Page 63 of Heat Lightning

“Well?” Her eyes twinkled. “Do tell. Is the mask hot enough for MaskTok?”

“I don’t even know what that means. Get out of my kitchen.”

She cackled all the way down the hall.

SIXTEEN

MAX

“Oh my God, you really did bring me to a therapist, didn’t you?” I asked the next morning, peering out the car window.

Gwen pulled her Mercedes into a quietly luxurious business park in the newly developed district of Plover Bay, a terrifying smirk stretched across her face. “Not exactly.”

We passed a cosmetic and reconstructive surgery clinic and an orthodontist’s office before parking in front of a white, unmarked building with manicured landscaping and a pristine lawn.

“Remember what I said about trusting me?” she asked, shutting off the car.

DANGER, DANGER!

“I recall, but I’m thinking I need to rescind that.”

She rolled her eyes. “We can leave whenever you want, and you don’t have to do or agree to anything you don’t want to. But I think it might help to talk to a heat therapist. Dr. Grover has worked with omegas from the clinic before—he specializes in people with a history of traumatic heats. And he’s a really good guy.”

Confused, I asked, “How is that different from a regular therapist?”

She smirked again. “He’s a heat teacher, Max. But he doesn’t just jump into bed with people. There’s a process. This is an introductory consult to gauge mutual compatibility.”

I turned beet red. “No. Nonononono. Nope. Turn the car around.”

“Max—”

“I am not going to share my heat with a heat teacher,” I said, shuddering. “I don’t care how many fucking degrees he has. No.”

My first time being knotted would not be with a stranger.

She sighed. “If you really don’t want to, that’s fine. But I think you should at least talk to him, Max. It might help you figure out if you’re feeling so strongly about this guy because of the bond or because you really want him. Owen might be able to… clarify that for you.”

“I don’t see how Owen could help,” I grumbled, wanting to crawl back into my shell at the thought of sharing something so personal with someone I didn’t know.

She shrugged. “It might also give your mysterious alpha a push in the right direction.”

I pursed my lips. “How so?”

With a smile way too innocent to trust, she said, “Maybe he needs to think you really are contemplating other options. Regardless, you deserve to have a fun heat.”

“Do I?”

“Yes,” she said firmly. “You do. Now, are we going inside or staying in the car to wallow in self-pity?”

I threw my head back against the headrest. “Fine. Inside.”

She stepped out of the car. “Good. I’ll take you to get a Happy Meal when we’re done for being a good boy.”

I flipped her the bird before following her up the brick-lined path. The entrance was shaded by thick privacy hedges, and Dr. Grover’s name, followed by a bunch of letters and acronyms, was printed in small, bold lettering on the glass door.

Cool air drifted out when we stepped inside.

“Good morning,” a receptionist with kind eyes greeted. “Are you Max?”