Page 4 of His Best Friend’s Heat

Emotional shifts. Like realizing I'm hopelessly in love with my best friend?

"How long do I have?" I ask.

"Based on your current symptoms, I'd say twelve to twenty-four hours before full heat onset.

But given how quickly it's progressing, possibly less.

" She pauses, choosing her next words carefully.

"Do you have someone who can help you through this?

A heat this intense—and it will be intense, breaking through suppressants like this—isn't something you should handle alone. "

The implication is clear, and my face burns hotter. "I...I don't know. I haven't thought that far ahead."

That's a lie. There's only one person I want, and he's sitting at a table outside this bathroom, completely unaware that his best friend is about to go into a heat that might very well have been triggered by years of suppressed wanting.

"You need to make arrangements," Amara says firmly. "Either a professional companion, or someone you trust. But you can't wait much longer. You shouldn't be in public, and you definitely shouldn't be alone tonight."

The reality crashes down on me all at once. This is happening. I'm going into heat, possibly the most intense one of my life, and my options are either to ask my straight best friend to help me through it or to somehow find a professional companion in the next few hours.

"I can't tell Nick," I say, panic rising. "He doesn't—we're not—he's straight. He dates female omegas."

Amara gives me a look I can't quite interpret. "I'm not going to presume to know your personal situation. But as your colleague, I need to emphasize that your safety is the priority here. A breakthrough heat can be dangerous if not properly managed."

"I know," I say, because I do. I've treated omegas with heat complications. Dehydration. Fever. Neurological complications. When things go wrong, they go wrong fast.

"Do you want me to call someone for you? A family member who could help you get home safely?"

I shake my head. "No, I...I need to talk to Nick. He should know what's happening, at least. He can help me get home."

She nods. "Alright. But don't wait too long. And call me if you need medical advice." She pulls a card from her wallet, scribbling her personal number on the back. "Anytime, day or night."

"Thank you," I say, taking the card with trembling fingers.

She gives my arm a reassuring squeeze. "Take care of yourself. And remember, there's nothing shameful about what's happening. It's biology, not a character flaw."

After she leaves, I stay in the bathroom, staring at my reflection. My hazel eyes look almost green against my flushed skin, my pupils so dilated there's only a thin ring of color visible. I look exactly like what I am, an omega on the verge of heat.

How am I supposed to tell Nick? What words could possibly explain that my body has apparently decided he's my ideal mate? That I need his help with the most intimate, vulnerable experience an omega can have?

And even if I could find the words, how could I ask that of him? Nick, who has only ever shown interest in female omegas. Nick, who values our friendship above almost everything. Nick, who would probably agree to help me out of loyalty and concern, even if the idea repulses him.

I splash more cold water on my face, trying to clear my head. One step at a time. First, I need to get out of this restaurant. Then I need to get home. Then I can figure out...everything else.

When I finally emerge from the bathroom, our food has arrived. Nick looks up, relief washing over his face.

"There you are. I was about to send a search party." His attempt at humor falls flat when he gets a good look at me. "You look terrible. What's going on?"

I slide into my seat, avoiding his gaze. "I need to go home."

"What did Amara want? Is everything okay?"

"Not really," I admit, my voice barely above a whisper. "I'm...I'm not feeling well."

Nick immediately shifts into protective mode, and I can actually see his alpha instincts kicking in as he responds to my distress. "I knew something was off. We're leaving right now."

He signals for the check, asks for our food to be packed to go, and within minutes we're outside the restaurant. The fresh air helps a little, but not enough. Every step seems to intensify the heat building in my core, the sensitivity of my skin, the overwhelming awareness of Nick beside me.

"Can you make it back to my place, or should I call a car?" Nick asks, his hand hovering near my elbow, not quite touching but close enough that I can feel the warmth radiating from his skin.

"Car," I manage. "Please."

As Nick pulls out his phone, I catch his scent again—stronger now, richer, and my body responds with a wave of want so intense it makes my knees weak. I grip the brick wall of the restaurant, trying to stay upright.

"Hey," Nick says, immediately at my side. "Easy. Car's two minutes away."

His proximity should help, but it's making everything worse. The protective tone in his voice, the way he's automatically positioning himself between me and the street…it's triggering every omega instinct I've spent years suppressing.

When the car arrives, Nick helps me into the backseat, and I have to bite my lip to keep from whimpering at the brief contact.

The drive to his apartment takes forever.

I'm pressed against the door, as far from Nick as I can get, but it doesn't matter.

The confined space is filled with his scent, and I'm drowning in it.

"Almost there," Nick murmurs, and I realize he's been talking to me, trying to keep me calm. "Just hold on."

By the time we reach his building, I'm barely holding it together. Nick pays the driver and helps me out, his arm around my waist for support. The contact sends electricity racing through my nervous system, and I have to clench my fists to keep from grabbing onto him.

In the elevator, pressed close together in the small space, I finally understand what Amara meant about this being dangerous. My body is screaming for relief, for Nick specifically, and the rational part of my brain is rapidly losing the battle against pure biological need.

"Micah," Nick says as we reach his door, and his tone makes me look up. His eyes are dark, pupils dilated, nostrils flared slightly. "Your scent...it's..."

He trails off, but I know what he's not saying. He can smell it too—the sweetness of pre-heat, the pheromones that are probably broadcasting my need to every alpha within a five-block radius.

Including him.

As he fumbles with his keys, I lean against the wall, watching his hands shake slightly. I need to tell him what's happening. I need to warn him before we're alone in his apartment together, before my body makes the decision for me.

But as Nick finally gets the door open and turns to help me inside, his eyes meeting mine with a mixture of concern and something darker, what looks almost like hunger, I realize I might already be out of time.