Chapter 4: Tyler - Wrong Date, Right Mates

All the other surfers have left. Even the masochist jogging up and down the stairs for the last hour has finally finished. But I’m still here, fingers pruned and partially pickled, body pummeled by waves growing with each set.

I don’t know what I’m doing here. I don’t know why I can’t get out of the water. Maybe it’s because if I leave the ocean, I’ll have to confront the fact that Alden is on a date and my life is about to change. Because Alden doesn’t half-ass a relationship. He's all in from day one, loyal as a fucking penguin, which makes breakups all the more painful for him.

He didn’t even mention the last two omegas he dated. I scented them on him and tracked his changing moods from excitement to eventual disappointment.

I don’t get it. Alden’s a catch. He’s objectively attractive, facial features carved by Michelangelo, blue eyes bright and friendly, glowing skin dotted with the occasional freckle. He’s rich as hell, a great listener, and most importantly—when he loves you, you’ll know it. He’s not shy about it.

That’s why I know he isn’t in love with me.

Thank fuck for that. Relationships ruin friendships. I saw it firsthand with my parents. All it took was one heat and some bad decisions led to a teen pregnancy that destroyed their friendship.

Neither one of them were ready for kids. Obviously. My omega mom openly resented me, like I spontaneously appeared to ruin her life, and my alpha dad didn’t know what to do with me, leaving my grandpa to raise me.

I love Alden too much to let that happen. I need to let Alden find the omega he needs.

I force my attention to the building set of waves. The surf is choppy, whipped by the wind rushing offshore, carrying with it a delicate floral scent.

A man is standing in the seafoam. No. Not just a man, an omega dressed in nothing but a Speedo.

Obviously it’s not Alden. The man is more slender, shorter statured, and has fairer skin. Besides, Alden could never sneak up on me. I know his scent so well I tracked his progress home, and he’s never smelled so sweetly, like an omega nearing heat.

Wind plucks at the auburn curls flouncing at the base of the omega’s neck, and his scent blooms like a flower with the next gust of wind. My mouth salivates. What type of flower? I have to know so I can buy some to jack off with later.

No. A flower is a flower, and I don’t jack off with flowers. I shake my head and splash my face with water. I don’t like how suggestible my mind is, how loosely I’m holding onto control. Maybe Alden has a point. It’s been way too long since I’ve hooked up with someone, but what am I supposed to do? Have meaningless sex even though I’m demisexual and don’t want to? Maybe that’s exactly what I need to do, especially if Alden’s found someone new. A hollow sense of misery settles into my gut.

This is why my research is so important. I don’t want to be attracted to Alden, and I don’t want to be forced into fucking someone just to appease the evolutionary impulse to breed.

The omega waves and calls toward me, but I can’t make out what he’s saying. The breeze kicks up and his scent whispers come hither. No. It doesn’t whisper. It assaults my senses.

Isn’t it dangerous to smell that delicious? What if the wrong alpha scents him?

He disappears behind a swelling wave. I hadn’t realized I’d drifted with the current toward him. I bail out of the wave before it crests and wait out the set, watching the angry waves crash on the shore, much too close to the omega. I should go in and warn him about the waves, and make sure he applied sunscreen. The wind shifts, and his scent travels across the water and out to me. It’s a little citrusy. Lime? No. Too tart for the omega’s sweetness. Meyer lemon? Close, but not quite.

Orange blossom. That must be it. My grandpa was one of the last to sell his orchards to land developers. I was six, and most of my memories of the farm are hazy, except for that scent. It reminds me of late summer, running barefoot on the cool grass between the rows of trees.

I let myself drift, enchanted by the way my memories blend with his scent. He cups his hands around his mouth and calls to me again. I paddle forward, and stop short when he waves his hands and points.

He cups his hands around his mouth and shouts, “Look out!”

Wham. A wave clobbers me from behind.

For fuck’s sake. An omega’s scent shouldn’t distract me from a rule ingrained in me before I could swim—never turn your back on the ocean.

I cartwheel through the water like a rag doll in a washing machine, towed along by my board. Well, that’s embarrassing as hell.

I haven’t had a wipeout like that since high school, back when Alden and I took the bus to the beach every day after school. There were so many times one or both of us were pinned to the sand, basically getting sandblasted until the wave passed and we could stand. He’d reach out, or I would. Even then, we always looked out for each other.

When I resurface in the shallows, the omega is nowhere to be found, his orange-blossom scent extinguished like a candle blown out. I scan the beach, and then the waves, and spot a flash of auburn, barely visible in the white froth of churning eddies. The omega’s fighting to swim to the jagged rocks, a truly terrible idea. The water is so aerated, it makes swimming even more difficult.

