Page 1 of Coco and the Misfits (The Candyverse #4)

COCO

“A re you sure it’s not too much?” June asks, taking a step back, hands on hips, giving my grand oeuvre a critical look.

“Are you nuts? It’s never too much for us omegas.” I finish painting the kitchen cupboard the dusky pink I chose and grin proudly. “It’s perfect.”

“Maybe,” she concedes. “If only you hadn’t painted everything around us a shade of pink.”

“But that’s the whole point. Shades of pink: a sexy affair.” I put a finishing touch and climb to my feet. “This feels more like me.”

“You live in a pink apartment. The kitchen was already pink, now it’s just… pinker.”

“Exactly.”

“Coco…” She shakes her blond head at me.

“Too much?”

“Yeah.” She laughs. “But also it’s so you .”

“I know.” I grin. I’m over the top most of the time, but my friends get me. “Gimme five, bestie.”

June laughs again, high-fiving me. “Glad to see you happy.”

Right now, I really am. The pink is fighting the blues that hit sometimes. Every time the month rolls by and I don’t get my heat, I’m sad. I am an omega, dammit. I feel it in my bones. I’ve always known it.

So why won’t my body get the memo?

“Are we done here?” June glances around my newly painted kitchen. She’s dressed in streaked overalls, her blond hair caught back in a messy bun, and even so, disheveled and dirty, she screams omega. There is something about her heart-shaped face, her curves, her cute smile.

Whereas I scream. Just scream. Into my pillow, at night. On my balcony, in the mornings. Like a demented magpie.

I scream, look at me, I’m an omega. I’ve built the best nest, I’ve dyed my hair pink to match my apartment. I have the vibes, I have the signs. Let me into the club.

Isn’t it about time?

I realize June is frowning at me, still waiting for an answer.

“We’re done here,” I rush to say. “Thanks, girl.”

“You should have asked a rugged alpha to paint with you,” she says, “but I did my best.”

“A rugged alpha to smash up my kitchen and take me against the table, calling me a good girl,” I mutter, tapping a finger against my lower lip. “Oh yeah. Why didn’t I think of that?”

“No idea.” She giggles. “Any particular alpha in mind?”

“Too many to choose from,” I say dismissively. “You know me. I flit from bed to bed.”

“You’re so full of shit,” June says.

She’s right, but that’s only because I’m on a dry spell. Dry like the desert. And it’s not that I don’t see eligible alphas around me.

I do.

But those I like all seem spoken for. Which is another way of saying they keep falling for others and not me. I keep falling for unavailable men.

I just need to put more work into it. Into flirting and going out. Into hunting . I’m sure that’s the issue. Speaking of which…

“Going to the gym later on?” I ask her.

“Sure. What time?”

“Gimme an hour to shower and make myself pretty.” I look down at myself. “It will take me some time to get all this paint off. I’ll pick you up.”

“In your pink Cadillac?”

I wink at her. She used to live across town but now she has moved into an apartment two floors above mine, so we’re practically roommates. “Yeah, baby. Wear something nice.”

“I sure will.” She sticks her tongue out at me. “Mission parameters?”

“The same,” I say solemnly. “Stand by for further instructions.”

June and I have been infiltrating an alpha base, aka a gym full of muscular, sweaty alphas. There’s so much eye candy I’m going to get cavities, but a girl has needs.

Also, it’s research. Search. Hunting, like I said. One can’t just sit and wait for the right pack to come to them, right? One needs to be proactive.

Go get those hunky alphas before another gets there first—again.

Not to mention, at the gym, I have my eye on a particular alpha and the hunt is on, baby.

Watch me toss my pink hair over my shoulder as I go.

* * *

An hour later, dressed in my flirtiest little dress and high heels, my hair pinned back with butterfly hairpins, my lashes curled and my lips painted, I feel ready to tackle my mission.

“June!” I knock on her door. “Are you ready?”

The door opens and she appears breathless and barefoot, only wearing a thin white summer dress. “Let me put on my sandals and grab my bag.”

Her blond hair hangs around her face, her bare legs are freckled and she’s pretty as a picture.

She’s my girl, my best friend. We sort of grew up together.

Our families are friends and we lived on the same suburban street as kids.

I always thought we’d find our packs early, that they’d be friends, too, and we’d hang out together all the time, doing fun activities with our kids and strolling in parks and the countryside.

Yeah, I’ve plotted it all out in my mind. Three kids, at least one of them liking cutesy, flowery things like me, a little picturesque cottage out of town with a creek nearby and a touch of a fairytale.

It will happen. I just know it. We’re still young. I’ve barely turned twenty-three. And my dream is very much alive.

“You’re pensive today.” She slips her sandals on, grabs her purse and saunters out. She links her arm with mine and gives me a wink. “Ready for hunk-hunting?”

“Ah. Yeah.”

“What’s up?”

“Nothing.”

Twenty-three. I’m turning twenty-three in a couple of weeks and suddenly the weight of my age feels oppressive. Not to mention, Mom has been gently prodding me to meet a few beta men. Any men. As if she’s getting desperate on my behalf.

No pressure, right? Especially when it’s not beta men I want, but big, muscular alphas.

Anyway, this mood isn’t like me. I’m a ray of sunshine. I believe in myself and the future.

So I grin at June and drag her down the stairs. “It’s hunk time!”

“You said it, sister.”

“I brought popcorn,” I say.

“You didn’t!”

I waggle my brows. “No, you’re right, but I brought lollipops. Even better.”

June giggles, and the hunt is on.