Chapter 3: Elliott - Wrong Date, Right Mates

On a good day, my curls are even more fussy and dramatic than I am, but an unexpected heat spike on top of a heat wave really fucked up the ethereal sex faerie aesthetic I was going for. Now I feel more like a perimenopausal omega than a ripe fruit for alpha cock to plunder.

Oh my god.

Alpha cock to plunder? I can’t wait for my thoughts to switch from high on ecstasy to something more like me.

It’s really inconvenient to be one of the unlucky few omegas cursed with a metabolism that chews through suppressants. Not only do I have to suffer through heats more frequently than the average omega, but I have no idea when a heat will come on, except that it will be at the worst possible time—like minutes before my first date with my dream alpha when I’m on deadline for this week’s Omega on the Street. I don’t think my lifestyles editor is going to accept erotica in lieu of dating advice.

The voice on my phone advises me that Thousand Steps Beach should be on my right. I almost miss the small brown sign spackled with stickers beside a narrow walkway between two houses. I slow to a crawl until I spot an empty space on the curb.

A horn bleats behind me.

“Sorry,” I call with a wave of my fingers, then fail to parallel park three times before finally managing it, much to the anger of the cars behind me.

I’m such a mess. A hot mess, but not in a cute manic pixie gay sort of way.

I pull out my phone and open the Heat Seekers app, but the same perpetually rotating omega logo greets me before the app crashes again, just like each of my previous attempts at every stoplight I got stuck at on the way over.

HEAT SEEKERS IS DOWN FOR MAINTENANCE. WE APOLOGIZE FOR THE INCONVENIENCE.

Honestly, this is probably exactly what I deserve for going on a date with an alpha I only met because I’m writing a review on the app for my Omega on the Street column.

A barely there cramp twinges deep inside my center. Well, that’s not great. I have no way to contact Alden and can’t remember the name of the taco place we were supposed to meet at.

I’d probably be able to remember if my brain wasn’t melting under the ninety-degree heat combined with my impending heat. I’m lucky I even remembered the name of the beach Alden suggested we walk to after lunch.

The back of my shirt is damp with sweat and stuck to the seat. Even with all the windows down, the heat inside my car is oppressive. It has to be better outside. Maybe then I’ll be able to think.

I climb out of my car with as much grace as someone in my “condition” can and dig through my bag for the keys to lock my car.

My favorite top, a thrifted white tee speckled with tiny daisies, is wrinkled and nearly translucent from sweat saturating the neckline. Usually, this outfit makes me feel playful and charming, but now I fear I look eccentric in a bad way.

I huff an exhale at the droplet of sweat above my cupid’s bow, and grip the front of my shirt, giving it a little shake. Dopamine churning through my body makes the air against my nipples practically orgasmic, but along with it comes that hollow emptiness, that promise of worse things to come if I don’t find an alpha and soon.

Taking shelter beneath the meager shade of a palm tree, I swipe through the list of restaurants on my phone, but nothing rings a bell. After this heat passes, I need to ask my doctor for a new prescription of ADHD meds and fork out the money. I can’t remember shit.

I nudge my sunglasses down to the tip of my nose and scan my surroundings. Across the street, mismatching beach houses climb up the coastal hills. There’s not a Mexican restaurant in sight. Or an alpha.

I’m fucked. Or not fucked. Whatever.

My phone rings. “Thank god.”

Or not.

“Hey, Noel,” I say when I answer.

“You find him yet, babe?” Noel asks.

“I just parked, so no.”

“I know. I’ve been tracking your whereabouts.”

“Noel,” I chide, drawing out the L.

A parade of cars whips past me and I cover my other ear.

“Sorry, not sorry,” Noel says. “What kind of friend would I be if I let you get kidnapped by some strange alpha you met on the internet?”

“He’s not strange.” I think. The man doesn’t have a single red flag, but maybe that is one.

“You get ahold of him yet?”

“Ugh. No. The app’s still down.”

He whistles. “Damn. You better put that in your review. Can you imagine being on the verge of heat and not being able to find your alpha-date?”

“Right?” I laugh, breathy like a wheeze.

“Elliott, no,” he gasps, seeing right through me.

I fan myself with my hat. “I can report that it’s exactly as nightmarish as you’re imagining.”

“Already? Again? When?”

“I don’t know. Somewhere between leaving our house and arriving here.”

“Scientists should study you.”

“Do me a favor and sign me up for some clinical trials then.”

