Page 33 of Empty Heat
Sometimes I wondered about him. Who he was. Who he might be waiting for. If his wealth hindered his abilities to find a mate and have a family, or maybe he didn’t want a family. Maybe he was happy alone. Many people chose that lifestyle.
I myself did not mind being single. Yet here I was, standing before my boss, annoyed because the rare time I felt even the tiniest of spark for another, that person had been snatched from me.
My irritation must have continued to show, because Senta said, “I’m sorry, Lev. We have learned our lesson here. That’s all I can say.”
“Yes, sir.”
We had learned our lesson. One we should have already known. But at whose expense?
I left the room, shutting the door quietly behind me.
* * *
I forcedmyself to stare straight ahead as I walked past the private pool we’d had reserved today. I knew Callum, Rhodes and Soren were behind the fence.
But even as I tried to put it out of my mind, my steps slowed. My ears strained to hear any sound from that area.
Nothing.
The usual squall had come and gone early today. The sky was like melted blue taffy, and the air stuck to my skin. A swim would have been perfect. I could still go to the community pool for a dip, but my heart wasn’t in it.
I thought back on my past love life, something I usually avoided because I found it wanting. When I was younger, and now, if I ever felt attracted to someone and wanted more, they left as soon as they found out my field of study. Even if some more curious omegas stuck around for a while, nothing became serious. Most wanted monogamy with dating, and if a possible mate-bond developed, my job was a deal-breaker.
I had been warned about all of this coming into my line of work. I’d taken classes about the social hardships. Had group sessions with other surrogates who talked about the difficulty of having a personal life outside not just the job, but the training itself.
In my twenties, it didn’t make me waver from my call to healing. I wasn’t ready to settle down anyway. But now I was in my thirties. After college, I’d trained for two more years to get several licenses for my chosen profession.
I’d worked for my first year at a hospital in Hawaii, where my services were very discreetly used. Omega Island then offered a contract, but it required another year of classes and training because they said their methods were different.
I was twenty-seven by the time I helped heal my first patient on Omega Island. I never regretted my choices.
People made jokes about surrogates. I’d heard them all. Been called all the names. Prostitute. Whore. Sometimes even fluffer. Twice, while still in training, I’d heard comments from non-surrogate peers who might see a group of us walking toward them. “Here come the magic penises.”
I thought about all those words a lot, offended at first, but later with calm intellect leading the way I concluded they weren’t entirely wrong by pure definition.
Whore.Yes, I did have sex for money.Fluffer.Yes, I did work to help arouse patients with various performance conditions.Magic penis.Yes, I used sex to help heal, thus even that term wasn’t entirely off-base.
It certainly didn’t make me feel magical to help others, but it did fulfill me.
Today, however, was a bad day.
People I knew greeted me along the pathway, but I barely responded. My mind was still fixated on why this ridiculous plan had been approved for Callum, and how badly it had gone. I couldn’t stop running scenarios with Callum through my mind. My brain would not let up.
I got back to the barracks and fixed myself an early supper. I ate without tasting.
I fiddled with my computer. I wrote to old friends from my surrogacy classes. People I hadn’t seen in years outside of Omega Island. I knew I wouldn’t hear from them. Or, if I did, days would pass before they might respond.
Was I getting too old to be here and working this job? Thirty-two was not old. But I wondered. Turn-over of staff here at the island had always been quick. People found mates. Settled down. Had kids. Sexual surrogacy was a career that lasted ten years at the most, with much lower averages, even if the surrogates remained single. Patients wanted young surrogates. Ageism was involved but catering to patient orientation and preference came first.
Why was I thinking these thoughts right now? Just because of a botched assignment? Because of a patient I’d failed?
The day had been exhausting. I lay back on my bed and closed my eyes.
The next thing I knew, my body jerked awake.
I blinked, staring out my open window to see stars winking in depthless black. I’d been asleep for hours.
I grabbed my phone, seeing a couple of new texts. But one caught my gaze and held it.
