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Taking shelter beneath the meager shade of a palm tree, I swipe through the list of restaurants on my phone, but nothing rings a bell. After this heat passes, I need to ask my doctor for a new prescription of ADHD meds and fork out the money. I can’t remember shit.
I nudge my sunglasses down to the tip of my nose and scan my surroundings. Across the street, mismatching beach houses climb up the coastal hills. There’s not a Mexican restaurant in sight. Or an alpha.
I’m fucked. Or not fucked. Whatever.
My phone rings. “Thank god.”
Or not.
“Hey, Noel,” I say when I answer.
“You find him yet, babe?” Noel asks.
“I just parked, so no.”
“I know. I’ve been tracking your whereabouts.”
“Noel,” I chide, drawing out the L.
A parade of cars whips past me and I cover my other ear.
“Sorry, not sorry,” Noel says. “What kind of friend would I be if I let you get kidnapped by some strange alpha you met on the internet?”
“He’s not strange.” I think. The man doesn’t have a single red flag, but maybe that is one.
“You get ahold of him yet?”
“Ugh. No. The app’s still down.”
He whistles. “Damn. You better put that in your review. Can you imagine being on the verge of heat and not being able to find your alpha-date?”
“Right?” I laugh, breathy like a wheeze.
“Elliott, no,” he gasps, seeing right through me.
I fan myself with my hat. “I can report that it’s exactly as nightmarish as you’re imagining.”
“Already? Again? When?”
“I don’t know. Somewhere between leaving our house and arriving here.”
“Scientists should study you.”
“Do me a favor and sign me up for some clinical trials then.”
A vaguely unhinged laugh escapes my mouth before I can stop it. A woman pushing a French bulldog in a stroller casts me a wary look and gives me a wide berth as she passes—which hurts my feelings. My everyday rejection sensitivity cranks up to max when I’m hormonal and bulldog stroller lady’s snobbery feels like a personal attack.
My laugh wasn’t even that unhinged. I could have wailed to Noel that I already feel like Frankenstein and jokes about how weird my body is aren’t funny when I’m actively sweating.
Another cramp flickers inside me, this one a little stronger than the last. An all too familiar irritable restlessness buzzes through my brain. I need to find Alden. Now.
“Noel, I have to go.”
“Want me to stay on the line with you?”
“I’m in one of the wealthiest zip codes in the country, I think I’ll be alright.”
“Rich people are more dangerous than the working class,” Noel says.
