15. Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fourteen
Ursula
I had walked into my date with Teddy with more than 50% certainty that it would be the last conversation we had as part of this experience, but I am forced once more to enjoy a slice of humble pie. As it so happens, I will be exchanging scent cards with Teddy tonight.
My final and most unexpected date of the day is Anton. We didn’t talk about much on our first date, and I hadn’t asked for a second. I was so surprised to see him on my schedule this morning that I actually checked with Kimmy before my date with Teddy to confirm that I really was supposed to be scheduled with Anton for my final date of the day.
“Hey Ursula,” he greets me as soon as I open the door to the bubble.
“Hey Anton, howareya ?” I lob back casually.
“I’m not bad, you good?” he returns my greeting in kind, his thick New York accent reminding me of my bubby.
“Ready for dinner and hopefully an early bedtime after the whole scent card thing,” I answer as casually as possible since it seems incredibly awkward to open with, ‘ Hey, I didn’t think we hit it off at all. Why did you ask for a second date? ’ or something of the like.
“Yeah, pretty crazy, right? In like—a few hours I’m either going to be meeting my potential pack brothers or I’ll be packing my bags,” Anton laughs, not volunteering any real illumination on the situation.
“Yeah, I’m not gonna lie—I’m pretty fucking nervous,” I admit, opening up a little bit, in the hopes of spurring Anton into revealing his intentions.
“Why so scared, doll? Haven’t a bunch of guys already told you they’re gonna exchange cards with you?” he snorts dismissively.
“Well, yeah—but there’s no guarantee that we’re going to be compatible. What if the guy who I like the most ends up sending me a card that smells like moldy leftovers and used urinal cake?” I wince a little once the crass words are out of my mouth, but my embarrassment only lasts the brief silence before Anton’s booming laugh.
“Yeah, I guess you’re right!” he guffaws. “You and the other two could end up being some rank skanks.”
I half-laugh, half-groan at ‘rank skanks’. It’s rude, and more than slightly misogynistic, but I can’t deny the charm in the uncouth rhyme.
“So how many guys are you exchanging with?” he transitions casually to the question, as if the conversational glide was inevitable.
“I don’t know if I wanna put that out there in the open,” I evade easily. Since I haven’t had any interest in Anton or any designs on exchanging scent cards with him—the stakes are decidedly lower than my previous conversations of the day.
“What if I put mine out in the open?” he dangles the prospect before me. If I had more investment in Anton, this would no doubt be a tantalizing proposition…however, with my interest at less than zero, there’s just no pull.
“I mean, you could do that. It would be your choice, I am in no way asking you to, nor am I agreeing to exchange any information for it,” I cluck cooly. Though I don’t care for my own purposes, I could find out on Roxy’s behalf… though I’m not sure if she’d want to know who she’s in direct romantic competition with.
“Playing hard to get, huh?” There’s an unmistakable little growl in his voice—and I can’t help but react on pure biology. Oh yeah, we might not be able to scent each other yet…but there’s no mistaking the aura behind that growl. Anton has to be pure alpha. Textbook.
“I don’t know about that. Not to be a bitch, but what makes you think that I’m interested at all, Anton?”
“This kind of bullshit,” he laughs easily, continuing on a wistful sigh, “The banter is easy. I can tell that you’re east coast—not just because of your wicked trash accent, but because just like me, you’re impatient with all these dozy west-coasters. Forever in some kind of bullshit rush for no reason.”
I laugh and consider what he’s said for a minute. While I may be reading our relationship as having more ‘friendship’ vibes rather than relationship vibes, have I unwittingly stepped into the same trap as I did with Teddy? Assuming that I already know the man because of very superficial judgments I passed on him based on what he does for a living?
At the same time, I acknowledge that my general ease and casual attitude toward Anton is borne of my lack of affection for him. Even with Teddy, there’s some little spark between us that continues to kindle into a larger and larger flame. With Anton—I don’t get that…or have I simply cut myself off from having any feelings for him from the start? Am I only reconsidering him now because I’m developing a case of liking-being-liked? I’m shocked and embarrassed to admit that I’m not entirely sure.
“That’s fair. I guess I was just pretty surprised that you asked for a second date because I had kind of felt like our vibe was more like bros than anything else,” I opt for friendly but honest.
“I can see that. I’m definitely more chill with you than the other dates I enjoyed. Plus, you’re definitely not a gym rat,” he concedes.
