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REMI

Being normal is overrated.

Fuck normal.

Some people say I have too much sass. I say I have too much ass—big difference.

Either way, I’m a bit much for anyone to handle. It’s the very reason I haven’t found a pack yet. No one can seem to handle me because I’m a lot .

I say they’re not enough.

Trust me, I’ve tried.

I've been searching for the right pack since I entered my designation at eighteen. No one seems to hit that buzzer for me. Sure, some have tickled my fancy, but that is about as far as it’s gone.

So, I stopped looking and just started living my life. It’ll happen when it happens. If it doesn’t, then that’s okay, too. I don’t need a pack to validate that I’m enough. I am. I’m more than enough. I’m that and twice on Sunday.

Glancing at my watch, I huff once more and take a drink of my white chocolate mocha as I continue to people-watch. It’s a pretty autumn day, with leaves dusting all along the sidewalks as everyone decorates for Halloween.

I love this time of year. Sitting down with a hot cup of coffee, a thick fleece blanket, and a good romance novel is nice. I love to get lost in the pages and read about someone finding the love of their life. It’s everything.

They’re impeding on that.

They’re late.

It’s like this every week. I’m the first one to arrive and the last to leave. I wish the other women were as devoted to this book club as I am. Instead, they’re more interested in finding their forever alpha or alphas. They always run around to clubs and everywhere else just to seek them out.

What a bunch of bull crap.

Waiting on them is exactly how I want to spend my day off.

Yay.

Not.

I get it. I do. Everyone wants to find love. Heck, even on some level, I want to find love, too. But I’m not going to be obsessed with it until I do. I’ll read about it and fantasize. That way, I won't disappoint myself if I don’t find my forever.

I’m twenty-eight years old. If love were going to happen to me, it would have already. I’m sure of it. There’s nothing particularly wrong with me.

I may be plus size, but I’m not ugly.

My curves are in all the right places, giving me a thicker hourglass figure that most women would kill for. My blonde hair is naturally light and wavy and hangs halfway down my back. My body is naturally tan and blemish-free.

I’m a knockout. I may not be everyone’s cup of tea, but that doesn’t mean I’m not someone’s.

One day, I’ll be someone’s choice.

I may not be your average omega’s shape, but that doesn’t mean I’m any less of an omega. In fact, there’s more of me to love if you ask me. More curves. More skin. Just more … everything.

I’m lost in thought, drinking my mocha, when Windy, my absolute best friend in the entire world, pops her head through Sip-A-Brew’s front door. Her megawatt smile has me returning one of my own.

“About time you showed up,” I say jokingly.

Windy is a fellow omega. She’s exactly like me, except her curves aren’t as pronounced as mine.

She’s a healthy size twelve to my sixteen.

Her hair is my absolute favorite, though.

It’s a deep burgundy curtain of luscious locks that I’d absolutely kill for.

Don’t even get me started on her lashes, either. Those things slay.

“It took me forever to get out of the office, dear,” she replies, shuffling through the tables to get to our designated booth. Once she flops down, blowing her curation bangs out of her face, she continues, “You know how Mr. Jackson is.”

Unfortunately, I do. Windy’s boss is a bonafide workaholic. When he’s in the office, he expects everyone to be there, especially Windy.

I honestly think he has it in for her. He’s always so much of a hardass when it comes to anything Windy does. No matter if what she does is pure perfection, he always manages to find some flaw somewhere. He’s a straight up asshole.

“You don’t have to utter a word, darling. I know how he can be.”

She smiles again and then goes to dig inside her purse. Once she finds what she’s looking for, she takes out the book we were supposed to read this week and slaps it down on the table. I smile at her when I spy all the different colored tabs sticking out of the side.

She must’ve really liked this book. I’d say she read it multiple times, too.

“Exactly how many times did you read this book?” I daintily pick up one of the edges of the cover, turning it toward me to see the many creases in the spine.

“Three,” she replies wistfully. “I couldn’t put it down. There’s just so much love inside those pages. It made my insides quiver.”

I giggle. “I don’t want to know what’s happening with your insides, girlfriend.”

“Or what’s inserting into my—”

I cover my ears. “La, La, La, La, La. I can’t hear you.”

