“Was that a date?”
There was some hesitation on the other end before he responded.
“You know, I think I’m going to say it wasn’t. We just met for drinks, not really a date, and considering how it ended, I’d really like a do-over for a first date if you’re willing. Still, you didn’t answer my question. How are you?”
“I’m fine. Just some weird genetic thing that decided to rear its head at an embarrassing time. I get to go for shots every week for months, and then it will supposedly be under control without further medication or incident.”
“Um, that sounds pretty serious.”
“It isn’t. At least, that’s what the doctor tells me. I could do without the needle, though. Hate them!”
“Everyone does.”
“True,” Kat replied, pulling some vegetables free of a bag and putting them into the fridge behind her.
“I really enjoyed spending time with you last night, but I may be pretty busy for a while, so I’ll have to play it by ear with when I can ask you out again.”
Kat furrowed her brow. Was he making a complete one-eighty on asking her out? First, he was all about a do-over for their first date, and then, it seemed like he was blowing her off. It occurred to her that the genetics thing might be a deal-breaker for him. He was an Alpha, no doubt in the market for an Omega who could eventually provide him with strong pups.
For the first time, she realized that she might be even more worthless than a typical Omega. Alphas already viewed her kind as second class citizens. Well, actually, it was more like third as even the Betas seemed to get a little more respect than the Omegas.
“Sounds good,” she said dismissively. “Just let me know when you’re interested. Hey, I’ve got to run for now. Thanks for calling,” she told him.
“Sure. Glad you’re better,” he said.
“Yep. Bye,” she told him, not waiting for a response before clicking the end call button.
She finished putting the groceries away, wondering if she’d been too quick to judge him, but then deciding she hadn’t. It was better to let it go now. They’d only been on one date or whatever it was, and it had ended badly. That wasn’t his fault but blowing her off after she’d confided in him about the genetic thing was all on him.
She carried a bottle of water and an apple over to the sofa and sat down, staring into space and letting her mind wander. She was going to die single and still a virgin. Both were rarities for Omegas, especially at her age. Granted, twenty-one wasn’t that old, but most Omegas her age were married and already on their second or third litter by now.
Now, here she was, having held out for the right Alpha to marry and give herself to with a serious flaw. Would this have happened if she had gotten married and had kids earlier? The doctor said her grandmother had gone through it when she was younger. Was it before or after she had children? There was no reason to believe it would affect her ability to have children, but would she pass it on to them?
Perhaps it skipped a generation, which was why her mother didn’t have it, but her grandchildren would suffer it instead. Did it affect only girls? Did it affect only Omegas? Whereas her only thoughts before with the doctor had revolved around how big the needle was going to be, she now found that she had a lot more to ask him when she went in, if she could wait that long. She might just call.
She found herself wishing that Travis would call her back or text her to shed some light on why he was blowing her off. She didn’t want to think the worst, but it made sense. Even if he texted to say he wasn’t interested anymore, she’d at least know that. Opening up the Alpha Meets Omega App, she dismissed a dozen or so messages. Her interest in meeting anyone while all of this was weighing on her was non-existent.
Instead, she went into her settings and put her profile on pause so that it didn’t show up unless she went back in and changed it again. She sighed and lay the phone to the side, taking a bite of the apple and reaching for the remote to find something worth watching on T.V.
A loud knock at the door caused her to jump, and she walked over to see who was there, expecting that her mom or dad had just walked down instead of calling. She was half right. It was Mike with one of their mom’s stoneware bowls in his hands.
“Mom sent you some beef stew,” he said, lifting the pot upward as if she might not have noticed it grasped between two large silicone oven mitts.