Chapter 1 #2
That’s the reason I chose Willow Falls. Most colleges turn their noses up at Omega students and prefer to come up with bullshit excuses, like we’re a liability or some sort of vampire-like drain on resources.
But here, in a tiny little satellite village outside of Burlington, Vermont, is a college that welcomes our designation.
It is also a place that specializes in sports. Home to Vermont’s professional rugby, ice hockey, and football teams. They’re all based here, training and playing in state-of-the-art facilities specially constructed as part of the campus.
Basically, this place is a jock’s wet dream.
Hence, the trophy hunters who turn up on match days.
Puck bunnies, WAGs, sideline Sallys. Among the crowds flooding in each weekend, draped in team colors and waving foam fingers, there are plenty who flock here with the intention of trying to snag themselves a pro athlete like they’re hunting them for sport.
So, Willow Falls might be Omega-friendly, which is rare, but there are more rules about studying here than a spiderweb has tangles.
“Think of it this way, you could be strolling along, minding your own business, and bam, your scent match bumps into you and spills orange juice all over your white T-shirt.” Gabriella Perez—Gabbie—flutters her eyelashes.
She’s quiet, soft-spoken, but a total heartbreaker, with green eyes and glossy chestnut hair.
“Orrrrr…” Nikita chimes in. “You could be stuck with someone who smells like feet and deviled eggs. It’s horrendous.
Imagine if they didn’t understand your teeny tiny obsession with collecting sparkly heels?
What if they expected you to share a single chest of drawers like some sort of minimalist monster?
If anyone dared ask me to eliminate shoes from my collection, they’d find their knot chopped off.
” Nikita Kaur is all glowy brown skin, honeyed eyes, a wickedly quick sense of humor, and tolerate zero bullshit attitude.
I couldn’t have asked for more perfect Omega housemates.
“I don’t think your scent match would smell gross… not to you, at least. But what I’m hearing is that you’re saying your ideal nest is basically a giant closet?” I giggle.
“I’m saying, imagine being stuffed into some crummy little duplex, with the kind of person who voluntarily watches stand-up comedy every weekend.” Nikita throws the back of her hand against her forehead dramatically and slumps sideways to the floor.
“I think scent matches are quite romantic.” Gabbie tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “Doesn’t it seem like a star-crossed lovers situation?”
“Not unless they know their way to a woman’s clit without needing a map and a tour guide. The only stars I want are the ones I’ll be seeing when I’m cross-eyed from being knotted into a puddle on the mattress. Then fed well afterward.”
We all start laughing uncontrollably. Let’s be real, that’s every Omega’s dream scenario. No matter what, finding someone who knows what they’re doing where orgasms, knots, and caretaking are concerned, those are the simplest keys to a long and happy Omega lifespan.
“You said your brother goes here?” Gabbie looks at me over the rim of her coffee.
“Not exactly. Finch lives here but isn’t a student. He’s a rugby player on the pro team, so he’s been living here since signing with the Wolves.”
“Okay, so big bro is a big deal. Wait, what is that frown about?” Nikita points at my eyebrows doing the furrowing thing.
“I just hate how the rules make it seem like we Omegas are turning up here trying to actively seduce the pro athletes in this town. ‘No fraternizing with any representatives of a sporting team—whether that is a college, feeder team, or professional level.’” I quote the scholarship handbook we all have to adhere to.
“They might say on one hand that we’re welcome, but they see us as a liability.
A nuisance. Something to be sneered at because we’re considered needy, clingy, obsessive oddities.
In the eyes of the rule and law makers, Omegas are a drain on society—needing multiple partners?
Openly polyamorous? None of them grasps the concept that we’re just trying to live our lives.
And plenty of Alphas need that, too. It’s a two-way street, but they seem to think it’s all our doing. ”
Those who are at the top are convinced we’re a scourge, because “back in their day” there weren’t as many Omegas.
No, it was probably because they were either shunned, or in hiding, or worse.
Don’t even get me started on the fact that Omegas had to have secret clinics to help manage their heats.
Suppressants. Chemicals to fundamentally change who we are in order to “fit in” with society.
“Did they make it weird for you when you applied for your scholarship?” Gabbie asks.
“Mmmhm. So awkward. I had to get references and birth certificate shit together to prove Finch is my biological brother, and therefore I’m allowed to socialize with the Wolves team to a certain extent without raising eyebrows.”
“God. I need something to spike this drink,” Nikita mutters. “You’re a marketing major, right, Wren?”
I nod. “And you’re sports science, Nikita? Gabbie, you’re an English major, aren’t you?” They both give me a smile of confirmation.
“So, how about it… Team Omega gets glammed up, and we go out to dinner tonight to celebrate our new life together? I’ve heard Bibliotheque has cheap booze and a student discount.
All those stuffy men in suits making decisions about our Omega-ness can suck it.
” Nikita gets to her feet. “Time to go see what this town has got to offer.”