I squirm a little at that comment. I know he can’t see what I look like, so it isn’t a dig at my appearance—rather a commentary on the fact that I haven’t been able to talk shop with him when it comes to workouts and all that comes with it.
“So, where does that leave us?” I shift uncomfortably in my seat, not wanting to outright reject Anton, but not ready to be the one to make the first move.
“I don’t know. Why don’t you tell me?”
I take a deep breath, prepared to make one of the dumbest decisions that I’ve made during this entire show.
I pace in the small vestibule between the ladies’ lounge and the ‘bubble’ hallway, waiting for Roxy to escape her last date of the evening. The scent cards will be delivered right after dinner, and I need to tell her about Anton before the cards come in and it looks like I’ve been going behind her back with him.
After a few moments that seem to drag forever, Roxy emerges from one of the date bubbles; a fleece blanket draped around her shoulders, her notebook and one of the omnipresent red anodized aluminum stemmed wine glasses balanced in her hands.
“Rox,” I begin, pleading already, making my voice sound more desperate than I want it to.
“Hey Ur-zilla, everything ok?” She adjusts, tucking her notebook under her arm, empty glass still pinched in her fingers—spreading her other arm out like a big fleecy wing to rest across my shoulders.
“I need to tell you something,” I blurt, already assuming the worst—catastrophizing my imminent confession, my lower lip already trembling.
Roxy only pulls me gently against her.
“What’s the matter? You look like you’re about to start the waterworks.”
“I didn’t tell you this morning that my last date today was a rando date with Anton. I even asked Kimmy if it was a scheduling error because I just didn’t think that he had any interest in me at all,” I continue yammering a mile a minute, refusing to let Roxy get a word in edgewise.
“We ended up having a date, and he wanted to exchange scent cards even though I didn’t even think that he was going to remember my name so I ended up saying yes—but I swear I didn’t have any idea that he was going to do that and if I thought there was even the remote possibility that it was going to go down like that then I would have told you this morning—I don’t want you to think that I would ever go behind your back because you’re awesome and if you don’t want me to exchange cards with him I—” but Roxy silences me—her hand moving from my shoulder to cup solidly over my mouth.
“Jesus fuck Ursula!” she barks a laugh “I was hoping you’d take a breath or something but you just kept yapping!” she wheezes, slowing to a stop.
“Anton actually told me he was going on a date with you when I saw him earlier today.”
Her hand is still clapped over my mouth, so all I do is raise my eyebrows to indicate my interest in the rest of her tale.
“I told him that he had been remembered as ‘the gym owner.’ —and that you might have assumed that his addition to your schedule was in error,” she snorts, and I wince under her grip.
“Oop! Sorry!” she lets me go, fresh in her realization that I’ve been under her control this entire time.
“So, you’re not mad?” I smack my lips tentatively with their newfound freedom.
“Do you really like him?” She peers down at me appraisingly.
“I don’t know…I feel like I was being really judgy with him and Teddy…but I actually think there’s a little something between Teddy and I…I don’t know if Anton and I have that same–“ I wiggle my fingers in the air to indicate the intangible energy of attraction.
Roxy nods, a satisfied smile drawing her full mouth wide across her regal face.
“I’m proud of you for giving him a chance—for not just bailing because you’re worried about being in competition with a friend.” She grins, jostling me slightly against her.
“I meant what I said though, Rox—I am not losing you over some guy. Especially not a guy like Anton.”
We both laugh at that.
“So promise me, if it gets to the place where I gotta step back—you tell me to step back.” I look up into her mauve eyes, my resolve like iron.
“You bet Ur-Zilla.” She squeezes me.
“And may the best bitch win.” She winks as we make our way toward dinner.
A tense quiet settles over the ladies’ lounge as the scent specialists file silently into the room, little black boxes clutched protectively in their hands.
One of the technicians breaks off from the line, her sleek brown ponytail catching the light as she calls my name, “Ursula?”
I jump up from my seat and make my way over to her.
“Hi there, Ursula. Right this way, I’ll get you set up for your scent review in one of the bubbles, and then I’ll leave you to it,” she chirps happily, motioning for me to follow her into the hallway and toward an unoccupied dating bubble.
