Page 1 of Feeling the Heat: Part One
1
Accidentally peeingmy pants in a bar is not how I wanted to celebrate turning forty. And yet, here I am, mortified heat singeing my cheeks when a gush of liquid escapes me as I laugh at my friend’s impression of the blustering alpha sitting down the bar from us.
I set my cocktail back down on the bar, eyes going wide as I let out a little squeak of alarm and clamp my thighs as close together as possible.
“You alright, Cami?” Astrid arches a well-manicured blonde brow at my sudden distress.
“Could be better.” I give her a tight smile, casting a quick glance around us to make sure no one is listening. Fortunately, the alpha a few seats down from us is still too engrossed in hitting on an omega half his age to pay any attention to a pair of betas. Still, I lean in to whisper just in case. “Can I borrow your sweater? I, uh, I had an accident.”
A line forms between Astrid’s brows for a moment before comprehension washes over her face. “Oh! Of course.” She lowers her voice as well. “Number one or number two?”
The way she calmly asks the question makes me feel like I’m one of her kids instead of a grown woman. I snort. “I didn’t pull a Fun Plaza,” I reply, referencing the disastrous birthday party where both her girls came down with a stomach bug.
Astrid grimaces, then laughs. “Whew, okay.”
“You just made me laugh too hard, and I… leaked.”
“Ah, welcome to my world,” she says with a rueful smile. “You’re lucky. I haven’t been able to laugh without peeing a little ever since I had the twins. I usually carry an extra pair of panties with me, but…” She gestures to her tiny clutch and pocketless dress.
“No worries, they wouldn’t fit me, anyway.” Astrid is petite everywhere that I’m voluptuous. There’s no way I’d be able to squeeze her underwear over my ass.
She passes over her black sweater, and I do my best to wrap it around my waist surreptitiously. Curse this tight dress she convinced me to wear tonight. Yeah, I look hot, but right now I’m wishing I wore something flowy that could hide my sudden incontinence.
As I shimmy off the barstool and tug the sweater down to drape over my ass, memories of the middle school dance where I got my first period and bled all over my pretty white dress flash into my mind. God, what is it with me and making a fool of myself on special occasions? You’d think after all these years, I’d be more prepared for disaster.
I glance down at the pleather barstool to make sure I didn’t get it wet. Thankfully, there’s no damp spot to draw everyone’s attention to my accident. My relief at that fizzles away when I look up and lock eyes with an alpha across the room who is staring at me like heknows.
Oh god, maybe he does. I can’t smell anything over the cloying floral perfume Astrid likes to wear for fancy occasions, but alphas have better senses of smell than betas.
Dammit. My gut twists as I turn away from the guy, my face burning even hotter. I lift my thick curtain of hair up off my neck and fan myself with my hand for a moment, trying to cool off from my embarrassment, but it doesn’t help.
Between my wet underwear and how overheated I am, I think I’m done with tonight’s celebrations. So much for a fun night out. I knew I should’ve stayed home and ordered takeout. My body has made it abundantly clear I’m too old for bar hopping.
“I’m gonna go try to clean up before I head home,” I say, wiping away the sweat that’s accumulated on my brow.
Astrid’s cherry red lips form a pout. “What? No, you can’t go home yet. It’s not even 9:30! You promised you’d stay out until at least 11. Just go take off your panties and come back. We’re going to get you laid for your birthday!”
“I’m not hooking up with anyone after I’ve pissed myself!” I hiss back, and wince as my voice draws the attention of the alpha down the bar, who must have struck out with the pretty little omega. I give him an apologetic smile, and he cocks a brow at me before his eyes lower to skim down my body, catching on my hips. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was checking me out. Me, the woman who just announced to the bar that she can't control her bladder.
Alphas are weird.
Speaking of which, out of the corner of my eye, I can see the alpha who was watching me before moving closer. A wave of his earthen scent reaches me before he does, making my stomach clench.
Ugh, there’s no way in hell I’m sticking around to let some cocky alpha who smells like wet potting soil mock me for my poor bladder control. I’ve had enough bullshit alpha negging to last a lifetime.
I scurry off toward the bathroom before Astrid can protestmore, brushing past the dirt-scented alpha before he can open his mouth to deliver whatever charming opening line he thought up.
It’s a weeknight, so at least the bar isn’t crowded, and there’s no line to get into the beta/omega restroom. There’s only a beta woman in a cute orange jumpsuit washing her hands at the sink when I enter, and I give her a cursory nod as I pass by and head into a stall. I wait until I hear her leave, then drape Astrid’s sweater over the door of the stall and reach up under my dress to tug my panties down.
When I touch the damp fabric, I freeze. That doesn’t feel like pee. No, it’s slightly… thicker.
“Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I groan under my breath, and my low belly cramps in reply as if my asshole of a uterus is saying, “Happy birthday, bitch.”
I’m not supposed to get my period for another week. They’ve been getting more irregular, but this is ridiculous. There’s no tampon in my bag because, like I said before, I’ve never learned to prepare for these situations and it keeps biting me in the ass.
While I’m thankful I haven’t lost bladder control quite yet, bleeding through my panties like I’m not a woman who’s had almost thirty years of them might be even more embarrassing.
With a grimace, I push my underwear down to assess the damage.
