Page 16 of Feeling the Heat: Part Two
Dammit, what was Astrid thinking? What was I thinking? I should’ve sucked it up and ordered things for myself instead of relying on my well-meaning, but out of touch best friend.
With all the sparkly, clinging dresses laid out on my kitchen table, I snap a pic and reply to Lauren with it.
Camille: I just got them, but none of them will work. Astrid ordered them for me because I was struggling, but now I’m screwed. I don’t think any stores will have something decent available for overnight delivery.
I don’t mention that there are probably plenty of cute boutiques in the city where I could find something last minute, but I’m too terrified to go to them. I wish I could use money as an excuse, but Lauren is my boss and knows how much she’s paying me.
She replies a few minutes later.
Lauren: These are all hot! Why wouldn’t they work? What about the dark green one? That’d be so good with your hair.
I pick up the dress in question and take another picture that shows off the double thigh slits that go almost all the way up to the crotch.
Lauren: Oh. Okay, yeah, maybe not that one. You should absolutely keep it because that will look incredible on you, but maybe it’s a bit too sexy.
I silently retort that I have no need for a sexy dress because I plan on being a spinster omega for the rest of my life, but refrain from actually saying that to her. I know Lauren will try to reassure me that things aren’t that dire, and I don’t want to argue.
Lauren: What about the black one on the bottom right?
I pick up the dress, scowling a little at the low neckline. It’s the least revealing of the assortment, but black has never been my color.
Camille: It’s okay. Black ages me, but I guess that doesn’t matter when everyone already thinks of me as the old omega.
Lauren: No one at the party will give a shit about that nonsense. If they do, they’ll get kicked out. So at least go try it on and show me before you rule it out.
Lauren: Also, now they’re calling you the omega MILF a lot more than old omega.
Camille: They aren’t really, are they?
Lauren: Oh yes, they are. There are haters, but there are just as many people thirsting after you. Wanting to call you mommy and wishing they could find a hot older omega like you.
I gape down at my phone. In all the horrible scenarios that I’ve constructed in my head about what’s being said about me online now that I’m avoiding it like the plague, none of them involved me being considered attractive. I’m not unhappy with my looks, but I’m also aware that I’m not anywhere close to a model or typical beauty standards.
Camille: Wow, okay. Not sure how to feel about that.
Lauren: Normally I’d say to ignore what random strangers say about you on the internet, whether it’s positive or negative, but as your friend, I love how people recognize that you’re a total babe.
It’s surreal, but that knowledge bolsters me as I wriggle into the tight dress, then head into my bathroom to check it out in the full-length mirror. I do my best to look at myself through a neutral lens as I scan over my body, pretending that it’s not me I’m looking at, but a stranger.
It’s… not bad. The boob situation isn’t as dire as I thought, so I won’t be threatening to have a nip slip the entire night, and the sleek fabric pleases my omega, skimming across my body to show off my curves. Maybe it clings to my stomach and hips more than I’d normally be comfortable with, but objectively, it looks good. And if I weren’t barefaced with a rat’s nest of frizzy hair, I don’t think it’d wash me out too much.
I turn to the side, looking at myself over my shoulder to make sure this angle isn’t a total disaster. Huh. It makes my ass look pretty damn good, and that’s in my worn-out granny panties. My soft stomach, which I spent so many years of my youth cramming into shapewear and trying to obscure, is on full display, and I don’t mind it. I look mature and oddly powerful, which is a stark contrast to how I’ve felt recently. If I put on stiletto heels and a red lip, someone might ask me to step on them. It’s a welcome change from a bedraggled, pathetic lump.
I hold my hair up to see what the effect would be, and take a selfie in the mirror to share with Lauren to make sure I’m not being delusional.
Camille: It’s not bad.
Lauren replies right away.
Lauren: Quit playing. You know you look stunning.
A smile curves across my lips, all too rare these days. My omega preens at the compliment, and I have the ridiculous urge to take more photos to show off how good I look, and send them to…
And just like that, the excitement crashes back down to reality. I can’t send pictures when I haven’t even replied to their messages. What’s the point of looking good when the people I’d want to admire me in this dress aren’t in my life?
A nagging voice tells me they could be. That I could send them pics and use them to apologize for ignoring them. Then ask them to come with me to this party so I don’t have to go alone and face talking to strangers and clients about my sudden social media infamy.
It’d be so nice to let them back into my life and accept all the help they want to give, but I’m not about to get my heart broken twice. That’s almost entirely certain if I head down that path. It doesn’t matter that River isn’t living with them right now. He’s part of their pack, and I refuse to be the reason they’re fractured. I respect myself enough not to give another chance to the alpha who manipulated and bonded me, then fucked me over.
