Of course, they don’t.
“Where you going, looking like that, sweetheart?”
I ignore them. I have my headphones in, so it’s reasonable that I wouldn’t have heard him. There’s no sound coming through the earbuds, but they don’t know that. I wear them most places I go as a deterrent for unwanted advances, and most are polite enough to respect that. These alphas are not.
“Hey, don’t ignore me, baby.”
I keep walking.
There’s enough traffic on the sidewalk that I have no reason to be afraid, and I’ve trained my omega to stand down in these sorts of situations, so I remain calm. Besides, if any of them touches me, they’ll get a face full of pepper spray and a swift kickto the balls. I smile to myself at the mental image of a crying alpha on his knees, clutching his crotch.
They follow me at a distance, catcalling and hurling insults about me not even being their type—too fat, too ugly, too many tattoos, too much of a slut. Their words don’t bother me, but the indifference of the other people walking past sure as fuck does.
I lock eyes with an alpha walking toward me, who is pointedly averting his eyes and clutching a bouquet, and get directly in his path. He skids to a stop in front of me, surprised, and I glare at him, tearing out one earbud.
“Really, dude? You’re going to watch an omega get treated like this and just walk by? What the fuck is wrong with you?” I spin around and face the trio of dudes behind me. “What the fuck is wrong withallof you?”
They look at me in shock, the alpha bystander spluttering and the main catcaller turning red. “It was just a joke. Chill out, lady,” one of his buddies says with an uncomfortable laugh.
“Harassing an omega on the street isn’t a joke, asshole. What did you think would happen? That I’d hear you calling me a fat slut, and I’d giggle and get on my knees for you? That you could compensate for your limp dicks by making an omega scared? Do you feel powerful now?” I’m shouting, and more people have stopped to watch my tirade.
Good. They should see that this kind of shit isn’t okay.
At least the harassing alphas have enough brain cells to realize they have too big an audience to get more aggressive with me.
“Do you?” I prompt again.
That gets a mumbled “no” from one of them.
I turn back to the alpha with the bouquet. “Hope your date likes cowards.”
He blinks at me, starting an apology that I’m not going to stick around to hear. There’s a few weak claps from bystanders as I storm off.
I’m only a few blocks away from the restaurant, and when I get there, I haven’t had nearly enough time to cool off, but I’ll be late if I don’t go in now.
Why am I even doing this? I shouldn’t go in there like this, seething and inner omega on high alert. But I’m stubborn, and I put in the effort to get dressed and make myself go on this pointless date, so I’m going to do it, goddamnit.
I lift my chin and head into the restaurant, and check in at the host stand. The beta working there tells me our table isn’t ready yet, and gestures over toward the bar area to indicate I should wait there.
I frown at the crowd of people sitting at the bar, really wishing I’d asked for a picture of my date. Not that they would’ve given it to me. They don’t want matches to make their first judgements based on appearances.
I pull out my phone and send a message to my date, letting him know I’m here. My stomach lurches when a dark-haired alpha in a suit turns toward me and waves. Ugh, no, he looks way too alpha finance bro for me. I know I shouldn’t judge based on appearances, but dammit.
I’m about to wave back when a leggy beta walks by me, grinning at him.
Oh.
Well, that would’ve been embarrassing if I’d waved back.
There’s not enough time to be relieved when my actual date catches my eye, looking up from his phone with a nervous smile.
My stomach twists again, though this time not unpleasantly.
Oh.
chapter 4
. . .
