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No.
But I can’t say that.
My fingers hesitate, as I try to work out what to type.
SEVEN: SV…?
SWEET VENOM: Thinking.
I bite my lip.
Seven isn’t my Alpha or lover. Is he a friend?
He’s begun to feel like one.
We both wanted to be friends, before we helped each other through our heats and ruts.
So, I can share some of my life.
SWEET VENOM: I didn’t really sleep.
SEVEN: I’m sorry. Want to talk about it?
I wriggle around, getting more comfortable in my nest.
SWEET VENOM: Just family shit. Dads, you know?
There’s a long pause.
I stare at the screen.
Perhaps, I’m pushing things.
My heart beats faster.
Seven seems to be a good guy, but this isn’t meant to be an emotional connection, and here I am, talking about family.
I let out a breath of relief, when his next message pops up.
SEVEN: I definitely know. Dads, Head Alphas…or as I call them…dicks.
I let out a startled laugh.
Suddenly, I wish more than anything that I knew what Seven looked like, smelled like.
Fuck my OHS.
I want Seven for more than the physical necessity of his knot to save my life.
He’s my scent match.
Knowing that he’s on the other side of this screen is agonizing.
We both agreed to get to know each other, before we moved onto anything physical. But still, every time that Seven surprises me like how he can make me laugh when I’m down, it becomes harder to hold on until my heat.
To distract myself, I reach for the cookbook on the nightstand, which I’ve been intending to spend the next hour flicking through in order to get ideas for the cake contest.
It’s yellowed at the edges and gritty with sugar and old cookie dough from sticky fingers. It’s homemade with a stiff pink cover with the donut logo on the front that Vito and I chose to use for the logo of our bakery.
