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TWENTY

Writing is, as most readers know, a subjective art.

And my work is, subjectively, a piece of shit.

My laptop is open and shows my half written assignment: a short story about personifying an inanimate object. With the amount of times I’ve reread it, you’d think it was a better piece of literature, but the edits just keep making it worse. I’m at my wit’s end.

My omega stirs at the idea of seeing her scent matches, and it sparks an idea. Maybe I’m not enjoying my own story because it’s not what I love , which is and always will be romance.

Now to think of a new item—nothing impersonal. The female main character’s hairbrush? Pass. The cardigan he bought her after their first date? Nope. Their couch they had to sell when they divorced? Closer but no…

Divorced . Exes. Second Chance.

A cold, lonely, left-behind wedding ring.

Bingo. I get chills instantly and find my fingers flying across the keyboard to save the details.

I don’t even care what the grade on this assignment will be. Not anymore. Falling in love with the piece you’ve written is way more important.

My writing classes have become more creative than they were last year. Learning grammar and technique is fun, but my favorite part is reading my peers’ work and seeing their initial process. It’s inspiring, even if critiquing each others’ art is still a bit awkward.

I’m brainstorming what kind of memories the ring is reminiscing when my phone buzzes several times consecutively. I glare at it, annoyed that my flow was broken. When another text comes through, I silence my phone and keep writing.

When I get to a good stopping point, I turn back to my phone. My omega preens when she sees who caused the interruption and berates me for keeping our mates waiting. I roll my eyes at her dramatics before opening the conversation and reading the texts.

Ciro renamed chat to ‘Simps for Stacia’

The boys are going to cause me muscle spasms from all the smiling they make me do.

Ciro (4:57pm) Here you go, you freaking goons.

Kendall (4:58 pm) I mean, it’s accurate, but did you have to?

Uriah (4:59 pm) I thought we agreed on something simple like ‘Pack Pearson’

My heart pounds at the possibility. Are they already seeing me as one of the pack? Why does that not sound like a terrible idea, not in the slightest?

Ciro (5:00 pm) That decision was a boring one. The one who makes it, names it

Stacia (5:48 pm) I feel honored to be in this chat

Ciro (5:50 pm) The lady of the hour!!

Kendall (5:51 pm) Hi, sweetheart. Uriah has something he wants to ask you.

Ciro (5:51 pm) Yeah go ahead Uriah, ask her!!

Uriah (5:54 pm) fuck you, assholes

I muffle a laugh behind my hand.

Stacia (5:55 pm) What do you need to ask me, Uriah?

I sit and wait. A few moments go by, and the anticipation gives me a tiny amount of anxiety.

Uriah (5:57 pm) Would you like to go out with me tonight?

I feel legit butterflies in my stomach.

Stacia (5:58 pm) I would love that, Uriah.

A moment later, there’s a voice memo from Kendall. I press play and there’s a loud harmony of him and Ciro hooting and hollering. Uriah then sends the middle finger emoji, which makes me laugh.

Uriah (6:01 pm) I’ll text you the details separately.

I guess it’s time to find an outfit for a sexy grump.