Page 40 of The Heat of Us

The other nurse pushed back the loose waves of hair that had fallen into his face. “Shit, ok. Now I can breathe,” he mumbled slightly, clutching his chest.

I gestured with my thumb. “Do you need the crash cart?” I offered jokingly.

“No. Save it for the actual patients,” he said ruefully. “You handled that pretty well.”

I laughed and shook my head. “I was screaming inside, I promise you.”

“Well, that makes me feel better.”

“I’m Ben, by the way,” I added, holding out my hand.

The beta grinned as he took it. “Aleks.”

12

HAZEL

At this point, I could almost mouth the words to the terms and conditions alongside the heat services consultant.

“…the National Omega Commission will perform due diligence regarding the sexual health of heat partners but cannot be held responsible for any other factors including how heat partners react when in rut. By signing this agreement you agree to hold the National Omega Commission free of any liability regardless of reason and circumstance.”

“Jill,” I lamented. “Why do I have to listen to this every time?”

The other woman broke out of her professional reverie to give me a light smack on the arm with her sheaf of papers. “’Cause it’s my job, you numpty.”

Jill railed against the strict dress code NOC demanded of its employees with giant, plastic earrings (today she had naked breasts that formed an upside-down heart) and colourful streaks through her natural grey hair.

I liked her, even when she was boring the living daylights out of me.

“You wouldn’t have to listen to it so often if you used your previous heat partners,” Jill scolded me breezily. She cleared her throat and continued while my brain slowly migrated off with the fairies.

And settled firmly on thoughts of Ben.

He had surprised me. From what I’d heard about newly awakened alphas, they were loose testosterone cannons shooting rage and aggression at the slightest spring breeze.

What did I get instead? A fucking delight of a conversational partner who did not seem to baulk no matter how demented or ridiculous I was.

There’s a reason he’s your scent match, crooned the tiny, know-it-all voice in my head. I shut her up immediately, because I could not afford to have emotions get involved with what I was about to do. I kept reminding myself that having my heat tended to was a necessary medical need of mine.

Heat services was the best way to do it.

I turned back to Jill, trying to focus.

Jill had scheduled four interviews for me today. Back to back with three alternates lined up tomorrow if I didn’t gel with any of the alphas from today. They had all passed my scent check, i.e. did not repulse me and I could see myself riding their fun sticks.

When I first started using heat services, I usually had packs tending to me, or pairs of single alphas. But once I realised rebooking them was not an option, I stuck with one purely for mathematical reasons.

I had many more heats to come and alpha heat partners, despite what people might think, were a non-finite supply. It didn’t work as well — several admitted afterwards that they had struggled to keep up with me — but it was necessary.

Jill finally finished up and I signed along the dotted line a little too voraciously.

“Ok, you eager beaver,” she said, her amused exasperation clear. “Let’s go meet contestant number one.”

Contestants number one through four were all a bust. I coughed, literally coughed as soon as I got my first whiff of the third alpha. I didn’t understand it at all. All their scent cards had been inoffensive but once I was in the room with them my omega’s repulsion was almost immediate.

If only I could grab her by the metaphysical collar and give her a good shake. Hey. We have a job to do here.

She would only whine in response, probably.

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