A vaguely unhinged laugh escapes my mouth before I can stop it. A woman pushing a French bulldog in a stroller casts me a wary look and gives me a wide berth as she passes—which hurts my feelings. My everyday rejection sensitivity cranks up to max when I’m hormonal and bulldog stroller lady’s snobbery feels like a personal attack.

My laugh wasn’t even that unhinged. I could have wailed to Noel that I already feel like Frankenstein and jokes about how weird my body is aren’t funny when I’m actively sweating.

Another cramp flickers inside me, this one a little stronger than the last. An all too familiar irritable restlessness buzzes through my brain. I need to find Alden. Now.

“Noel, I have to go.”

“Want me to stay on the line with you?”

“I’m in one of the wealthiest zip codes in the country, I think I’ll be alright.”

“Rich people are more dangerous than the working class,” Noel says.

“It’s not that deep, Nono. I was just trying to reassure you.”

“Fine. Consider me reassured. You better call me if you need me to come rescue you, okay?”

“Don’t rescue me unless you bring an alpha with you,” I joke, but it’s not really a joke.

“El—”

“Talk to you later. Love you. Bye.” I hang up before he can reply.

Noel

Rude

I open up the Heat Seekers app without replying. Still down. Fuck. I guess I can just check the three Mexican restaurants in walking distance, but I’m going to spontaneously combust if he’s not there.

A drop of sweat lands on my screen, and despair fills me. It’s hot, it’s not fair, and yes, I know I’m being irrational. But I’m not sure what’s worse—going into heat at a house party or roaming the streets of Laguna Beach during a heat wave, utterly alphaless.

The wind shifts. A refreshing breeze, far less disgusting than the hot blow dryer that’s been blasting me, cools my face, like Mother Nature knew I was about to lose my shit. The scent of salt and vetiver on the air current arrests me.

I only know it’s vetiver because Alden said that was his scent. I had to go test some cologne samples to figure out that vetiver was basically fancy grass. It’s the best lead I have, so I follow my nose down the path.

To the top of the stairway to hell.

I contemplate turning back on each of the hundred steps, or maybe a thousand, but my mouth is salivating at the delectable scent I haven’t sighted yet. It’s not just vetiver. It’s like a meadow, and the way it combines with the salt on the breeze is impossible to resist. It has to be him, and if it isn’t, well, I’ll worry about that later.

I’m burning up like each step downward is another step descending into hell. But my biological clock keeps screaming the time is now, so I can’t help but take another step toward the scent, toward the sliver of sand at the end of the tunnel of trees.

Ugh. Sand. I blink as my eyes adjust to the sunlight glinting off the surf. The waves are rough, clawing at the sand and dragging it back. The beach is deserted, aside from a lone surfer, an unidentifiable person in a black wet suit. Fresh air douses my senses, but the alpha’s scent draws me to a pair of neatly folded board shorts on top of a towel that reeks of coconut, and not the toasted coconut like one of the alphas I fucked last heat.

“Sex Wax?” Hopefully that’s a good omen.

The surfer must be him.

“Alden!” I call to him, but he doesn’t turn his board my way.

I feel dizzy and vaguely nauseous, and start to shiver, a sure sign of an impending heat spike or heatstroke at this point. I strip my shirt and drop it onto the towel. The combination of our mingling scents—coconut excluded—spills slick into the satin panties I definitely wouldn’t have worn had I known I was going into heat.

I moan and bury my face in his board shorts, popping the button of my pants when more slick drips from my hole. There’s an added layer of salt to Alden’s vetiver, fresh and crisp, and I track it to the towel. I toss the wax aside, and ball up the towel with the board shorts, hugging it to my chest.

“Mm,” I hum, burying my nose in it and nuzzling my neck against it, scent growing even more delicious as my scent joins Alden’s.

My body flushes and a mild cramp scratches at my bliss. I whimper, cringing as the contraction in my womb spills more slick from my hole. I’m so hot and I hate sitting in my own slick. I struggle my way out of my pants and use them to wipe the slick sliding down the center of my thighs. Ugh. This is so embarrassing.

My cock strains lewdly against the satin, saturated with slick and nearly transparent, hugging the outline of my dick.

My skin burns, hopefully not from the sun. That’s okay, my alpha can massage aloe vera into my skin after fucking me, or maybe he can use his cum. I moan at the idea even though the remaining logic in my head questions whether an alpha’s cum has medicinal properties.

I’m so hot. Too hot. I’m starting to get scared. What if another alpha discovers me like this?

I call to Alden again, but he’s so far out, he must not be able to see me. I walk to the water, white and frothy as it rushes around my ankles and up the beach. The waves retreat, clawing the sand from beneath my feet.

If he won’t come to me, I’ll go to him.