An indignant noise shoots out. "But Loz—there was just so much that needed sorting out, and it would have caused so much disruption—I just thought—"
Her nostrils flare in irritation. "What would you say to me if I went a fullyear and a halfon suppressants?"
I bite my lip. "I'd kick your arse," I mumble.
"Ugh, my omega is too riled up for this right now," she murmurs under her breath. Then she turns and looks me in the eye. "Right, babes." She squares her shoulders, the steel she hides so gracefully on screen emerging from her softness. "Here's what is going to happen. You have a choice."
I raise my eyebrows. She rolls her eyes.
"You can either get your own profile set up on Heatseekerstonightand book your heat in with a lovely pack of professional heat support workers that I will be funding—uh, no arguments, please, and youwillbe having your heat in the next couple of weeks, by the way, come hell or high water—or… or you can go out tonight and find yourself some gloriously hot alphas to test run and see if they are good enough to help you through your heat. Capiche?"
"Loz, I would, but there's so much to do—"
"No, there fucking well isn't. You've got everything set up for me already, 'cuz you're a fucking rock star, and you know it."
"But Loz, I don't need a hookup or aHeatseekersaccount. I'll just use Packr again—"
"Over my dead fucking body, Dellie. The best that can be said for Packr is that you can sue the fuckers if there's an unauthorised claim or if you get trafficked. If you can get to a lawyer. You're finding a pack who's actually decent and who's gonna treat you the way you deserve, whether you verify it in person or from the reviews." She shifts, glaring at me. "Today'sSaturday, right? You go off suppressants today, your heat'll kick in on—what, Wednesday? Thursday?"
I shrug. "Probably."
"Good. Well, as you said, I don't go off my suppressants 'til Tuesday, and you've dotted every bloody i and crossed every bloody t, so consider yourself on heat leave—uh, excuse me,paidheat leave, thank you very fucking much—until then. If you start your heat on Wednesday or Thursday, you'll have three days of getting serviced by some hunky alphas, then have a few quiet days to recover, 'cuz mine won't start 'til next Saturday or Sunday—and by the time that my hired hotties roll out the door, you'll be feeling like yourself again. So,no more fucking excuses. Got it?" She prods my shoulder, glaring at me.
I chuckle and roll my eyes, nodding. "Yes, miss Lauren ma'am."
Her mouth is grim. "Damn right. Now, be a legend and help me up, will you? This fucking straitjacket weighs a tonne."
I laugh and stand, then turn and help pull her up. She turns away, lifting the soft golden waves of hair from the nape of her neck so I can undo the long row of tiny buttons.
"Ohhhhh thank fuck. That's better."
I help pull her arms through a soft, fleecy zip-up hoodie, close it nearly to the neck, and pull down the corset of the strapless gown out from underneath her jacket. It's the technique we developed to preserve her modesty when she still had to share dressing rooms, and while I know she now thinks of her boobs as just another patch of skin, I hate invading the parts she used to want to keep for herself.
"Want help with the shoes?"
She shakes her head and holds out her hands for the buttery soft fleece track pants she favours when nobody's watching her. She pulls them on underneath her skirt, then steps out of the dress and hands it to me.
"So? What's it going to be?Au naturelor Heatseekers?"
She grabs the garment bag from the back of the door, and together we encase the gorgeous gown back in its protective sheath.
I shrug and turn away from her, spending far more time than I really need to make sure the garment bag zips properly. My mind is on overdrive.
It's gonna be awkward as freaking heck either way. But if I meet a pack in the wild, at least I can talk to them first before I proposition them—and I'll be a bit less likely to be stuck with a dud during my heat… maybe? There should be plenty of packs out on the town on a Saturday night. At least I'll be able to rule out a gross scent mismatch. I just gotta make sure not to get drunk and check there's no sneaky cameras, keep my phone with me and it'll be okay. I can do this.
"Um. I dunno. I think… uh… I wanna try… just meeting someone? Maybe?" I can feel my cheeks growing hot. I hate having a giant red fluorescent sign that broadcasts exactly how uncomfortable I am.
Loz lets out a sharp breath. "Babes… look, I want you to have at least the fuckin' illusion of choice, but… look. You've done pretty muchnothingbut work since the day you left Perth. The last time you dated or even fuckin' hooked up with anyone other than those skeezy Packr fuckers who came to, and I use the termextremelyfucking loosely, 'help' you through your heat was… when exactly?"
My feet shuffle uncomfortably. "Uh… pack… Simpson?"
Her nostrils flare as she growls. "Perthpack Simpson? That… whole fucking thing with you dropping out of your master's in the middle of your final semester when you only had one subject left? The ones who—"
My cheeks feel hot. "Mmmm."
"Thosefucking pricks. Fifteen fucking years ago, if my memory serves? Babes, thosebastardswoulda left anyone fucking traumatized—"
I turn away, trying to push a smile onto my lips. My eyes catch the dressing room mirror. I really do have to stop chewing them—they are starting to look ragged.
