Page 14

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.