Chapter 3 #2
"Want help with the shoes?"
She shakes her head and holds out her hands for the buttery soft fleece track pants she favours when nobody's watching her. She pulls them on underneath her skirt, then steps out of the dress and hands it to me.
"So? What's it going to be? Au naturel or Heatseekers?"
She grabs the garment bag from the back of the door, and together we encase the gorgeous gown back in its protective sheath.
I shrug and turn away from her, spending far more time than I really need to make sure the garment bag zips properly. My mind is on overdrive.
It's gonna be awkward as freaking heck either way.
But if I meet a pack in the wild, at least I can talk to them first before I proposition them—and I'll be a bit less likely to be stuck with a dud during my heat…
maybe? There should be plenty of packs out on the town on a Saturday night.
At least I'll be able to rule out a gross scent mismatch.
I just gotta make sure not to get drunk and check there's no sneaky cameras, keep my phone with me and it'll be okay. I can do this.
"Um. I dunno. I think… uh… I wanna try… just meeting someone? Maybe?" I can feel my cheeks growing hot. I hate having a giant red fluorescent sign that broadcasts exactly how uncomfortable I am.
Loz lets out a sharp breath. "Babes… look, I want you to have at least the fuckin' illusion of choice, but…
look. You've done pretty much nothing but work since the day you left Perth.
The last time you dated or even fuckin' hooked up with anyone other than those skeezy Packr fuckers who came to, and I use the term extremely fucking loosely, 'help' you through your heat was… when exactly?"
My feet shuffle uncomfortably. "Uh… pack… Simpson?"
Her nostrils flare as she growls. "Perth pack Simpson? That… whole fucking thing with you dropping out of your master's in the middle of your final semester when you only had one subject left? The ones who—"
My cheeks feel hot. "Mmmm."
"Those fucking pricks. Fifteen fucking years ago, if my memory serves? Babes, those bastards woulda left anyone fucking traumatized—"
I turn away, trying to push a smile onto my lips. My eyes catch the dressing room mirror. I really do have to stop chewing them—they are starting to look ragged.
Loz huffs. I can hear her frustration and fatigue.
I look back at her, forcing the corners of my mouth upwards. "Yeah. I just, y'know… it's been holding me back for a while now. I know I'm definitely not ready for, like, a relationship yet, but… a hookup's not the same as a relationship. Baby steps, right? And if my heat's happening either way…"
One of her perfect eyebrows shoots up. "Seventeen months on suppressants. Babes… you even gonna be able to scent 'em?"
Heat is blooming in my cheeks. I forget sometimes just how cluey Loz is—I haven't told anyone about scents getting less noticeable lately.
I shrug. "Dunno. Enough, I guess? I'll know if they smell gross, though.
And at least I'll get to make sure their scent doesn't bother me too much.
" I sound more recalcitrant than I mean to.
She shrugs, her mouth a tight line. "Babes. You're thirty-fucking-six years old. You're a fucking adult. It's your call. I just want you to feel safe… make sure you don't have to do anything you don't wanna. You know that."
If I fuss enough with the garment bag, I can pretend I'm not avoiding eye contact.
"How about I just… see what's out there tonight?
And if nothing—uh, or if no one comes up…
" I sound way more nonchalant about the idea than I thought possible.
Apparently, some of Loz's acting skills must have rubbed off on me.
She snorts. "Heh. I see what you did there. Nice. Okay. If you're sure. But turn your location on, y'hear? And call me if you're gonna go home with 'em."
I nod. "Fair enough." I gently fold the dress over my arm, trying to convince myself I'm completely indifferent to the hookup safari I've just volunteered myself for.
Something's awakening inside me at the thought, scrambling with excitement in my chest. I guess it must be my omega.
When I'm busy enough, I don't let myself notice her.
But she seems to like the idea, and with all this talk of heats, I get the feeling she's not going to let herself be ignored for much longer.
I retrieve Loz's hat from the dressing room table. I pass it to her, along with her oversized Chanel sunglasses, and usher her through the maze that is the back of the studio until we reach the back door.
A burly security alpha nods at us and pushes it open.
No obvious press or paps, thank god, but we duck our heads nevertheless, and quickly clamber into the car through the door held open by Lance, the elderly beta who's been her driver since her first audition.
He shuts our door, then hops spryly into the driver's seat.
"Are you ladies ready to rock and roll?"
Lauren gives a faint smile. "Tally-ho, Lancey-boy."
She leans back into the seat, exhausted. Lance's eyes flick to mine. I give a short nod, and see the partition slide silently up.
Her green eyes are hidden behind her sunglasses, but I'm fairly sure she's drifting off to sleep as we crawl through the LA traffic.
"Don't think for a minute I'm not glamming you up before you head out tonight. And I'm getting the PR team to get you on the list at the few places good enough to deserve you when we get home," she murmurs, her voice thick with fatigue.
Holy crap. How the heck am I going to pull this off?