She shakes her head, biting her lip to keep from laughing.

I always love hanging out with her. She’s my partner in crime.

We have been best friends since the third grade when some little boy tried to pick on me at recess.

Windy wasn’t for it, and she showed him quickly that she wouldn’t tolerate bullies.

I don’t think that boy ever bothered me again after that.

You see, I wasn’t always so confident in my own skin. It wasn’t until I turned twenty-three that I finally just threw my hands up and said forget it. I don’t have to please anyone except myself. As long as I’m happy, that’s all that matters.

The rest of the clan shows up not long after she does.

Brigitte, Dayla, and Jazmyn waltz into the coffee shop, giggling and talking.

Each holds the book we were supposed to read this week.

From their appearance, I can tell my choice was a hit.

Who wouldn’t love a good romance where the husband must overcome his insecurities and trauma to win back his wife?

Frayed Silk by Elle Fields is one book I continuously reread. It’s a book after my own heart.

Once Brigitte, Dayla, and Jazmyn sit down, we immediately get into it, discussing the pros and cons of saving a marriage in trouble.

This book puts me through all the feels every time I read it.

I’m laughing one minute while tears stream down my face at another.

You can feel the emotions bleed off the page; it’s so good.

“I can’t believe Leo didn’t just tell his wife why he was distancing himself from her,” Dayna says, a frown marring her beautiful features. “It would have saved them both grief.”

I clear my throat. “I kind of get where he’s coming from, though. He didn’t want his wife to think any less of him. He was supposed to be this big-time guy, yet a small woman shows him he’s not invincible.”

Jazmyn nods. “Imagine how heartbreaking it would be to find out your husband went through all that and didn’t trust you enough to have his six. I’d be devastated.”

We all frown at that. I know I’d be inconsolable if my man ever had to go through something like that and felt like he was alone in it all.

If I ever find a mate, I’m never going to make them feel as if they’re alone. I’ll do whatever I can to ensure he knows I have his back no matter what.

That’s how it’s supposed to be. Through the ups and downs of a relationship, you need to be able to count on your significant other to be there for you. To hold you when you’re so close to breaking.

Without trust, there’s nothing.

“I can’t believe she went there with that dude. I know Leo iced her out, but still … I can’t imagine doing what she did.”

My eyes drift to Brigitte, seeing her swirl her spoon in her coffee.

She’s lost in thought, probably remembering the scene from the hotel room.

That scene almost broke me. I know at that moment that it did Leo, too.

It also made him break out of that funk he’d been stuck in.

So, maybe it was a blessing in disguise.

As we finish discussing our weekly read and choose another to prepare for next week, Jazmyn gets this naughty gleam in her eyes. She shuffles around inside her purse and takes out multiple flyers, handing them to all of us.

“I know it’s a shot in the dark, but … what if?” she asks, looking at us expectantly.

I take the flyer from her hand and glance at it. It’s pink, pretty, and designed really well.

I do a double-take.

“What’s this?” I ask.

Smirking, she taps the top of my paper. “It could be our answer to everything.”

Select-A-Mate

Take a chance at your Happily Ever After …

My eyes meet hers across the table. She’s looking at me over the rim of her coffee cup, her eyes sparkling with devious intent. She’s essentially waving a steak in front of a famished female.

“Happily Ever After ?”

She nods. “We’re all single. We aren’t your average omegas, but we still need love, too.”

That night, as I’m lying in bed reading our next choice, I can’t help but glance over at my purse, seeing the tip of the flyer picking out of the side. The pink paper taunts me. It’s as if it’s screaming, “ Take a chance. You won’t regret it.”

I’m not too sure of that, though. Nothing good has ever happened to me in my love life. The closest I’ve ever gotten to love is reading it inside the pages of the book I’m devouring.

I’m an omega in love with love, but I’m skeptical.

There’s a reason I haven’t found a mate yet.

No one wants someone my size. They don’t want someone who doesn’t care about nesting, breeding, or fitting the part of the ‘perfect’ omega.

They want someone who fits the bill, and that’s most definitely not me.

Even still … I can’t help the hope that flares in my chest at the thought.

What if?