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“That’s good,” continues Kennedy, still keeping up the ruse. “I feel sorry for her physical therapist. Your mom is kind of a firecracker.”
“That she is,” I agree, swirling the plastic straw around in the coffee, clicking the half-melted ice cubes against the sides of the cup. “You should have seen her when they took the cast off. She was ready to march right out of the hospital all on her own.”
My chest pangs, imagining living in a world where what I was saying was true.
“Well, I hope she’s back to her grouchy self again soon. And what about you? How’s the writing going?” Kennedy waggles his brown eyebrows at me with a goofy leer on his pouty lips. “Anything salacious you can read me? Possibly while in my bed, feeding me grapes?”
“Yeah, that dream will never come true. And you know I can’t read you anything. I’ve got my name written on enough NDAs to keep me quiet for life.”
“You could always write me my own story. Something sexy, just for me.” He winks at me, and I shake my head with an indulgent smile.
“Absolutely not. Besides, you’d only want sexy surfer stories, and that would get old after a while, trust me.”
“What’s wrong with surfers?” he protests, gesturing at his entire body.
I give a dramatic performance, checking him out and letting my eyes catch on every bit of him before shaking my head dismissively. “Sex and sand don’t mix.”
He opens his mouth to complain, and then snaps it shut again. “Yeah, you’re right on that one. It gets everywhere. And I meaneverywhere.” He grimaces with a full body shudder. “Look, I gotta get going. I’m meeting Zoe for dinner later.” Never mind that Zoe is the name of his Himalayan cat, and dinner just means opening up a can of gourmet kitty chow for her.
Kennedy stands and stretches with a leonine yawn, showing off sleek abs that should be making me drool, but I can only admire them aesthetically, the way one would look at a Greek statue. He scoops up his mail again, leaving behind an envelope next to my nearly empty cup. “See you around, Rile.” He lumbers out of the café, the bell over the door announcing his exit.
I exhale slowly, leaning back into the café chair and closing my eyes. Kennedy is extra smooth at these types of exchanges, but I can’t help the anxiety that overtakes me every time. I pick up the envelope from the table—identical to the original one but with completely different contents—and tuck it safely into my purse. I wait a few more minutes, finishing up my coffee, and then stand and head straight to the bathroom.
I stop a moment to catch my breath, which has become shallower over the past few minutes, then I tear open the envelope and pull out one of the heat suppressants. The pill is white and chalky, leaving traces on my fingers as I toss it back and lean over the faucet to bring a palmful of water to my lips as I swallow it.
The relief is immediate, not because the little white pill is working, but because I know it will. I take a second one, knowing Kennedy is right about needing to up the dose for a few days, and wipe the back of my hand across my lips before leaving the café.
A wooden bench sits out on the sidewalk, and I make my way over to it, collapsing on the seat. I try to keep my inhales and exhales steady and rhythmic, and eventually my lungs are able to take deeper and deeper breaths. After two dizzy spells that make my stomach lurch, I finally start to feel like myself again. Truly myself, not what my Omega genetics tell me I am. I am more than my heat, more than what my body dictates, and if it takes heat suppressants, scent blocking soaps, and an arsenal of sex toys to keep myself safe, then so be it.
At last, I trust my legs not to collapse under me when I stand, and when I touch my fingers to the back of my neck, it feels cold and clammy instead of the dry fever it had before. Clarity comes back to my mind, instead of the constant thoughts ofrun hide runthat were swirling around in my brain earlier. This was a mistake, but it’s not one that can happen again. With a deep, bracing breath, I gather up my purse with the precious pills inside and head down the street.
TWO
—
R I L E Y
My apartment buildingis only a few blocks away, and the bookstore where I used to work is just down the street from Charlie’s, between the two. Despite the November winds, it feels too good outside to be locked up in my apartment, even if that’s where I should be. My Betas-only building is the safest place for me right now, never mind that I had to lie on five different forms and break about eight laws to get in…
Go home, Riley.
Ugh.
The ache for normalcy is real.
The cluttered old bookstore looks the same as it did when I applied there two years ago, fresh off a Greyhound bus with one suitcase to my name. I needed an income and a place to stay under the radar. The bookstore provided both for a while. The owner let me crash on the couch in the back room, at least until I could afford first month’s rent and the deposit for my apartment.
The only difference in the old shop’s appearance now is that the front window display is filled with cozy mysteries, other autumn-themed books, and an abundance of cheap fake leaves. Otherwise, it’s still the same haven I needed back then.
A quick stop to say hi to Caroline won’t hurt.
I do a quick sniff over my shoulder and take stock of how I’m feeling, deciding it should be relatively safe. There’s a good chance no one besides Care will even be in there at this time on a Tuesday.
When I enter the brownstone building, my friend looks up from behind the counter with a big grin. “Well, look what the cat dragged in,” she says, typing something into the system before coming around the corner and giving me a hug. There’s no need to worry about her possibly picking up on any pheromones. Caroline is a Beta, and in her mind, so am I. She’s never given any indication that she thinks otherwise, and honestly, I think if she knew I was really an Omega, she wouldn’t say anything anyway.
“Sorry I haven’t texted back lately, I was really in the zone with the last project,” I say, offering a guilty smile, breathing in the calming, familiar scent of books and old wood. “It’s nice to be back.”
“You should stop by more often then,” she pouts, flipping her auburn braid behind her shoulder. “This place isn’t the same without you. I miss you.”
