Page 13 of The Bright Omega

Four days ago an elevator hero made me see stars. Tonight five men named Doug made me want to join a convent. Dating is a nightmare. But at least the night is young enough for a good bottle of wine and a gallon of ice cream. Bring on the even fatter ass.

eight

Camelia

One and a half weeks after the Dougpocalypse—yes, I’m considering a trademark—and my ass has officially entered its final form. I caught it in the mirror this morning. It’s plumper and rounder, like it’s been stress-eating ice cream in solidarity with my wounded pride. Old AF Doug would probably call it outrageous at this point, but his glaucoma-ridden opinion can stay in 1978 where it belongs.

Fuck you, Doug.

I’ve been off the apps since that night. Not because I’m defeated. No self-respecting omega lets five men named Doug break her. Mostly because my brain and my hormones both need a goddamn breather. Fourteen days of zero Viking sightings and way too many nights alone with my toys have left me restless. Lonely in a way that feels embarrassing to admit even to myself.

I’ve been working from home for two weeks straight, buried in Saint’s coffee deal paperwork. The silence in my apartment is starting to echo. Lucy’s buried in whatever the hell it is she’s studying. Lark’s been mysteriously sick for the same two weeks. So tonight, Friday night, I’m flying solo with no plans and too much nervous energy.

I’m halfway through debating whether frozen pizza and another true-crime docuseries on the couch instead of my nest count as “going out” when my phone lights up.

Lark: Party at our place tonight. Saint’s shipment goes out tomorrow. Graham’s scent-match research hit a new milestone. Come celebrate with us. I’m finally not contagious and I miss my best friend. 💕

A grin breaks across my face so fast it almost hurts. Thank fuck.

Cammie: On my way. I’m bringing the good stuff. Prepare for me to take full credit for Saint’s success in front of everyone.

I’m already pulling on a soft off-shoulder neon green sweater and my favorite leggings, the ones that make my newly upgraded ass look criminal. I swipe on some lipstick, step into heels, pop on my favorite lightning bolt earrings, spritz on perfume, and grab my bag. Two bottles of cabernet later, I’m locking my door and heading down to the Uber I ordered because I plan on drinking at least one and a half of those bottles myself.

Lark: Finn’s supposed to be here.

The elevator ride down feels lighter than it has in days. I’m actually leaving my apartment for human interaction instead of groceries or takeout. I'll hang with my favorite people. Maybe I’ll even meet the mysterious Finn that Lark’s been trying to set me up with. By the time the By the time my Uber pulls up, I’m practically vibrating with excitement. I lean back against the seat, watching the city lights streak by, the two bottles clinking gently in the bag at my feet.

Screw the Viking. Screw the apps. Screw sitting alone on the twentieth floor feeling sorry for myself. Tonight I’m showing up for my best friend, celebrating her alpha’s new DNA scent-matching research, drinking too much, and reminding myself that my social life is not, in fact, dead.

The Uber stops in front of the sprawling Victorian mansion on the river, all green and charcoal siding glowing under the street lights. God, this house is ridiculous in the best way. I thank the driver, grab my two bottles of cabernet, and practically skip up the front steps.

I punch in the code and swing the door open. Warmth, laughter, and the most delicious roasted garlic-herb smell hits me all at once. I follow the smells of the food and Lark’s pack to the kitchen.

I hear Saint’s voice before I walk in. “A wild omega might be exactly what he needs.”

“Hey!” All heads turn. I hold both bottles of wine high. “I resemble that comment.”

Lark grins. “Graham was just saying you might be too much for his research partner. But he’s cute. I want to set you up.”

I snap my eyes to Graham. Then I feign like I’m going to smack him with one of the wine bottles. He jerks back, hands up. I can’t help it. I laugh.

“I’m not mean to you, giant. I only like to keep you on those long-ass toes of yours.” And I’m not lying. His toes are probably four inches long. They’d have to be to support all six-foot-seven of him.

“I am not reassured,” he mutters.

“Good. You shouldn’t be,” I shoot back. You threaten a guy’s balls one time and he gets so touchy. It’s perfect.

I look back to Lark. “He’s skipping again?”

She nods. “I’m sorry.”

I shrug. “No worries. But… if he’s interested, I might be willing to meet him.”

Her eyes go wide. “Oh my god! Are you looking for your pack? Because Graham’s research is about to open up and you could be part of the first group to submit DNA.”

I put my hands up. “Ugh, no. I’ll keep my saliva samples to myself.”

She blinks. Leave it to a happily bonded omega to misunderstand.