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Once I do, he crosses to a sleek, nondescript wine fridge beneath a narrow side table stocked with water, sparkling and still, Sumo oranges, and favorite snacks of mine, like peanut butter pretzels and chocolate brioche.
What did I do to deserve him? The contrast is so jarring from my last heat, or any other, to be honest.
“We never got to discussing protection,” he says without turning, like he’s giving me privacy to think while he plunks three ice cubes into the glass. “I have condoms. And I got tested recently.”
“Me too.” I had a lot of testing after the alpha smorgasbord.
“Given how irregular your heats are, I assume it’s best to use condoms?” He twists open a bottle of my favorite peach mango juice and pours it over the ice.
“Yeah. I don’t want to risk it. My doctor basically knows nothing about how my body works.”
He turns, making eye contact. “Of course. I’m happy to use condoms.”
I nod.
“Now drink.” He passes me the juice.
“Good omega,” he says once I’ve drained half of it. “Okay, now don’t hate me, but I think we should take a quick shower before we nest.”
I open my mouth, intent on having the most melodramatic tantrum when he says, “Sand, remember?”
Fucking sand.
11 TYLER
Iswipe my badge against the key reader and the glass doors part, letting me into the research building. Then I turn on my resting dick face and stomp up the stairs to my lab. The few people I pass dart out of the way.
I shower at the doctor’s lounge, and scrub my entire body twice to eliminate any trace of Elliott. But I can still smell him, and I’m afraid everyone will smell him on me. I feel so possessive, I don’t want anyone to smell the ghost of his scent on me. I debate exfoliating off the first layer of my skin with a surgical scrub brush, but decide against it.
Clearly, I’m losing it.
I paste a scent-blocker patch over my gland because I’m paranoid everyone around me will somehow know the turmoil inside my body. I even take an emergency rut suppressant just in case. I can’t tell how much of my agitation is because I left an omega in heat with another alpha, or because I’m on the verge of the worst rut of my life. I hope to hell I’m not.
I’ve never spent a rut without Alden’s support. It’s not sexual. Just him making sure I’m fed, or calming me with his scent, making sure I feel safe, like I won’t do something I regret. I’m going to have to figure that out soon, I guess. I can’t rely on him for shit like that. I should have stopped a long time ago.
The door to my lab is locked, and when I let myself in, the lights are off. The workstations are vacant, grad students nowhere to be seen.
I exhale tightly. Thank fuck. I wasn’t sure what to expect when I asked my lab manager to send everyone home before I got there. We’ve all been pretty stressed and working late to make this grant deadline. And some of my alpha researchers walk all over Reese because he’s an omega, which pisses me the fuck off. They should respect him just as much as they respect me.
Omegas are stronger than alphas. I don’t care what society says. They have to battle their bodies even more than an alpha does, and deal with everyone pawing at them.
Maybe today’s the day I make a breakthrough with my research. Hell, I’ll settle for just a little progress. I’m more motivated now than ever to create an effective suppressant after seeing what Elliott’s hormones did to him. He could have drowned from a poorly timed cramp. It’s nonsense.
The door to Reese’s office is ajar, and a beam of light sneaks through. I suppress my irritation. Technically, I didn’t ask Reese to go home too.
He ducks his head out of his office. “Hey, Ty. Everything okay?”
I nod. “Thanks for taking care of things. You should head home too.”
“You look like shit,” he says, following me into my office, holding his messenger bag over his stomach like a pillow.
“I feel like it too.”
“You want to talk about it?”
“Definitely not,” I snap, and tap my keyboard to wake my computer, pressing down a little too hard on purpose to release some tension. “Sorry. It’s me, not you.”
“All good, Boss.”
