“Well, there you go! Get some nice clothes that weren’t purchased a decade ago—don’t forget new shoes—and go to a barber.”
I run a hand through my hair. “What’s wrong with my hair?” I might not love much about my appearance, but my hair has always been one of my nicest features.
“Not your hair, dude. Your beard. Not everyone is into the viking mountain man look.”
“Not everyone is into my look in general,” I mutter.
“Stop it. You’re handsome. And if this omega is your match, then looks won’t matter much. Your scents will tell each other that you’re fated to be together.” Nadine lets out a dreamy sigh.
“We won’t be able to smell each other,” I remind her. It’s common courtesy to wear scent neutralizers when out in public spaces, and even if it weren’t, I checked the box in the scent-matching service’s survey that indicated I wanted to have a scentless first meeting.
God, what was I thinking? My scent is the only thing I have going for me in this situation.
At the time, I was worried about popping a knot the second I smelled my scent match. But an inconvenient boner sounds a lot better right now than an inconvenient appearance and personality.
Nadine’s voice softens. “Sweet, wonderful gift to all omegas, who would be so lucky to have an alpha like you as their scent match, I can hear you worrying.”
I huff at her compliments. I know she only tells me those things because she’s my older sister and my best friend. She’s not objective, but her love still feels nice.
“What are you worried about?”
A lump forms in my throat, and my legs feel too shaky to hold myself up. I move to my bed and collapse back on it, letting out a heavy sigh. “Everything.”
My scent match taking one look at me and running the other way.
Them not running and pretending to like me for the sake of politeness.
Thinking that, against all odds, this omega is my match, starting a pack together, and then being abandoned when it turns out I’m too broken.
Again.
Fuck. I swipe at the tears welling in my eyes, hoping Nadine can’t tell I’m crying. She’s dealt with my tears too many times, and I don’t want to worry her.
I’m doing better. The meds are helping. I’m crying, but I’m okay.
“I’m sorry,” Nadine murmurs when I’m unable to speak without betraying my lack of composure. “I pushed you to dothis. I just…You deserve this, Beau. You don’t believe me, but you’re so lovable. If I ever meet any of those jerks in a Nesting parking lot, I’m going to kick their asses for making you think you’re not enough.”
A weak laugh bubbles out of me. “That’s oddly specific.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve read that the best goals are ones that are specific and measurable.”
I laugh harder, but the worry remains. “I don’t think I can go through that again.”
“You won’t,” she says, voice adamant. “I’m not excusing their behavior, but they were young and dumb and hormonal. Maybe this omega won’t be right for you, and that’s okay. Someone, or multiple someones, will be. But you’ll never find them if you don’t try.”
Her words settle into my chest. They’re nothing I haven’t told myself already. That my therapist hasn’t reminded me of. But once again, Nadine has some kind of magic that makes my stubborn, scared brain listen. It’s why I even agreed to try the scent-matching service in the first place.
“Okay.” I sigh and sit up, grabbing a tissue to wipe my nose. “I’m okay. I can do this.”
“Fuck yeah, you can. Now go make yourself pretty for your omega. And call me once the date is over! Unless it goes really well and it isn’t over until tomorrow, in which case just text me when you’re not in the thick of things to say that I was right and that I’m the smartest and best sister in the world.”
“That’s not going to happen.” It’ll be a miracle if I make it through this date and my scent match wants to see me again.
“Weirder things have happened. Try to have some fun.”
“I’ll…try.”
Nadine snorts. “I’m hanging up now. Love you.”
