2. Bianca #2
My face burns, and I want to sink through the floor and disappear. I stopped telling Whitney my secrets once I realized they were her favorite form of currency. I wish like hell I had never shared this particular truth with her. She is the only person I ever confided in.
“Now I know you’re hiding something because your face is bright red.” She reaches across the table to capture my fingers, the gesture looking sweet to anyone watching, but her eyes hold that familiar Whitney expression—hungry for gossip. “What are you planning, B?”
For a split second, I want to tell her everything about the waterhole, if only to rub it in her face and prove that they want me too.
But something in her expression stops me cold.
“Nothing’s happening.”
“Liar.” She tightens her hold on my fingers, maintaining that fake-sweet smile. “You’ve been off for days, and every time I mention them, you get this look.”
“What look?”
“Like you’re one heartbeat away from either puking on this table or dissolving into tears.” She leans closer until her perfume chokes me with each breath. “Holy shit. You’re planning to throw yourself at them, aren’t you?”
Words stick like tar, leaving only a damning silence.
Whitney’s mouth pops open in surprise. “Oh my god, you are!” Her voice drops to a scandalized accusation that somehow cuts louder than screaming. “After all these years of pining, you’re going to spread your legs and beg them to claim you?”
“Whitney—” My knuckles go white around my glass.
“I can’t believe it.” She sits back, her nails tapping the table in a rhythm that picks at every raw nerve. “Little Bianca Quinn, going alpha hunting. Honestly, I didn’t think you had the guts. I’d never debase myself like that—proper omegas make alphas crawl through glass for a chance.”
My fork clatters against the plate. The sound is sharp enough to make nearby diners glance our way. My fingers tighten around the edge of the table.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Whit.”
“Don’t be so sensitive.” Her hand covers mine, her smile not reaching her eyes. “It’s just... there’s a lot at stake. Especially since—” She hesitates.
“Since what?”
“Since you still don’t smell right. How would they even know it’s real?” The words come out sharp, grating. “I asked Daddy about it once. Hypothetically. About an omega who thinks she found her match before awakening.”
My skin prickles with embarrassment. The restaurant tilts. I bite down hard, my teeth grinding. “You told your dad?” My jaw drops. “Whitney, you promised?—”
“Not about you specifically.” Her eyes slide away from mine. “I was just curious.”
Just curious. After ten years of friendship, she shared my secret with her dad as if it were research data.
“He said if there was a real match, the omega would awaken when exposed to her compatible alphas. The biological triggers would be too strong.”
She doesn’t say it, but I hear it anyway. Fifteen years around them. Nothing. No dramatic awakening. No fireworks. No magical moment where we all just... know.
The sandwich sits like concrete in my stomach. What if they never want me the way I want them?
I know nothing but them.
“Maybe I’m the exception.” The words sound stupid, even to me.
Whitney’s eyebrows knit together. “Or maybe you’ve romanticized your brother’s friends into something bigger. It’s natural, B. You’re not the first girl who craved a taste of forbidden fruit. Perhaps you convinced yourself there’s more there because they feel comfortable.”
“It’s not like that.” What if she’s right? The thought makes me sick. Have I been lying to myself this whole time?
“Are you sure? From here, it looks like you’re obsessing over four guys who treat you like a sister. If they wanted you, don’t you think they’d have made a move by now? They’re not exactly the shy types.” She reaches for me. “I just don’t want you to get hurt.”
I pull away. “Thanks.”
The restaurant air tastes stale now. Whitney’s perfume coats my tongue with a sweetness that makes me queasy.
“Now, about your dress... a soft blue would make your eyes pop.”
She flips to graduation outfits as if she didn’t just gut me. Her voice washes over me while I check out mentally, nodding when it seems appropriate.
If there was a real match, the omega would release scent when exposed to her compatible alphas.
What if she’s right? What if this is all my imagination?
My parents and Winston are still out when I get home. Silence feels like a gift after Whitney’s relentless chatter.
Rain hammers against the windows. I climb to my room, peeling off the damp dress. I grab comfy clothes, hoping that might ground me. Thunder rolls, shaking the house—a perfect match for my mood.
I flop onto my bed, staring at the ceiling. Whitney’s words stir doubts I’ve carried for years.
Obsessing over four guys who treat you like a sister.
But those kisses were anything but sisterly.
Still, the words bounce around my brain.
My phone buzzes, making me jump.
Speak of the devils.
Freddie
Anyone else having Bumblebee withdrawals? Or just me?
Tristan
Needy much, Frederick? Did you mean to include Bianca?
Freddie
Says the guy who checked this chat 342 times last night.
Owen
Guys, shut up. You’ll scare her off.
Weller
Can we act like adults? Is that too much to ask?
I stare at my phone, smiling. After this awful week, here they are, bickering like nothing has changed.
Me
Miss you guys too. I had to try on hiking boots for hours today. Kill me now.
Freddie
I can’t believe you’re abandoning us for three weeks.
Tristan
Not ideal.
Owen
It’s going to be torture dealing with these dipshits without a Bianca buffer.
