Page 72 of Heat Hesitation

This woman seems unusually irate that Ophelia has forgotten her name. The girl, a short, busty omega wearing too much perfume enhancing her fruity scent and so much jewelry on her neck she'd give Greta a run for her money, is giving off sticky, repulsive energy. I don't like it. It's making me want to shower to clean it off my skin.

The woman, Bridgette or Bianca or whatever, looks at me—briefly, because I can tell I make her uncomfortable—then scowls at Ophelia. "I knew he's the one you'd get stuck with. You should know, all these things I've been hearing about, changing the rights for omegas in poor neighborhoods," she mocks in a strange, infantile voice, "is not going anywhere. If you think the alphas are going to put up with encouraging any omega not to join the OFA, you're insane. The only omegas they want are the ones who at least have proper training. The rest of you are just trashy whores who end up so desperate for a knot they settle with the freaks."

She emphasizes the last word, and I realize she means me. I'm the freak. I offer the girl one of my rare smiles, taking a step around Ophelia, prepared to remove the girl from her presence, but she widens her eyes in fear and steps back. Ophelia is visibly upset, which just won't do.

I take another step forward and growl, baring my teeth, and the girl squeaks and runs away.

"Are you alright, my love?"

"She's a jerk, Enzo. Don't listen to her."

"Funny. I was going to say the same thing to you." She softens, resting her head against my shoulder. This is better. Wrapping an arm around her, I breathe her in, ignoring the faint plastic blend with her natural floral scent from the scent-blockers she took.

"Enzo? Mr. Constantine?" A small voice pulls Ophelia's head up. I sigh, not wanting to talk to anyone else today. I’ve reached my limit. Confused who would be addressing me directly, rare as it is, my omega stiffens when she sees another omega. Why are there so many talking to us? We need to leave this place and never come back.

Ophelia's shoulders straighten, but the woman lights up when she takes in my omega. "You must be Ophelia. I'm so sorry to interrupt. I just really wanted to meet you."

Cautiously, Ophelia reaches out to the girl, whose palm is already out, waiting for her to shake. "I'm Imogen. My parents and your pack work together. I've been hearing all about you, but it's so nice to finally meet you in person."

Ophelia's hesitance is obvious, but Imogen Bradford powers through.

"Uhh… nice to meet you, too."

"Your big news around here." She leans closer and says conspiratorially, "Listen, Bridgette is very unpleasant on a good day. She's been telling anyone who will listen her thoughts on you, your pack, and your omegas' rights campaign. I just wanted to tell you I love what you're doing, and I'm not the only one. And I would love to be involved."

"Oh. Really?" Ophelia seems surprised. I don't think she interacts with omegas outside of Queenie's much.

"Yes, absolutely. Can we exchange numbers? My parents are waiting; I'm supposed to be meeting packs," she smiles tightly. "But I'd love to get together sometime soon."

Ophelia relaxes, and the women chat animatedly for a few more minutes. They exchange numbers and when the girl walks away, Ophelia smiles up at me. I lean down and capture her lips.

"Can we leave now?" I ask.

She laughs, taking my hand and leading me toward the exit. "Imogen seemed really nice. When you guys were set up with her, and it didn't work out, Sully told me it was mutual. That you didn't click?"

My brow furrows. I hold the door open and she steps out into the bright sun. I hand the valet my ticket, and we wait for the SUV to return.

She pushes, "Is that true?"

"What do you mean?" I ask, confused.

"Well, that you didn't like each other?" When I offer no further understanding, she growls and rolls her eyes. "Come on, Enzo! She's fucking beautiful. Like, really, really pretty. And she smells really nice. You guys went on a date with her… I'm just asking if there was ever a chance—"

I place my hand over her mouth. "Now I understand. You're jealous. Or insecure. I don't understand why, though."

"I am not—"

"It's alright, my love. You don't need to hide yourself from me. She's beautiful, I suppose. I honestly didn't notice. You're all I see."

The car arrives, and I open the door for her. The drive home is quiet, and I realize what I said wasn't enough. Because she believes in me, but maybe not my brothers? Theo has been a flirt all year, and photographed in doing so.

"We didn't click, as you said. She smells fine. I didn't notice or care, and I honestly don't think the others did either. And Imogen felt the same. We didn't seek her out; her parents blindsided us by arriving with Imogen in tow at a business lunch. I believe she genuinely wants to be your friend, and I can say, without a shred of doubt or deception, that my brothers haven't thought once about her in the way you're concerned."

Her warm hand grips my thigh as I drive, and I place my free hand over it. My words seem to have settled her, and contentment filters through our bond.

"What about what Bridgette said?" She asks.

"What do you mean?"

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