“Let’s go check out the fragrance oils and work on finding the right blend for Park’s candle.”
I’m going to be late. Crap.
Turns out, making a custom candle while also helping the influx of last-minute Valentine’s Day gift shoppers is alot. It didn’t help that even with the sign flipped to “Closed”, a desperate-looking alpha saw Karissa inside while she was picking up her candle and came in.
I didn’t want to turn him away, my omega disliking conflict and the prospect of being alone in my shop with an upset alpha almost twice my size. So I let him shop, trying not to panic as the minutes ticked by and my time to get ready for my date dwindled to a fraction of what I’d need.
“Ah, fuck!” There’s not even time for me to wait for the water to heat up in my shower, so I endure what feels like freezing needles poking into my skin as I scrub down with my scent-neutralizing body wash.
Normally, I’d shave before a date, but there’s no time, so my small amount of stubble will have to stay.
I release a stream of profanity when I realize that none of my scent-blocking underwear is clean. I was going to do a load of laundry after work. The lacy briefs I’d picked up on a whim taunt me from their resting place at the back of my underwear drawer, saying, “you’ve fantasized about wearing sexy lingerie on a date, so here’s your chance.”
Normally, I chicken out, worrying about what would happen if I got aroused, and an alpha scented my perfume. I have a litany of horror stories my omega dad told me to draw my worries from. Cautionary tales about how alphas fall into ruts at the mere scent of omega perfume, how they push and won’t take no for an answer, and how they’ll give you a bonding bite against your will.
If Dad could’ve convinced a doctor to give it to me, he would’ve put me on Preventar—that drug that keeps an omega from presenting—lack of clinical trials on male omegas be damned. Instead, I’ve been on heavy-duty heat suppressants since I presented, because god forbid I end up in such a vulnerable state.
Dad’s paranoid voice rattling around in my head will have to deal. Not every alpha is a brute. I won’t be in danger because I wore lacy underwear on a date.
Hell, isn’t that the goal of this dating thing? Letting an alpha know I’m interested, and finally getting what I spend far too much of my free time fantasizing about? There’s only so much writing smutty fanfics and jerking off can do.
I need to get laid. I’m a 26-year-old omega who has never been knotted, for fuck’s sake. It’s time.
A jolt of nerves hits me knowing that time could be soon, if my blind date goes well. I don’t see why it wouldn’t. From everything I’ve heard, we’ll be a great match.
The alarm on my phone telling me it’s time to leave chimes, and I swear.
None of this will matter if I’m so late for my date that they’re gone by the time I get there.
I order a rideshare and, miraculously, am dressed and scrambling down the stairs from the apartment above my shop when it pulls up. Waving frantically toward the car to let them know I’m coming, I race out to the street and lock the door behind me, swearing when it sticks a bit. I almost get clotheslined by a couple holding hands as I blindly rush toward the rideshare.
“Sorry!” I exhale when I slide into the backseat.
“No problem.” The voice is deeper than I’d expected. The car smells like peppermint, cigarettes, andalpha.
My pulse spikes, eyes widening as I finally notice the middle-aged alpha man sitting in the driver’s seat.
Shit, I forgot to check the box for needing a beta driver.
He stares back at me, and I fight to keep my composure.
You shouldn’t get into cars with strangers, Archer. It’s too dangerous. Some lunatic alpha could take one look at you and drive off with you wherever they want.
When I don’t say anything, the alpha’s brow twists. “We headed to Parlor?”
“Oh! Yes. Correct. Thank you.”
“Sure thing.” The driver turns his focus to the road, seemingly disinterested in kidnapping a sweaty, flustered omega.
Of course he is. He’s just doing his damn job.
I hate that I’m like this. I hate that Dad’s voice won’t shut the hell up. It’s important to be cautious, but there’s a difference between caution and not being able to live your damn life because you’re constantly worried about a quarter of the population being predators.
I pull out my phone and text my date that I’m on my way, but running late, then switch over to my gaming guild’s group chat.
Archnemesis: If you read about a very cute omega getting abducted and murdered by an alpha serial killer who preys on rideshare passengers, it’s probably me.
Bow2MePeasants: See, this is what happens when you decide to go on a date instead of joining our raid.
