

  I’d seen Europe and been to Japan twice. I’d scuba dived off the coast of Chile and paraglided in Australia.

  “I’m leaving now, Eric. Good luck to you. I hope you get to do all those things on the list.”

  He waved me off, still scribbling on his notepad, already on the third page.

  After finishing cleaning the ice machine, I went back to my hotel suite, more like micro-apartment, for the night. After a twelve-hour shift, I was overly exhausted, but my eyes refused to close. I ate a meal of tomato soup with toast just for something to fill my stomach. Food didn’t excite me anymore.

  Maybe I was having an almost midlife crisis at twenty-nine.

  Or maybe I was just lonely.

  I flicked on the TV but was still restless. I thought about getting dressed and going out, but when I reached to turn on the lamp, something stopped me. Next to me, on the table, was a hotel notepad and
one of those cheapie promotional pens, much like the one I gave Eric.

  But the things I wanted in life didn’t need to be written down. They were etched in my heart.

  Meet a man who takes my breath away at first glance.

  Make him my Omega and treat him like my parents treated each other.

  Have all the babies we want to.

  The rest were just details and I wanted all of them.

  But my life simply didn’t give me time to do what I wanted.

  Maybe I needed to change my life.

  “I’m gonna go out,” I said to myself, thinking that what I really didn’t want was to be Eric when I was forty, alone in the night, wishing for another life.

  In thirty minutes, I was showered and dressed in a black V-neck T-shirt and jeans, not too dressy.

  A quick Uber ride had me right in the Quarter by the silver man who moved like a robot if you dropped money into his box. I walked through Jackson Square and down a couple of streets to Bourbon Street. That’s where all the action was. People were on the balconies throwing beads to women who showed their chests, and everyone had a long, tall drink they called a Hurricane. The whole place smelled like booze and musty shoes. But that was the French Quarter.