Loz huffs. I can hear her frustration and fatigue.
I look back at her, forcing the corners of my mouth upwards. "Yeah. I just, y'know… it's been holding me back for a while now. I know I'm definitely not ready for, like, a relationship yet, but… a hookup's not the same as a relationship. Baby steps, right? And if my heat's happening either way…"
One of her perfect eyebrows shoots up. "Seventeen months on suppressants. Babes… you even gonna be able to scent 'em?"
Heat is blooming in my cheeks. I forget sometimes just how cluey Loz is—I haven't told anyone about scents getting less noticeable lately. I shrug. "Dunno. Enough, I guess? I'll know if they smell gross, though. And at least I'll get to make sure their scent doesn't bother me too much." I sound more recalcitrant than I mean to.
She shrugs, her mouth a tight line. "Babes. You're thirty-fucking-six years old. You're a fucking adult. It's your call. I just want you to feel safe… make sure you don't have to do anything you don't wanna. You know that."
If I fuss enough with the garment bag, I can pretend I'm not avoiding eye contact. "How about I just… see what's out there tonight? And if nothing—uh, or if no one comes up…" I sound way more nonchalant about the idea than I thought possible. Apparently, some of Loz's acting skills must have rubbed off on me.
She snorts. "Heh. I see what you did there. Nice. Okay. If you're sure. But turn your location on, y'hear? Andcall meif you're gonna go home with 'em."
I nod. "Fair enough." I gently fold the dress over my arm, trying to convince myself I'm completely indifferent to the hookup safari I've just volunteered myself for. Something's awakening inside me at the thought, scrambling with excitement in my chest. I guess it must be my omega. When I'm busy enough, I don't let myself notice her. But she seems to like the idea, and with all this talk of heats, I get the feeling she's not going to let herself be ignored for much longer.
I retrieve Loz's hat from the dressing room table. I pass it to her, along with her oversized Chanel sunglasses, and usher her through the maze that is the back of the studio until we reach the back door.
A burly security alpha nods at us and pushes it open. No obvious press or paps, thank god, but we duck our heads nevertheless, and quickly clamber into the car through the door held open by Lance, the elderly beta who's been her driver since her first audition. He shuts our door, then hops spryly into the driver's seat.
"Are you ladies ready to rock and roll?"
Lauren gives a faint smile. "Tally-ho, Lancey-boy."
She leans back into the seat, exhausted. Lance's eyes flick to mine. I give a short nod, and see the partition slide silently up.
Her green eyes are hidden behind her sunglasses, but I'm fairly sure she's drifting off to sleep as we crawl through the LA traffic.
"Don't think for a minute I'm not glamming you up before you head out tonight. And I'm getting the PR team to get you on the list at the few places good enough to deserve you when we get home," she murmurs, her voice thick with fatigue.
Holy crap. How the heck am I going to pull this off?
Chapter 4
This week has been the best week I can remember us having inyears.
We've been crashing in Clarke's parents' poolhouse again, and even though it means we've had to put on our calm faces and pretend his mum—sorry, hismom—isn't terrifying, it's still been the best week we've had in forever. Zeke'sfinallyletting James work on his back again. I got to hang out with Zeke's baby brother and his tiny nephew, who thinks the peak of comedy is when I call him 'our little nibling' and blow raspberries on his belly while I pretend to nibble him. And Allen almost seems like the alpha I met that day in the ER, all those years ago. Like he doesn't have the weight of the world sitting in the middle of his chest.
It's nice to have pack time that's just for us as well, even though heat supportwasmy dream job.Ourdream job. Well, it used to be, anyway. On paper, it fulfils every alpha instinct—you combine getting to care for someone when they are well but vulnerable with sex that is, frankly, often mind-blowing—but I guess I didn't realise just how draining it is to have to do it on demand, all the time, for months and months and months without a break. Even though some bookings end up being more about cleaning and general care (and, once, talking a panicked omega down off the top of the wardrobe) than sex, it's mentallydraining having to constantly gear yourself up for it. I'd be lying if I said the years weren't starting to add up.
It's nice to have sexjustto have sex. Not to meet someone else's needs, and not to have to be constantly checking their temperature or trying to get them to remember to drink. Zeke likes to joke about my 'dick-mometer' but he isn't wrong. Half the time when supporting heats, I'm checking temperatures however I can. I guess it comes with the territory of the nursing degree, and it's part of the reason our pack is so highly regarded—but it's nice to not have to think about it for once.
It's easy to forget how it feels to have sex with someone just because you want to, not because it will hurt them if you don't.
And even though Clarke pretends he's fine, after too many bookings in a row, I can feel in the bond how much he starts to miss being looked after by his alphas—a lot of omegas get a bit… y'know,thingy,when they're in heat and the beta next to them is monopolizing the knots they themselves need. If I don't think about it too much, I can kind of understand it, but it always breaks my heart when their heat is so strong they can't hide their disdain. Occasionally, though, when I let myself sit still for too long, I think about it more than I should, and I think how I would feel if I were in Clarke's shoes and I just get sofuckingangry—
We've needed a break from heat support work for a while.
And we can't let ourselves wallow. Or go down rabbit holes or let ourselves get distracted by… unhelpful thoughts.
James' blond hair sparkles in the late afternoon sun as he lies on a dusty sunlounger in his short red swim trunks. Allen has claimed the one next to it, his tanned face shadowed by the umbrella, his hair so dark it almost looks black. Zeke's in his gym clothes like usual, lying on a beach towel spread on the concrete,stretching out his muscular form. He still looks like the Olympic athlete he once was, his body firm and strong, his chestnut hair dark against his fair skin. Clarke leans against the pool fence, still damp from swimming, staring off into the distance. Our bond is quiet, but I can feel a distant hum that seems almost like… loneliness.
Gotta keep us all moving. The trick is to make sure none of us dwell.
I grin as I wrap my arms around Clarke's shoulders. My smile fades a bit as I notice their pink tips from his afternoon in the sun.
Gotta dig out that bottle of aloe vera—and make sure he uses it.
I rest my head on a non-pink spot, and feel a wave of gratitude and affection pulse through the bond. I ruffle his wet curls, feeling the bond throb with self-conscious embarrassment as we're both showered with chlorinated droplets.
