Page 4 of Coco and the Misfits

I shrug. “Fitting, isn’t it?”

Her skeptical look remains. So maybe not. But my attention is scattered, for so many reasons.

Some of those “reasons” are doing squats in one of the gym halls. I can see them through the open glass door as they bend those powerful legs, their sweat-drenched stomachs beautifully contracting, six-packs visible through their tops. In another hall, a group is doing some form of martial art, moving through graceful positions, and my mouth waters as I observe two guys with powerful physiques.

They may not be as graceful as betas or omegas, but oh boy, do they pack a lot of strength.

“…and there he is,” Zayne is saying. “I’m sorry, ladies, I have to go. I have a class to teach. Zach, look who came to visit us.”

June’s face is flushed as she watches Zayne go, but I turn around slowly as a scent of sun-kissed leather and citrus hits me.

Zach…

If you asked me, I’d never admit it in a million years, but there is one specific alpha I come to the gym for. I mean, sure, I ogle all those glistening muscles and tight ass cheeks and bulging biceps parading about. I’m only human.

But this alpha… Good Lord, have mercy.

My thighs press together.

And why would it be a problem? Zach is single, as far as I know. Available. Slightly younger than me by three years. A total hunk.

But that’s the thing. There has to be a catch, right? He is so perfect. Big, strong, blond, golden all over. A golden retriever through and through, and I am a pet lover. All the pets. All the petting, heavy or light. I’m here for it.

So why do I always hesitate when I see him? This babbly extrovert turns… shy?

Can’t have that. It could send the wrong message. It could be interpreted as awe, adoration, fascination, or fear, and it’s none of that. Of course not.

“Hey, Zach!” I say brightly. I even wave. “How is it going?”

“Coco. And June.” He grins, stopping in front of us, folding powerful arms over his chest. He’s dressed in his black martial arts uniform, broad shoulders stretching the jacket, his blond hair soaked with sweat and sticking to his brow. “You seem to be hanging out here a lot for two people not interested in exercise.”

“Who says we’re not interested?” June teases, and I shoot her a glance, suddenly annoyed with her charming smile. What’s wrong with me? “But not in exercise. Right, Coco?”

She shoots me a look. Waiting for me to join in the teasing.

I press my lips together.

“We’re here for pleasure,” she says finally, a little uncertain. “And entertainment.”

Zach is quiet, looking at us. It feels as if he’s looking at me, through me. Reading my thoughts, my body language.

I tense. “We, um. Yeah.”

The usual panic that has been stopping me from sleeping with anyone lately, the cause of my dry spell, returns: what if the guy I go out with finds out I’m not officially an omega? What if he gets angry? After all, what alpha would want a late-bloomer omega? Why would he believe me? Without an officially named omega, one can’t have an official pack.

What am I doing? Should I believe the B on my ID and stop hoping for that day when I blossom into what I know in my heart I should be?

Make my life easier, as Mom says. Stop hurting my chances, as Dad says. Stop hoping I’ll wake up and be someone else, as some of my friends recommend.

Is this a trick question, though? Because I am me. I don’t want to be someone else. I just want to be allowed to be who I am. What I identify as.

“Join my class, then,” Zach says, still grinning, still golden all over, still handsome as a devil. “I hear it’s quite entertaining and pleasurable.”

It takes me a long moment to remember what we were talking about and before I can help myself, I hear myself say, “I’ll join.”

“What?” June’s head whips around so fast she’s like that girl in The Exorcist. Then she laughs. “Very funny, Coco.”

“I’m not…” I clear my throat. “Not kidding.”

---