“You will have the next two hours to review the scent cards I’ve brought for you. Inside of this box there are two pouches, a green one for matches that you wish to continue courting—and the other, a bright red pouch, for those that are not a match,” she instructs me as we walk down the hallway. “Once you’ve made your selections, one of the scent technicians for the men will compare the results of your prospective partners. Any of the men who match to you will be given access to a temporary pack common room for each omega or sigma that they have matched to.” The scent specialist stops at the door and turns the handle. “Tomorrow you’ll be scheduled for dates with members of your prospective pack who have been able to meet one another. You’ll start the process of deciding who, if anyone, you want to meet at the reveal.”
The door opens, and she ushers me inside.
“There, I think that about covers it.” She smiles, passing me the black box.
My head rattles up and down in an overenthusiastic nod.
“I’ll be right out here when you’re ready, but there’s no rush.”She reminds me, taking a few steps back from the doorway to linger in the hallway.
“Thanks!” I bleat unsteadily before disappearing behind the door.
I hurry to the couch, the box clasped like treasure in my trembling hands.
“Alright, who’s first?” I mumble to myself, careful to heed the direction of the on-set producer who reminded all of us earlier that we are being filmed, and that people want to hear our ‘ inner monologue ’ in moments like this. It feels so tacky and preformative to artificially narrate myself…but if I’m honest, it’s only a stone’s throw from my usual eccentric ‘talking to myself’ routine.
I pull out the green and red vinyl zippered pouches for ‘yes’ and ‘no’ options and place them on the couch beside me.
“Looks like…” I pull a teensy envelope, only marginally larger than a standard business card from the stack inside the box.
Gently, I slide the un-glued tongue of the envelope open, a thick rectangle of cream colored paper inside.
“Holy.” My eyelids flutter. I can’t see anything written on the card yet—but I can certainly smell it. A delicious, warm gourmand scent washes over me. No doubt about it, the strong, sweet notes of maple sugar, resinous amber, and spicy-tangy mulled cider are powerfully alpha. Masculine, but with a distinctly soft sensibility.
I free the card from its envelope and bring it to my nose before I turn it over. The words, ‘Mavren Renard, Alpha’ written on the back in a tidy, uniform hand—every letter in flawlessly shaped uppercase.
“Is it bad to say that my mouth is watering?” I laugh, a little breathless—doing my best not to look as sweaty on camera as I actually feel. Omega biology is no joke—one little whiff of Mavren’s alpha scent and I’m all but soaked. I’m going to have to pace myself so that I don’t end up panting, leaving slug trails on this couch before I’m through all these damn scent cards.
“I’m going to say that’s a definite yes.” I drop Mavren’s card triumphantly into the ‘yes’ pouch before moving on to the next.
I pinch the next bitty little envelope from the box and remove its contents.
“Mmmm!” The sound of delight escapes me before I know I’m making it, the fresh verdant scent of herbal geranium, crackling petrichor, and earthy oakmoss transporting me to the depths of a sun-drenched forest after a spring rain.
The scent is strong, but not as demanding as the first. I inhale more deeply, trying to parse any underlying calming beta notes—but find none.
I flip the card over, unsurprised to see the name—Ronan O’Neill, but more than slightly bewildered by the designation, gamma.
One alpha and one gamma already. Both designations with knots that could breed with an omega or sigma. At least that was one worry out of the way…but I would be lying if I said that I knew anyone with designations outside of omega, alpha, and beta in their pack. There’s all kinds of stigmas around the alternative designations, but if I’ve learned anything from getting closer to Roxy since this whole thing started—I have learned not to put so much stock into the lines about alternate designations that I’ve been fed by omega centers and other media.
“I’ll be seeing you Ronan,” I confirm quietly before adding his card to the ‘yes’ pouch. “Now, who do we have here?” I cluck my tongue as I pull the next envelope from the box.
At once I’m captivated by piney juniper, sunny meyer lemon, and the sweet-woody-whisper of Palo Santo smoke. The scent is bright,clean, and alluring—bracing and sexy at the same time.
I eye the back of the card as it passes to and fro. Again, I am surprised to see the uncommon designation of ‘delta’ alongside the full name: Ash Dressaliers.
While the designation is somewhat of a shock, I’m not actually surprised to see that the scent belongs to Ash. For some reason, his cool, collected confidence is at home in this bouquet of non-traditional masculine smells.
