My hands are shaking as I grip the edge of Nick's couch.
I've been sitting here for the past two hours, pretending to watch whatever movie he's put on while my body completely goes haywire. Every breath feels like swallowing fire. The soft cotton of my t-shirt might as well be sandpaper against my skin. And Nick's scent—God, his scent—it's everywhere, wrapping around me like a living thing, making it impossible to think about anything else.
"You want more water?" Nick asks, and I nearly jump out of my skin at the sound of his voice.
"I'm good," I manage, though my throat feels like the Sahara. The truth is, I don't trust myself to reach for the glass without visibly trembling.
Nick gives me a sideways glance. "You sure you're okay? You've been quiet all morning."
"Just tired," I say, and we both know it's bullshit.
He doesn't look convinced, but mercifully doesn't push. Usually, I appreciate that Nick knows when to back off. Right now, part of me wishes he'd call me on it, force me to admit what I'm starting to suspect is happening.
Because this isn't just being tired or stressed. The burning heat under my skin, the way every little sound makes me flinch, the dull ache that's been building at the base of my spine…I know what this is. I just don't want to believe it.
My heat cycle is regular as clockwork. Predictable as sunrise. The next one isn't due for weeks.
Except breakthrough heats are a thing. Rare, but real. Usually triggered by...
No. Not going there.
"I was thinking we could grab lunch at that new place on Maple," Nick says, his attention back on the movie. "The one with the fancy burgers you were talking about last week."
The thought of food makes my stomach turn, but the idea of being in public—around other people, other scents—is even worse. What I should do is make an excuse and go home, lock myself in my apartment until this passes or until I can figure out what the hell is happening.
What I actually say is, "Sure, sounds good."
Because I'm an idiot who can't say no to Nick Keller, even when every rational thought I have is screaming at me to get away from him.
"Great," Nick grins. "Movie's almost over, we can head out after."
I nod, trying to focus on the screen, but all I can think about is how Nick's sitting less than two feet away from me. Every time he shifts position, each small movement sends a fresh wave of his scent washing over me. It's not just stronger than usual. It's like my brain is processing it completely differently, picking up notes that make my pulse race and my skin flush.
By the time the credits roll, I've worked myself into a state of near-panic. I need to leave. I need to call my doctor. I need to do literally anything except go to a public restaurant with the alpha I've been secretly in love with for years while my body seems determined to broadcast every suppressed instinct I've spent my adult life hiding.
"Ready?" Nick stands, stretching in a way that makes his t-shirt ride up, revealing a strip of tanned skin and the trail of dark hair disappearing beneath his waistband.
I look away quickly, heat flooding my face. "Yeah, just need to use the bathroom first."
In the safety of Nick's bathroom, I splash cold water on my face and immediately regret looking in the mirror. My pupils are dilated, my cheeks flushed. I look like I'm running a fever, which I probably am.
I pull out my phone, hands still shaking slightly, and check my heat tracking app. Last heat was exactly three months ago, right on schedule. Nothing unusual about my cycle, no missed doses of my suppressants. There's no reason for this to be happening.
Except...
A memory surfaces from nursing school. Our instructor explaining breakthrough heats, rare cases where an omega's body overrides suppressants due to prolonged exposure to a particularly compatible alpha.
No. That can't be it. I've been around Nick for years without this happening. We were roommates in college, for Christ's sake. If we were that kind of compatible, wouldn't I have known before now?
Unless something's changed. Unless years of proximity, of friendship, of slowly falling in love with him have somehow primed my body to recognize him as...
I can't even finish the thought.
I take a deep breath, trying to calm down. Maybe it's not a heat at all. Maybe I really am getting sick. Food poisoning. A virus. Anything but the one thing that would force me to confront feelings I've spent years carefully burying.
When I emerge from the bathroom, Nick is waiting by the door, keys in hand. He looks at me with that slightly furrowed brow that means he's worried but trying not to show it.
"We don't have to go out if you're not feeling well," he says. "We can order in."