Page 2 of Outback Mate
Mrs. Frame is snooty and Aunt Jo is the only stylist she’ll let near her hair. Even my eternally optimistic auntie struggles to deal with the tiresome woman.
I lower my voice and add, “Someone actually found a mate on one of those cruises?”
“They’re usually an excuse for knot-hunting Betas to hook up with knot-head Alphas, but these two walked off the Princess Consuela cruise ship sporting matching mating bites.”
“Oh,” I sigh dreamily, playing along. “How romantic.”
I return Kirsty’s smile in the mirror and hope she doesn’t notice it doesn’t extend to my eyes.
My inner Omega pouts in frustration. If the Alpha is able to mate with a Beta, then his aura sickness mustn’t be as bad as mine. Some people get lucky and their aura sickness barely affects their life. I guess he didn’t need the balancing influence of an Omega. Lucky bugger.
I wrap a strand of blonde hair around the curling iron, careful not to leave it too long. Releasing the perfect curl, I step back to admire my handiwork. I may be a hot mess in my personal life, but I’m a damn good hairdresser.
“I think that about does it,” I proclaim with my hands on my hips.
Kirsty swivels her head from side to side, inspecting my work before nodding in agreement. “Perfect as usual, Pops.”
“Let’s give you one last spritz of hairspray and you’ll be ready to dance the night away. You might even meet a special someone tonight.”
She laughs, curls bouncing with her mirth. “No way. I’m not looking to settle down. I’m having too much fun on the dating scene.”
Dating? Fun? Those are foreign concepts. For an Omega like me, dating is like the freaking Hunger Games. Play the game or suffer.
I move to her side and pick up the extra firm hold hairspray. I shake the can, point it at her curls and press the nozzle.
Pain stabs at my eyes, needling like a thousand bee stings.
The nozzle was the wrong way around. I’ve sprayed lacquer directly into my eyes.
“Ah! Bloody shitting fuck!”
I recoil, stumbling backwards and into Aunt Jo.
Another set of screams joins mine as the studio erupts into chaos.
I blindly grab at Aunt Jo, desperate for help. My hands find purchase on her arms, but the older woman isn’t stable.
“Poppy!” she shrieks as I fall. I take her down with me, and my butt hits the floor hard.
There are gasps and curses, and I’m vaguely aware of Kirsty calling my name.
Someone presses a warm, damp cloth to my face, and I swipe at my streaming eyes.
“Sorry, sorry, sorry!” I croak, my voice raspy from shouting.
“My hair!” Mrs. Frame cries, and I finally open my eyes to see what she’s upset about.
In the centre of her perfectly coiffed bangs is a huge chunk of missing hair. When I bumped into my aunt, her scissors must have slipped.
“I’m so sorry!” I repeat.
“Joanna, I want her fired!” the woman snarls, spittle flying.
My heart plummets.
I really need this job. I love hairdressing and no one else will hire me with my aura sickness.
Aunt Jo is trying to calm the irate woman.
