And Jalen Knightley... He’s… Honestly, I don’t have much dirt on Jalen. He’s quieter than the others and handles the creative side. The one time we’d had a conversation, at a conference last year, he’d actually been nice. Complimented my floral arrangements. I’d been so surprised I’d stammered out a thank you and fled.
But he’s part of their pack, which makes him guilty by association.
Being an omega trying to build a business without a pack is hard enough in Sweetwater City. Having competitors like the Knightley pack just sucks balls.
I realize I’m clenching my jaw and force myself to relax. This is exactly what I’m here to avoid. Stress. Anger. Thoughts of alphas who make me want to commit professional murder.
I have one week. Seven perfect days to let my heat run its course, eat my weight in ice cream, and maybe remember what relaxation feels like.
And I’m going to start by unpacking.
I force myself up to drag my luggage in from the entryway. I’ve packed like I’m preparing for a siege, which... isn’t entirely inaccurate. Heat weeks require supplies.
First, priorities: nest materials.
I dump the contents of my largest duffel onto the bed. Soft blankets tumble out. My favorite fleece throw. The weighted quilt my mom made before she died. The wool wrap Mia gave me last Christmas. I arrange them carefully, already planning the nest architecture. The bed is big enough for me to build something truly spectacular. Maybe a pillow fort situation. I’ve brought eight pillows specifically for that purpose.
Next: comfort foods.
The kitchen is a dream. There’s a six-burner gas stove and a refrigerator that’s bigger than my first apartment. I start loading it with supplies. Frozen pizzas. Chocolate. Those ridiculously delicious macaroons from the Sweet Omega bakery. Ingredients for my mom’s congee recipe, in case I want to stress-cook.
And ice cream. So much ice cream.
“Okay, friends,” I say, arranging the pints in the freezer. “Let me introduce you to your temporary home. This is Ben, Jerry, Häagen, and Dazs. Yes, I named you after your manufacturers. No, I don’t think that’s weird.”
I step back to admire my work. Four different flavors: chocolate fudge brownie, strawberry cheesecake, coffee chip, and salted caramel. One for each day of peak heat, plus extras for emergencies.
“We’re going to get through this together,” I tell them solemnly. “You’re going to be there for me when my temperature spikes and I’m too boneless to do anything but eat frozen dairy products. I’m going to appreciate you deeply and not judge myself for consuming an entire pint in one sitting. It’s a beautiful relationship.”
The ice cream does not respond.
I shut the freezer and move on to the final essential category: entertainment.
I’ve brought a stack of romance novels that would make my book club clutch their pearls. Omega/alpha romances with guaranteed happy endings, the spicier the better. If I’m going to spend a week being a hormone-addled mess, I might as well enjoy some fictional hormone-addled messes too.
There’s also a tablet loaded with my favorite comfort shows, a Bluetooth speaker for music, and a journal in case I feel like doing any of that “self-reflection” nonsense Mia’s always going on about.
I survey my supplies with satisfaction. I’m prepared. I’m ready.
I’m also starting to feel weird.
The telltale signs are creeping in. The air conditioning is on, but I’m still uncomfortably hot. And everything smellsintense. The ocean breeze coming through the open window, the faint citrus scent of the dishwashing soap in the kitchen, the lingering aroma of whatever cleaning products they used on the hardwood.
Pre-heat symptoms. Right on schedule.
I’ve been suppressing my heats for almost a year, using medication to delay them so I could focus on work. Building a business as a solo omega means I can’t afford to take a week off every few months. The suppressants have worked well enough, but my doctor was clear: I need to let my body cycle naturally, and soon.
So here I am. About to spend seven days riding out the heat I’ve been postponing.
I’ve saved like hell for this, so I’m going to enjoy it.
I strip off my jeans and sweater, suddenly desperate to get out of my clothes. I replace them with the softest t-shirt I own and sleep shorts, sighing with relief as the fabric settles against my overheated skin.
Better. Much better.
I catch a glimpse of myself in the bedroom’s full-length mirror and pause. My cheeks are flushed, my skin a warmer tone than usual. Hair has escaped from my ponytail in wild strands. I look...
Well, I look like an omega about to go into heat.
