Chapter 2: Alden - Wrong Date, Right Mates

There are over a hundred steps from the beach to the bluff, and I second-guess every single one of them. I want to turn back and ask Ty why he looked so sad, ask him if he really finds me attractive, if there’s something more to the chemistry he insists is just a mirage.

But I don’t.

The worst part about being in love with my best friend is knowing that he wants nothing to do with me, even when his body tells him otherwise. Sure, there’ve been moments when I thought maybe he saw something more in me: a lingering look, the spice in his scent when I bumped into him on a snack run during Niall’s heat. But he’s never acknowledged it.

That kiss when he was on the verge of rut doesn’t count. He rejected me so swiftly and completely that he left no room for doubt. I’ll never confess my true feelings or violate the boundaries he set.

My heart splintered that night, and it won’t survive another rejection. Our friendship won’t either. But I can’t share the same space, let alone the same beach with him smoldering away like that while he masks my scent with coconut like he’s punishing me.

At the top of the stairs, I suck down a lungful of Tyler-free air and dart between a gap in traffic, bare feet burning on the asphalt. A bodybuilder jogs past me toward the beach, leaving behind a trail of polished leather that stings my nose. It’s a perfectly fine scent, but it’s not Niall’s lily. Or Tyler’s sea salt.

It’s like my nose is broken or I’ve got a cold. Everyone else smells wrong.

My therapist keeps telling me I need to focus on an omega who’s actually interested in me, instead of my grumpy alpha roommate.

I need someone who makes me smile instead of weighing me down, but untangling myself from Tyler feels more painful than keeping him, and if there’s an omega out there meant for me, I haven’t found him.

Maybe we’re codependent, or maybe I’m dependent because he seems to do just fine without me.

The wind sweeps down from the hills and out to sea, bending the palm trees, and threatening to rip the magenta bougainvillea off our fence. Every time we get a spell of Santa Ana winds, I worry the massive vine is going to blow away like a tumbleweed, but somehow it remains.

I trudge up the deck stairs to the door and lean my board against the wall, then reach into my pocket—that isn’t there because I was too damn flustered to change out of my wet suit or even remember I need help getting out of it.

“Fuck,” I whisper.

It takes five minutes to climb over the deck rail, shimmy across the narrow fencing, and squirm through the side window, partially because my neighbor, a very thirsty octogenarian widow, asked me how I found myself in such a predicament. I almost asked her to unzip my wet suit, but erred on MacGuyvering myself out of it instead.

By the time I’m naked, I’m sweating, annoyed, and running late for my date with Elliott. I turn the shower on. My phone pings.

Heat Seekers App:

@Elliott: secure text message.

Another ping.

@Elliott: secure voice message.

My stomach churns with nerves as I open the app. What if he’s calling to cancel with a shitty excuse? I guess that’s better than ghosting me like some of the other omegas I’ve dated recently. But Elliott is the first omega who’s made me feel desired instead of like a lonely alpha chasing an omega. His rejection will sting.

Niall’s parting words echo in my head while the Heat Seekers logo spins in a circle of digital purgatory. Shitty alpha. Not big enough to make me feel small. Doesn’t take charge. Won’t throw me around. Not man enough. Not virile enough. What kind of alpha is more obsessed with his best friend than his omega? It’s like you’re in love with him.

Oh, Niall, if only you knew.

The logo freezes and the app crashes. I open it again and am met with the same spinning logo. A headache brews between my brows. I kept all our communication within the app per the safety terms of service, but I should have considered that if the app went down, I’d have no way to contact him. I could have at least given him my number.

I leave the app open on the counter and step under the water, wincing as icy droplets pelt my body. Instead of cooling me down, it puts me more on edge. I scrub the salt and sand from my hair and body like I can wash away my anxiety and the way Ty makes me feel.

My phone pings again. I switch off the water, grab my phone, then nearly drop it from my slippery hand.

Heat Seekers App:

@Elliott: secure text message

But the app still won’t load. I try uninstalling and reinstalling it. I try on my laptop, but the website is down.

Why? It defies logic. How can the app work just enough to tell me I received a message, but not let me open it? What if Elliott’s lost or hurt?

It’s far more likely he’s calling to cancel, but I can’t suppress the alpha urge to worry about him, even if he’s not my omega yet. Even if he never is.

My phone pings again, but it’s not Elliott.

Andy Nguyen

Hey, man. Heat Seekers users are reporting a system-wide outage, but I’m on it. Good luck with your date!

Great.