Page 7 of The Boss Omega
"Too much?"
"Little bit."
"Still true though."
She’s right. I did build a company from scratch. Run a multi-national business before thirty. I know how to walk into a room and own it.
But this. This is different. This is my body. And my body has never once done what I've told it to. Not during heat. Not ever. I can negotiate a contract, manage a warehouse crisis at two in the morning, hold it together at my parents' funeral when I was twenty-three and had absolutely no business holding it together. But the moment a heat starts I am not me anymore. I'm just pain and need and want, and I can't think or plan or control a single thing. The last time I was so far gone I couldn't even get to the phone. I had to roll to the edge of my nest like some kind of wounded animal just to call for help.
That is what I'm trying to fix. That is what thirty strangers on an app are supposed to fix.
I do not want to be the one to make the first move.
I don’t want to do this at all.
I don’t want toneedto do it.
What I want is to drown myself in heat suppressants and pretend my needy omega biology doesn’t exist. Except suppressants turn me into a crampy, bloated, nauseous mess. And they don’t even stop my heats from coming.
“Here’s what I would write,” Cammie mumbles around a mouthful of chips. She swallows then takes a drink of her margarita before continuing. “VEEP or Seinfeld?”
“What kind of question is that?”
“It’s the perfect question! If they answer Seinfeld, then you know they aren’t for you. Jerry Seinfeld was the center of that show. Not enough screen time for Elaine’s character, if you ask me.”
“And if they say VEEP?”
Cammie rolls her eyes. “Then obviously they like women. Smart, in-charge women. It was JLD’s best role. We both know it.”
It was.
We order a flight of tacos to share and continue brainstorming first text questions.
What’s your favorite pasta shape?
Beer or water?
What’s your opinion on public displays of scenting?
Have you ever cried after a knot?
Do you talk during or…?
“How about, ‘Have you serviced any other omegas this quarter?’”
“That’s insane. I’m not sending that!”
After two rounds of strong margaritas, three tacos each, and too many chips to count, I settle on my question.
Who’s your celebrity crush?
Safe. Neutral. Not knot-related.
I stare at the blinking cursor. My thumb hovers. Then I hit send. My heart does that stupid fast thing again.
Holy shit balls.
Lark
