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“Yeah. Hey, are you with your date?”

I sigh. “No. He didn’t show.”

“Shit, man. I’m sorry.”

“It is what it is. Thanks.”

“Where are you now?”

“I’m on my way home from the Julio’s, why?”

“No reason,” he says distractedly. A few seconds later, he adds, “Shit.”

I cross the street. “Is there something you need from me?”

“What?” he asks.

“You called me for help, remember?” I walk a little faster. This isn’t like him.

There’s a long pause. “Random question, but what’s your date’s name, again?”

He sounds casual. Too casual. Tyler doesn’t do casual.

“Why?” I ask slowly.

“Just answer the question. It’s important.” He exhales an exasperated breath. “Is his name Ell⁠—”

“Elliot, why?”

He’s quiet for so long that the call of gulls and crashing waves are the only reasons I know he didn’t end the call.

“Tyler?”

Another pause. “I think I found your omega. Well, I guess he found me.”

“Oh my god. Is he okay?” My mind races ahead. The beach. The sand. Poor little omega I haven’t met yet.

“Yeah.” He lowers his voice to a whisper I can barely hear over the waves. “You need to get the hell over here. He’s going into heat.” A zipper sounds. Fabric jostles.

“Where are you?”

“Alpha?” asks a breathy version of the voice I recognize from my calls with Elliott.

“Is that him?” I ask. “Can I talk to him?”

Tyler shushes me. Or maybe Elliott. Maybe both of us.

“Meet me at our beach,” he finally says. Then he grunts, lifting his board maybe, and the call ends.

Worry fills me instead of relief. My omega needs me and I’m not there. And Tyler is acting weird.

But thank god Tyler found him. What if someone else had? I make the rest of the ten-minute walk in half the time, running down the street with no care for how strange I look going for a run in pants in California when it’s ninety-three degrees out.

I skid to a stop at the top of the stairs to the beach, and start my descent. Before I can make much progress, Tyler charges up the stairs toward me, seemingly unaffected by the exertion, shirtless and carrying what must be Elliott, bundled in a beach towel, hidden except for the auburn curls atop his head.

Elliott’s alluring citrus and botanical scent hits me over the head like a frying pan, so much more delicious than I imagined. Tyler’s familiar scent accompanies it, and it doesn’t just complement Elliott’s scent, it amplifies it. Except something’s different. There’s a spiciness to Tyler’s scent that he gets when he’s turned on or nearing his rut.

God, I hope not. I don’t know how I’m going to juggle an alpha in rut and an omega in heat. Not that Tyler requires much. I just like to check in because I know how hard it is to spend a rut alone. It must be even worse for him since he doesn’t date much.