Sitting up, I click on the laptop’s space bar, making the screensaver disappear and Goldcrest’s website appear.
First event of the new academic year. Applicants have until Monday to apply for entry.
The application form is simple, and the rules seem pretty clear.
Any Alphas, Betas or Packs wishing entry should expect to pass a basic security check.
There are a few short questions beyond the obvious that seem to be there for the purpose of finding out what kind of guy the applicant is.
What do you expect to get out of this event?
What qualities are you looking for in an Omega?
Do you believe in true mates?
This is probably what they’re using to weed out any creeps or weirdos who don’t have any previous crimes under their belts.
It wouldn’t be hard to sound like a decent average guy looking for a mate.
I’ve been that guy. I know what it’s like to navigate the dating scene.
I sit back, looking at the date of the social.
Next week. Seven days away.
It sounds like forever but considering Jeff’s likely blocking my number from his phone right now, I have to admit, I’m tempted to fill out the application.
I’d have to lie about looking for a mate, and that part could get sticky.
I’m not used to faking anything, so my initial instinct is to list all four of us as a pack looking for a female Omega. But when I look at the information they need, I realize that won’t work.Harper’s an Omega, and they might think that means we’re complete, regardless of how we feel.
If they rejected us because we already have an Omega, we’d have no recourse.
It’s a risk, and I don’t know if it’s a risk worth taking.
My mates are already sick of my mood.
Asking them to indulge me like this feels excessive.
I should let it go.
Forget all about the frail redhead who slept against me in the back of the car for hours, like I was the first comfortable place she’d found in forever.
What the hell is wrong with me?
She’s a random stranger.
My mates are my life partners.
It shouldn’t be this hard to choose between them.
But when I try to close the laptop and forget about her, I can’t.
She wasn’t okay. She needed to be protected, and she wasn’t.
I need to know she is now. I can’t let this go until I’ve seen her for myself.
The water stops running in the bathroom, and I move to the edge of the couch, filling out the form with a few omissions, and then answering their three important questions like a man who has true mates and respects an Omega’s rights, because it’s who I am.
