Page 7

I type out a single word reply: When?

My finger hovers over the send button. I worry my bottom lip. This is a terrible idea.

I hit send.

1 TYLER

Waves rumble and crash at my back, vibrating through the sand as I rub coconut surf wax on my board with more aggression than necessary. Sunrise was five minutes ago and I’m already sweating.

“Have you ever thought about how coconuts are basically hairy bowling balls?” Alden asks.

“I can’t say that I have.”

“I prefer my bowling balls hairless.” Alden tosses dishwater-blond waves back from his face, and wraps a towel around his waist. “I hate coconut.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

I really am. I’m sorry that he smells like a fucking meadow in the Swiss Alps and huffing Mr. Zog’s Sex Wax is the only thing keeping me from popping a boner for my best friend. “It was the only flavor they had left.” It wasn’t.

“Flavor?” Alden arches a brow, then turns his back to me.

“Scent, whatever.”

“Right,” he says slowly, and shimmies out of his board shorts while holding his towel in place. His shirt hikes up in the back, revealing the twin dimples on his lower back. “Remember that time you ate a scented crayon?”

“I was six and you dared me.”

He laughs. His trunks land on the sand in a heap, and his vetiver scent drifts toward me. I lean my palm harder on the wax.

“Come on, Ty. I mean it. That stuff’s giving me a headache.” His towel hangs perilously low on his hips as he steps into his wet suit, then yanks it up and slides his arms through the sleeves. “Zip me up?”

I swallow hard, steeling myself for the task. Alden and his wet suit are frequently featured in my wet dreams. There’s something about black neoprene hugging his fit body, and cupping the bulge between his legs that does it for me.

“Uh, Ty?” Alden extends his hand toward me.

I take his hand and he pulls me to my feet with an exaggerated grunt.

“Phew.” He wipes his forehead with the back of his hand. It’s a self-deprecating shtick he’s had since we were kids, back when I was a head taller than him.

He was sure he was going to present as an omega, but he was just a late bloomer. Now our height difference is negligible, and he’s just as strong as I am, but his insecurity remains. I wish he understood that at the end of the day, it doesn’t matter how big he is or whether he’s an alpha or an omega. He’ll always be Alden to me.

Society just likes to put alphas and omegas into boxes with strict stereotypes. It’s bullshit.

I step behind him, and stop short at the sight of his exposed back and the wet suit tight over his ass. Up close, he smells so fucking delicious, I fight the urge to nuzzle my nose against his neck.

I’m not into Alden like that. I don’t want to fuck my best friend, but that draw to him grows with each rut I fuck into a flesh light, and I don’t know how to fix it.

Breathing through my mouth, I yank Alden’s zipper up so fast he jumps. Then I smack his upper back in a very platonic, teammate sort of way and step back, pressing my hand against the base of my erection, willing it to disappear.

It doesn’t.

Alden turns. His blue-gray gaze dips down my body and back up, then his nostrils flare faintly, which means he scents my arousal too. Great. His vetiver scent intensifies. We keep getting caught in these awkward loops of turning each other on.

“You need to fix that zipper or get a new suit,” I say. I know he’s not trying to tease me on purpose, but it feels like it.

Alden blinks. His lips twist into a playful smirk. “I’m not getting rid of my lucky suit, and I don’t need to fix the zipper when I have you to do it for me.”

He’s not wrong. He never surfs without me. Thanks, Jaws. I tried to talk him out of watching it, but he was in that cocky teen phase, and insisted it wouldn’t be scary. He’s been afraid of sharks ever since.