I get back on my board and paddle toward him, duck diving through the waves, but each time I pop back up, he’s farther away, tiring himself out fighting the rip current.

I whistle sharply. “Don’t fight it, just float.”

By the time I reach him, he’s in full-blown panic, frantic and flailing like a cat forced to take a bath. I hop off my board and push it towards him. He grabs a hold of it, but can barely cling to it, so I push his ass and legs onto the board. Which is when I realize he’s not wearing a Speedo.

Nope. Powder blue satin briefs. Jesus.

He turns his cheek to the side, eyes still closed as he catches his breath. Then, “Thanks, Al—” His eyes widen and he sits up so fast, he topples off the board and into the water.

Before I can get to him, he yelps and sinks like a stone. I dive down to grab him, reaching the end of my leash just as I encircle his wrist.

He’s pale-faced and wide-eyed when we resurface, and silent as I hoist him onto the board again. He flattens his body against it, knuckles blanching as he grips each side, and draws his legs in so they don’t hang over the edge.

His scent is subdued and doused with saltwater, but up close it’s more intense, and I want to sip each anxious breath straight from his lips.

Stupid alpha logic.

“Okay. No sudden movements.” Treading water, I loop an arm over his lower back before my omega tries to fall in again.

No. Not my omega. The omega. An omega. A complete stranger.

His skin is far too warm for a swim in the Pacific, and he’s breathing too fast, skin over ribs like a fledgling bird. Shit. Is he going into heat? Is that why he’s affecting me like this?

“Are you…” I trail off. How the fuck do I ask that? If I were him, I’d probably rather drown than face the awkwardness. “Are you okay?”

Blush dusts his cheeks as he lifts his head and meets my gaze with doe eyes a pale shade of hazel. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“Can you swim?”

His statuesque brows wrinkle. “Of course I can. I was trying to rescue you.”

I sputter. “Rescue me? What?”

His pert nose twitches, and it’s annoyingly adorable. “You were under the water for a really long time. I was worried.”

“I was fine. The first rule of rescuing someone is: don’t, unless you’re a lifeguard.”

Alden and I had the quintessential south Orange County junior lifeguard experience—a summer training camp culminating with a jump off the end of the pier. But I actually worked as one every summer to earn extra cash.

“Thanks for the attempt, though,” I add, but still sound like a condescending dick. “And for your um… chivalry.”

A dimple flashes on his upturned cheek as he smirks. He looks very pretty when he smirks. No. Not pretty. I’m not falling for a damsel omega in distress.

He shivers and eyes the water with concern. “Aren’t you going to get on here too?”

“Nah. I’m good.”

“But what about sharks?”

“What about them?”

He peers at the water again. “What if there’s one down there.”

“There aren’t any sharks. I think.” I tighten my grip on the other side of the board and reach down to unlatch my board leash.

“What are you doing?”

“Checking for sharks.”

His eyes narrow. “That’s not funny.”

“I’m going to slip the leash onto your ankle in case you fall off again.” I wait for him to nod before fastening it around his ankle, ignoring the way his calf flexes and his breath catches.

He’s quiet for a beat. “But what if a shark bites the board and now I’m attached to it?”

“I’ll wrestle it while you make a clean getaway.”

He laughs and it sounds like motherfucking wedding bells. “My hero.”

I swallow hard. “You remind me of my friend.”

“Your smart friend who has a healthy fear of sharks?”

I grin, so charmed by this omega, I’m like a happier alternate version of myself. Then he smiles, and my dick twitches at the idea of those berry-tinted lips wrapping around my cock.

Great, now I’m hard. For fuck’s sake. His blush deepens like he scents my arousal too. Maybe he does. He averts his gaze to the board, and the broken eye contact lifts the spell.

I steer us toward shore, keeping a watchful eye on the omega as he grows quiet and rests his head on the board. A few seconds later, he gasps, then grimaces.

“Cramp. Leg cramp,” he says briskly before I can ask if he’s okay.

I kick faster, the caveman inside me chanting Must get omega to shore. Can’t knot omega if he drowns. Thankfully, sanity prevails.

A decent wave gathers.

“If we get separated again, don’t fight the riptide. Just paddle parallel to the shore like I did, then go in. And don’t try to rescue me. I’m a strong swimmer when I’m not distracted by a cute omega.” I cringe bodily. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I said that.”

He laughs. “That’s okay, alpha.”

My cock twitches. “Please don’t call me that.”

“What should I call you then?”

“My name. Tyler.”

“Okay, alpha.”