“Aw yay! I’m so proud of you.” She lowered her voice. “And no one was weird about… you know?”
I hesitated, thinking about Anvi letting it slip that Dr. Finch called me “the Omega,” and Lisbeth making it very clear the IRB knew about my designation. It always made me uncomfortable to be reminded of my place, but I also knew no one was trying to be rude. Many people had never met an Omega, let alone an unbonded one. And especially not one who wasn’t a teacher, employed at an Omega-focused nonprofit, or a sex worker. Maggie, being the only Omega cop in the city, understood that pressure better than anyone.
“No. That part was fine.” I’d arrived at the stairs that led down to the train station, and I stopped just far enough down to escape the rain without losing my signal. I huddled close to the wall as commuters brushed past.
“Good. We’re still on for dinner this weekend, right? Celebrating the ‘big girl job’?”
I hesitated. Maggie meant well, and her pack was lovely, but spending time with a happy family was a challenge. Especially if the central activity was eating in a group setting, which was always tricky for me. But I wanted to stay friends, and that meant spending time together. “Of course!”
“Yay! Text me what you want Lucas to make, okay?”
“Oh, anything is fine,” I said vaguely. “Tell him to let his creativity go wild.”
Maggie laughed. “Fuck, he’s gonnalovethat. Tell Steffi I say hi!”
We said our goodbyes, and I continued down the steps as a train whizzed into the station. I hurried forward with the rest of the crowd and jammed myself into the crush of bodies, so tightly packed I didn’t even need to hold on to anything, and focused on my breath. The train car was, as usual, an unholy combination of scents. The Alpha next to me smelled like wet woodchips, but my main concern was feeling like a human sardine.
Claustrophobia was not the worst legacy of my childhood, but it was a challenge. It was also one of the reasons I was grateful I’d never had a true heat. The thought of being in a nest — the small enclosed space filled with soft fabric and hot Alpha bodies that most Omegas craved during their heats — filled me with utter dread.
At this point, I hoped my body was well and truly broken enough to continue the irregular mini heats I’d grown accustomed to forever. One day of bad cramping, with intermittent relief from my trusty vibrator, and that was that. I would have appreciated knowing exactly when they were coming, but since I didn’t even have proper Omega perfume to worry about, the trade-off was worth it.
I forced my mind away from my discomfort and focused on Nathan Manalo instead. A hot kernel of determination flaredin my chest. I would prove him wrong, over and over again, until he apologized for ever doubting me.
Chapter 2 - Bridget
After more slow days of setup and preparation, we were ready for the first batch of Omega mesenchymal stem cell samples. They were arriving frozen from a biobank in Canada. The distance wasn’t ideal, but we’d make it work.
On delivery day, I arrived at the lab early to run calibrations, prepare mediums, and do final temp checks before the samples arrived.
Not to be outdone, Nathan had arrived even earlier.
I saw him working in the lab as I beeped through the door, and a wave of annoyance washed over me. Did it truly matter that I wasn’t the first in the lab? I tried to tell myself it didn’t as I seethed all the way down the corridor to the office, shedding my jacket and bag along the way.
I stopped short. A silver electric kettle sat on my desk — an expensive one with multiple temperature options — along with a box of tea and a handwritten card that said, “You can borrow it if you’d like.”
My stomach leapt, torn between embarrassment and a spike of surprised pleasure. The thought of Nathan picking out the kettle made my face burn. He’d even taken the time to stick a small blue bow on it, like a present.
I stood paralyzed for a few moments. On the one hand, I really wanted a cup of tea. Nathan had bought high-quality teabags, the sachet kind I never splurged on for myself. I inspected the tin box, opened it, and took a whiff of the rich blend.
But would accepting be some kind of capitulation?
I took another inhale of the tea, and greed won out. I brewed two cups, one for myself and one for Nathan. Once I’d pulled my hair into a ponytail, I headed into the lab.
Nathan looked up as I entered and pulled out his headphones. He was wearing more casual clothing — a dark gray henley and jeans — and I heard someone talking before he paused whatever he’d been listening to.Probably some insufferable podcast.
“I brought you some tea,” I said, pushing his mug across the countertop.
He looked a bit confused. “Thank you. But you know that’s for you, right?”
I flushed. “Oh. Um. Yes. Thank you.”
A faint blush washed across Nathan’s cheeks, and I felt bad. Clearly, he was as uncomfortable with these kinds of things as I was.
“What needs to be done before the delivery?” I asked, returning us to even ground. Nathan launched into a to-do list, and we worked together without conversation. The tea was as lovely as I’d suspected it would be.
“You don’t need to dress so formally,” he said abruptly after about fifteen minutes.
I froze. I’d been pulling at the collar of my shirt, another ill-fitting, itchy button-up; a variant of the “professional lady” starter pack I’d bought in bulk online. “What do you mean?”