My heart thuds wildly. Are they upset that I’m leaving?
Me
Torture for you? I’m the one identifying plants while hiking uphill with no bed or hot shower.
Pampered pretty boys like you wouldn’t last a day.
Freddie
Pretty? I’d say ruggedly handsome.
Me
Golden boy it is for you, Freddie.
Freddie
I’ll take it.
Tristan
I’m fine with being pretty.
Owen
What about me? Don’t I get a description?
Weller
Caveman goes without saying.
Owen
Fuck you, Dashwood.
Me
You’re pretty too, Owen.
Owen sends a photo of... a body part that’s bruised and painful looking.
Owen
Does this look pretty?
Freddie
What the hell is that?
Tristan
Jesus, Owen. You can’t send random body parts without context.
Weller
This is a group chat. With Bianca.
Me
Your knee? Elbow? Weird alien growth? What am I looking at?
Owen
My shoulder. Got messed up last night.
Me
Guys, relax. It’s his shoulder, not his dick.
Weller
Bianca.
Freddie
Wow.
Owen
Princess, you sound disappointed.
Tristan
Thanks for the clarification, sweetheart. I was concerned.
Weller
Can we move on from this topic?
Me
Which topic? Owen’s disturbing shoulder injury or the fact that he’s not sending dick pics?
Weller
Bianca. Please.
Me
What? It’s so much fun pushing your buttons, Weller.
Freddie
Damn, what is happening?
Tristan
Owen
Feel free to push mine anytime.
Me
Anyway, about my trip. I wish we were going to the beach. I’ve never been, but Mom thinks soul-searching mountain treks are “transformative.” Because nothing says bonding like blisters and bears.
Freddie
YOU’VE NEVER BEEN TO THE BEACH?! This is a crisis! How did we fail you this badly?
I shouldn’t be this eager for their attention, but here I am, practically vibrating.
Me
Mom’s allergic to sun and fun?
Owen
The beach means you in that pink bikini again. I’m in.
I’m blushing like an idiot. I press my cold water glass to my cheek, grateful no one can see.
Tristan
The waterhole is one thing… a public beach though?
Freddie
Hard no on the pink bikini in public, bumblebee.
Weller
Perhaps a swimsuit with more coverage?
Me
Perhaps not. You do realize 90% of girls my age wear bikinis? Some even wear... gasp... thongs.
They’ve always been wildly protective… like when Owen broke a guy’s nose in seventh grade for grabbing my hand after I said no. I enjoy escalating situations sometimes and watching them lose it. It’s a small token of reassurance that they do care.
Owen
Glad your mom’s taking you to the mountains. You’ll be bundled up in hiking gear, safe from every male gaze except bears.
Me
You’re acting like Winston. And that’s NOT a compliment.
Owen
I can make your brother seem like a minor annoyance. You have no idea.
I roll my eyes, but my stomach does that stupid fluttery thing. Apparently, my body has decided that possessive alpha behavior is its new kink. Great.
Tristan
Not interested in being compared to your brother... especially after your birthday.
Fuck. Just thinking about those kisses makes me dizzy. I need to get a grip.
Freddie
You need to see the ocean. We could rent a private island—no crowds, no problem. When you get home?
Me
A private island? Seriously?
Weller
Not bad. I know someone who owns one off the coast. One call.
Me
So out of touch it’s ridiculous. Normal people don’t rent islands for beach days. I think I’ll pack this just in case.
I grab the pink bikini from my drawer and throw it on my bed, moving across the mattress to take a picture of it. The flash catches the curve of my thigh in the frame. Perfect. Sent.
Weller
Bianca.
Just my name, but I can hear the tone perfectly, sending shivers straight down my spine. I’m never sure if I want to be good or bratty for him. Maybe both.
Freddie
Holy mother of...
Tristan
Having a flashback. Please hold while I recover basic functions.
Owen
Is that your leg? Christ, Princess. You’re killing me.
Me
Just a swimsuit on a bed... Calm down.
Owen
Getting it framed for my bedside table. For reasons. Scientific reasons.
Freddie
Dibs on the wallet-sized version.
Weller
Control yourselves.
Tristan
We could commission an oil painting? Very tasteful. Renaissance style. Angels and shit.
I can’t help but laugh.
Me
Not creepy at all. I thought you were worried about scaring me off?
Weller
You know what you’re doing.
Me
Whatever do you mean?
Maybe I’ll wear it under my graduation gown for luck.
Freddie
I just choked on my drink.
Tristan
That’s quite the mental image—one that’ll stay with me during the ceremony. Thanks for that.
Weller
Please tell me you’re joking.
Owen
Don’t play games unless you want people losing eyes.
Bianca
This has been fun, but Mom’s home with dinner. See you at my graduation?
Weller
We wouldn’t miss it.
Chatting with them cuts through the fog that has been choking me all week. My shoulders relax, and the tight ball in my throat unravels. Whitney’s poison fades with each message, replaced by warmth that has always felt like home.
This is real.
The questions are still there, burning on my tongue. The need to know simmers beneath my skin. But tonight, seeing their names light up my screen is enough.