Chapter 7: Alden - Wrong Date, Right Mates

“I’ll take the check now, Mari.” I tap my card on the table as she approaches.

Elliott’s over an hour late. The Heat Seekers app came back online shortly after I got here, but the last text I got from Elliott was that he was excited to see me and had forgotten the name of the restaurant. I tried calling and texting him through the app to no avail. I even gave him my phone number and address.

I could wait another hour, but I’m conceding defeat. I just don’t get it. He seemed so excited and enthusiastic. Did something happen to him on the way? Did he turn back when he couldn’t get ahold of me? Was he in an accident? Am I pathetic and clueless to even ask myself that?

Mari takes my card and places a lager with an orange slice in front of me.

“On the house,” Julio shouts through a window to the kitchen.

“Thanks, man.” I take a long sip. It’s refreshing as hell, but leaves a sour taste in my mouth. I lower my voice and ask Mari, “Be honest. Is this a pity beer?”

“It’s not a pity beer,” Julio says over his shoulder, back to us. “Call it a sympathy beer.”

I take another swig. “Yep. I can definitely taste the pity. I can’t believe I got stood up at my favorite restaurant.”

“At least you’re among friends,” Julio slides a wet burrito under the heat lamp. “Order up, mija.”

Mari returns my card, smiling kindly. “Your omega is out there. Don’t give up.”

I nod, and take another swig.

Julio slips out of the kitchen, and leans his forearms on the counter beside me, watching Mari deliver the plate to a customer. “What about Tyler?”

“Huh?” I cough mid-swig.

“Invite him to lunch next time.” He slides a napkin toward me, eying me suspiciously. “Just in case your date doesn’t show up.” He winks and returns to the kitchen.

I drain the rest of my beer, even though I don’t feel like it, because the people pleaser in me doesn’t want to disappoint him. Then I tip them a twenty and leave when they’re both preoccupied with a bunch of high schoolers hungry for tacos after school. Tyler and I used to do that too.

Outside, my head swims in the shock of heat. Bright light stings my eyes, and I rub them before tears form, afraid I might actually cry, which would be even more pathetic.

I wish I could talk to Tyler, but it’s been hard for me to be vulnerable after that rejected kiss. My dating failures feel embarrassing. Hopefully, Ty already left for work.

My phone rings. My heart lifts. Maybe it’s Elliott? The brief flicker of hope shrivels when I see Tyler’s name. It’s like he knew I was thinking about him or something. I send it to voicemail and stuff it in my pocket.

He calls again. I reach into my pocket and reject it again. On the third call, I answer.

“Alden?” Waves crash in the background.

I walk faster toward home at the worry in his tone. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“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.

“What happened?” I ask, stepping back to make room for him to pass with Elliott. “Where’s your board?”

“I’ll go back for it later,” he says without stopping.

I hurry up the stairs after him, catching a contact high from the wind wafting their combined scents toward me. My cock fills, and I readjust it down my pant leg. I need to get my shit together.

At the top of the stairs, Tyler slows and waits for me to join him.

“Why are you carrying him? Is he hurt?” I reach out, unable to help myself, and stroke an auburn curl. The omega whimpers softly and nuzzles his face deeper into Tyler’s chest.

It makes me jealous. So fucking jealous. But it’s the same strange sense of jealousy I felt whenever Niall flirted with Tyler. I’m not just jealous that Tyler’s touching my omega. I’m jealous that someone is touching Tyler.

There’s something wrong with me. Obviously.

“He’s fine. Just tired,” Tyler explains, and starts walking again.

I widen my stride to catch up, then stop. I smell something else, something that has saliva filling my mouth. It’s cum, too sweet to be Tyler’s. Tyler has a ton of wet dreams when he’s in rut, and there’s no confusing that with Elliott’s.

What the fuck happened? Oh my god, did they hook up on the beach? The revelation is a punch to the gut, one I can physically feel as vague nausea and heartache fills me.

A driver taps their horn. “Get out of the road!”

I jump. My pulse thunders in my ears. Tyler stops, hazarding a quick glance before he continues up the hill.

“Sorry.” I wave at the driver and hurry across Pacific Coast Highway with ringing ears.

By the time I catch up with Tyler, I’m sweaty, out of breath, and have a stitch in my side. Today is the most annoying day ever. “Tired himself out how? What exactly happened?”

“He wanted to find you so badly, he followed your scent down all those steps to your board shorts, and thought I was you. Then he almost drowned.”

“Almost drowned?”

Elliott stirs, but Tyler hushes him soothingly, the same way he once consoled a wounded pigeon he’d rescued from seagulls.

“Don’t talk so loud,” he whispers to me.

I clench my fists. Adrenaline floods my bloodstream, and my alpha instincts are screaming that my omega almost drowned, and I need to protect him. “Tyler, if you don’t tell me everything right now, I’m going to fucking lose it.”

Tyler glances sideways at me.

“Sorry,” I add.

“Anyway, I ate shit,” he continues where we left off. “He called out to me from the shore, and I was so distracted by his scent, I got my shit rocked by a wave. He thought I, or I guess you, needed rescuing.”

“Did you need rescuing?”

“Nah,” he smiles ruefully. “It sounds worse than it was. He got stuck in the rip current, and I got to him quickly.”

I exhale, and click my tongue. “Poor little omega.”

Tyler looks down at Elliott fondly. “You’re going to love him. He’s brave, and he likes you enough to rescue you. He’s scared of sharks too.”

“So that’s it? That’s all that happened?”

“No, but we can talk about that later.”

“Ty…”

He shakes his head. “Later,” he says with the dominant role in our relationship. Ordinarily, it soothes me, but not right now.

Tyler eyes me up and down. “How’d you get out of your wet suit?” he asks, wry humor in his tone.

“With a lot of f-bombs and a coat hanger. I almost asked Mrs. Bollard to help me.”

“You should have. Let her check off that bucket list…”

“First of all, you better shut your mouth about Mrs. Bollard before she hears you. She’ll kick your ass and outlive you. Second, seeing me naked is not a bucket-list item.”

“I think she wants to do more than look.”

“Fuck you,” I say without any bite.

We walk in uncomfortable silence up the stairs and into the house. Tyler looks around the living room like it’s infested with vermin and he’s trying to find the safest place to put Elliott.

“The couch?” I suggest.

He nods, and lowers him onto it. Elliott rolls onto his back, still asleep. The towel parts to reveal silken skin, so flawless he looks painted. Thick lashes smashed together. Berry-tinted lips parted. Cheeks flushed. Sweat dewing on his brow.

“He’s naked.” I say the obvious like an idiot.

“Yeah.” Tyler adjusts the towel to cover Elliott’s lap with a doting gentleness that fills me with envy. “Let’s talk in the kitchen.”