Page 62 of Sweet Heat

“I was thinking a necklace,” she explains, scurrying to grab her bags and other things she needs for the day. “For now, get one because I want to wear those sneakers.”

A text comes through, telling me that the driver is here, and even though her leaving is the last thing I want, I still let her know.

“We can talk options later, baby. Ride’s here.” I open the door for her, grabbing her for one last kiss as she rushes into the elevator.

“See you later, stalker,” she calls as the doors close. “Love you!”

I watch as the numbers get lower.

Unsettled.

Unmoored.

Chapter Thirty-Three

“What should we do first?” Emma asks, clasping her fair tickets to her chest. The bright lights of the carnival swirl around us, fun and festive in the cool night air. My white sun dress sways in the breeze, and I’m so thankful I paired it with a jean jacket even though my body’s been acting strange all day. Hot, then cold, then back to hot again. And everything feels like sandpaper against my skin.

“Rides!” I exclaim at the same time, Mari shouts “Food,” so I change my tune. “Let’s seeabout snacks.”

The thought of eating makes my stomach twist, but I don’t care. It’s worth it just to see Mari smile. Her parents have been putting the screws to her about not rushing to another freaking continent to help her sister, and the stress has been killing her. Dark circles under her eyes give away the guilt she’s been suffering, and I’m pretty sure she’s even lost weight.

“Fried Oreos!” she crows excitedly as we walk through the crowd to the concession stands. Families and small children pack the fairground, chattering excitedly and weaving from ride to ride. “I’d kill for like ten and a giant lemonade.”

“Are you sure you aren’t an omega in disguise?” Emma teases, making Mari blush and stare at the ground. As an omega potential, she has a lot of omega tendencies, and her love of sweets is a huge green flag that, at some point, she’ll perfume. Then again, for her, it might be a red flag—she’s prickly about the possibility.

Stepping forward, I order a bunch of food for us and plunk my credit card down on the counter for the cheery cashier. After paying, we step over to the side to wait for the greasy goodness.

“So, do you want to take the food and wander through the animals or find some seats?” I ask the girls, happy either way.

“Sit, then go look at the baby animals. I don’t think we can bring snacks in there,” Mari answers, twisting her hair through her fingers. Her once-pink-tipped locks are now a more natural red, just another sign that something isn’t quite right with my best friend. A loud bell dings, letting us know our order is up, and we scoop up the platters and make our way to a not-so-clean table. There’s popcorn strewn across the top, but nothing sticky, so it’ll be fine.

Emmastraddles a bench, turning toward us, eyes glittering with mischief.

“So, where’s our favorite stalker tonight?” she asks. The nickname for him makes me giggle, because—true—but also, I know he’d love it.Weirdo.

“He’s at a photoshoot but said he’ll be here as soon as he can get away.” I glance at my phone to check if he’s texted me. Nothing yet. “But he’s still stalking me with trackers in my shoes and phone, so don’t you worry.”

Her eyes narrow, lips pursing like she has something to say, but we’ve already chatted about this ad nauseam. Emma is so fiercely independent that she doesn’t understand why the trackers don’t make me angry. If she were in my shoes, literally, she would have ripped the trackers out and shoved them down the Alpha’s throat without so much as a second thought.

But Miller doesn’t use the locators because he doesn’t trust me or wants control. He does it because he wants to make sure I’m safe, and it helps his anxieties about having someone he loves ripped away from him. It’s a manifestation of his trauma, and as someone with plenty of quirks, it doesn’t bother me. I find it comforting.

“How’s the funnel cake?” I ask, not wanting to get into another heated discussion about Alpha-holes. Glancing down at mine, I can’t find it in myself to bring a forkful of the fluffy fried dough to my mouth. My stomach churns at the thought, even though this is usually a safe food for me. I wish they had churros, but there wasn’t one on the menu.

“Oh. My. God. So good!” she exclaims, rolling her eyes back in her head dramatically. “So much better than sex.”

“Agree,” Mari laughs, biting into a fried Oreo with an appreciative moan. “Want one?”

She offers her plate to me, but I just shake my head, swallowing hard to keep the bile from racing up my throat. My skin is too tight, even my shoes hurt, and I wonder if Miller was right and I should have just stayed home.

I have been out of sorts lately. Heat spikes coming closer together. Shit.

Worry curls sinisterly in my belly. Shifting back and forth, I do my best to ignore the irritation from the bench pressing into the backs of my legs.

“I’m not as hungry as I thought,” I explain with a shrug, pushing my plate toward the center of the table so they can share it. Suddenly my heart rate picks up, a sense of awareness washing over me. My inner omega blares a siren to my fight-or-flight response, and an intense need to run makes my legs twitch.

We need to leave.

“Hello, omega,” a voice croons way too close to my ear. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

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