Deltas get a rough rap, too. Not as bad as thetas or sigmas do—but I was taught that delta was the mutiny designation as a kid, before it became widely accepted that such a title was more discriminatory than it was actually based in fact. Still, the stigma lingers—and I’m ashamed of myself when I feel the twinge of apprehension at the composition of the pack; already sitting at a ratio of two common designations to two uncommon.
I don’t say any of this aloud, and I do my best to school my features into a neutral expression as I add Ash’s scent card to the ‘yes’ pouch without hesitation.
“So far, so good,” I say to the empty room for the benefit of all the watching cameras, the next envelope already in my hands.
As the heavy paper of the envelope unfolds, I can feel my nostrils flare—my whole face pinching as a pungent, unpleasant odor singes my nose hairs: Acrid coal tar against the too-sweet of butterscotch; the searing smoky sting of cheap whiskey all conspiring to make me gag so hard I actually wretch with a loud “Urp!” in full view of every camera in the room.
Panic floods me. Who smells like this? It can’t possibly be Lysander or…Teddy? Could it?
I turn the card over, sure that my mother would yell at me to fix my face if she could see the horrible sour expression I must be wearing at this moment.
Anton DeMello, Alpha.
I feel my shoulders relax and part of me wants to laugh out loud. Of course! Anton. In all of the excitement of the first few cards, I had all but forgotten that I’d reluctantly agreed to exchange scent cards with him after worrying that I might have jumped to conclusions about our compatibility due to my own Judge-Judy-bullshit. Not so—we are definitively, not a match.
“Sorry Anton,” I sigh, dropping his card into the ‘no’ pouch and swiftly zipping it shut. “It was not meant to be.”
I crinkle my nose and twitch it like a bunny in an attempt to prepare myself for the next card—doing my best to outrun olfactory fatigue without a little canister of coffee or something to reset myself with.
“Alright—last two.” I rub my palms together before fishing out the penultimate scent card.
A balm compared to the last bouquet; Blue Chamomile, Lavender, and Spearmint waft up from the card. I feel my eyelids droop, a sedative quality to the scent covers me like a warm blanket—and I’m instantly at ease. Our first beta? I’ve smelled some calming scents before, been lulled by silky rumbling purrs…and yet—this is more akin to the most intense indica dabs I’ve ever done—my muscles instantly relax, a sleepy warmth settling over me in a muzzy haze.
Lysander Ewing, theta. A midsummer night’s dream, indeed.
“O, then, I see Queen Mab hath been with you…” The words, albeit from Romeo and Juliet, ring true—spilling from my lips before I’ve a chance to think better of them.
I think of all the dumb legal procedural television shows mom and I used to watch on the couch late at night while I was still finishing my homework in middle and high school; about the drowsy thetas that drugged omega girls like me for Mafia bosses and drug lords. None of those men, rangey and hollow eyed, are what came to mind when I spoke with Lysander.
My hand wavers only a moment before adding Lysander’s card to the ‘yes’ pouch.
By process of elimination, I know that it will be Teddy’s card that I pull from the box. I take a deep breath and reach for his envelope.
I close my eyes and bring the rectangle of heavy paper to my nose; Sunny, juicy satsuma—the fresh verdant zing of cut grass, the herbaceous floral sweet of dew-kissed orange blossom, all rounded out with the warm spice of toasted clove.
There he is. One hundred and ten percent alpha—bright and shining like the sun; Teddy Wong.
I take another deep inhale—golden, effulgent.
Greedily, I snatch up the other cards I’ve chosen and hold them in a fan against my face—the intermingling of smells forcing my knees to press together, slick already beginning to flow from between my legs.
“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath—then remember I’m on camera before collecting myself and carefully returning the cards to the ‘yes’ pouch.
Up until now, the dates have been fascinating, but they’ve felt like an exercise that I’ve been two steps removed from—almost as if I’ve been playing at courting these men from a distance. Now, in the closeness of this tiny room, their scents swirling around me—it feels very real. I’m shocked to find that I am ready to go to the reveal now if they ask. Compatibility between them be damned—I’m ready to get my hands on the owners of these scents. A need…no, a compulsion that has never once struck me in my previous scenting sessions.
I hurry to zipper the pouches closed, replacing both in the black box before scrambling off the couch.
For once, I am not going to overthink this. I’m not going to do myself dirty or get in my own way.
“Here you go!” I call pleasantly to the scent specialist as I swing the door to the hallway open.
“I’m ready now.”