Chapter 5 Limerence
Limerence
Acadia
How weird would it be if I just went up to people and asked, “If you had a baby, and the baby was a beta, would you love and care for that baby your whole life?” I mean, I will ask any potential pack this question eventually, but I just don’t see a lot of alphas being genuine about their answer. It’s obvious what the right answer is.
At least to me.
And what someone is willing to say out loud and what they’d actually do are two different things.
Bianca and Cornell may never have set out to reject their daughter. I’m sure they were happy to just have a baby. She was probably very cute.
The thing is, I was a 12 year-old girl once. We stop being cute little kids at that age. If your parents don’t already love you unconditionally, things get real.
And I’ll be damned if my future 12 year-old daughter is anything less than loved and adored and taken care of.
I decided to leave the event. I ordered a car back to my apartment, a co-op for omegas and their handlers.
Most units are shared with several assigned omegas.
I’m an “older” omega, so it’s just me and my handler, Maria, in our unit.
She’s an omega in her 70s. Her pack is all gone.
She’s been an omega handler for eight years now. I’m her third omega.
She’s very protective of me.
I come in and put my keys in the bowl.
“Acadia, you’re back!” She declares. She has a margarita in her hand, and she’s wearing her aquamarine moo moo. She’s drunk.
Typical.
Don’t let the flaming red hair and giant toothy smile fool you. Maria is very strict with me. I’m surprised she isn’t giving me a dressing down for going to the party without security.
She believes that omegas should wait until bonding before inviting alphas to a heat.
She also believes nose rings are for degenerates, and omegas should never get tattoos.
She knows about my nose ring (kinda hard to hide it), but I have successfully hidden the little omega symbol on my upper thigh from her.
But, you know, she’s kind of funny and she genuinely cares about me.
“Heya Maria, how’s your evening?” I ask casually.
She launches into the story of her evening. The show she’s watching, the drama with another omega handler here, the diet she’s trying, and the state of the poo in her cat’s litter box.
I nod along with her details while removing my shoes and earrings. Eventually, she takes a breath so I say goodnight and rush to my room. She stands outside of it and chatters on for another ten minutes while changing into my soft clothes.
She needs to just walk away.
I’m alarmingly horny and I’d like to turn on some music and have some alone time with my fake cock. I really don’t like going this long without getting laid. I’ve just been so upset that it didn’t work out with the Whitehorse pack. I was all in.
Until I wasn’t.
Maria is still chattering away, so I get on my phone to check the omega courting app. It’s just as dry and depressing as usual. And no packs with betas.
Huh.
A thought comes to me.
Maybe I should download a dating app for betas. What if my problem this whole time is I should be dating a beta.
I’ve never dated anyone before. Omegas don’t date. They get courted. But who cares about traditions?
Renewed with my new and clever idea, I leave my main bedroom for the secondary room attached.
I fling myself into my nest, which is just a glorified walk-in closet with slat doors, and research the best beta dating apps.
There's one with no texting, only video calls. Sounds kinky. It’s called “At First Sight”.
That is the corniest thing I’ve ever heard.
I find another one called "Beta On You", which also offers video calls but is largely for meeting betas. Jackpot.
There’s an option to hide my designation, which I kind of love. It levels the playing field.
I say my name is Cadi, which is pronounced the same as Katie.
I upload some pictures. One of me having drinks at a nice bar wearing a low-cut top, another of me in a linen dress sitting under my window surrounded by my plants.
I like to sew, so I have one of me behind my sewing machine.
I don’t know what to put for "Looking for…
" so I just say "having fun!" I try not to overthink it.
My card stack gets bigger and bigger with beta men who want to match with me.
I go through about twenty profiles before I switch over to the side where I can “like” them first. The very first one is a man named Mads.
He’s cute. So cute that I giggle and change position in my nest like it will help me see him better.
He has these prominent curly lips, deep inset eyes, a proud nose, and black hair.
His body is out of control. How is this man a beta?
There’s a photo of him in swim trunks that I screenshot.
Just looking at him is making me wet. I change positions again, but this time on my stomach.
Is this guy even real?
His profile is so funny and lively.
I read it fifteen times. He’s 27, so only three years older than me. As opposed to 24 years older than me, like the Whitehorse pack. A lot more normal.
He has honey-brown eyes that have this beautiful amber color, like they are lit from within.
I decide to message him asking to connect.
It’s all voice notes, no text.
I clear my throat, “Hello, Mads, I’m Cadi. I love your profile. You are so cute. I’m looking for…” don’t say a beta. Don’t say a lifelong commitment with babies and sex and merging bank accounts, “Someone to spend an evening with. Let me know if you are free.”
Yeah, that works.
Oh my god.
I then prop up the phone with Mads’s profile pic, and I take care of that aching need between my legs.