What the fuck. What the fuck?! 

Brent walked the two blocks back to his car mostly silently, head whirring. His sense of the ridiculous kept making him laugh aloud at apparently nothing, which got him a few odd looks from passersby. 

He’d been imagining this experience for his entire life. One day, he’d take his seat on a flight to Bora Bora, and next to him would be seated some gorgeous Omega. Brent would scent him, and the Omega would scent him back, and suddenly they’d both just know. They’d spend the rest of the week enjoying getting-to-know-you sex under a palm tree on a white sand beach and then they’d live happily ever after. 

Every Alpha and Omega grew up wondering whether they'd meet a true fated mate, and if so, how. Brent was no exception. In high school, he used to daydream about meeting his mate on campus. His mate would have just transferred in from a new school. He'd appear in the classroom door on his first day and Brent would look across the room and he’d just know. He’d offer the new kid the desk next to his, and glare at every other Alpha in the room to warn them off. 

They’d become instant friends, and soon, one or the other would claim to be struggling in some class. They’d meet up after school to study before the big test. Naturally, they’d end up frantically reviewing Anatomy 101 together on top of a jumble of books and papers in an imaginary private corner that teachers never visited. 

That had been years ago, but still, after a rough day, Brent would be rubbing one out and he’d close his eyes and imagine meeting his mate in a chance encounter on the street. They’d both be looking down at their phones, and they'd bump into each other on the sidewalk. They'd laugh and stop to help each other pick up the items they’d dropped. Then they’d make eye contact, scent each other, and they’d just know. At that point, they’d head to the nearest bed, have insane sex, and live happily ever after.

Two things had been consistent in all of his fated mate fantasies over the years: the just knowing, and the unforgettable sex. Never once, never once had he imagined this. 

When he jokingly bent to sniff Will for childhood trauma, he’d caught a whole scent receptor-full of wake-up call. Very suddenly, a lot of things fell into place for him.

Will's scent, although subtle, had produced an unmistakable, almost crippling pyrotechnic display in his brain. His heart and his dick had both started pounding—hard enough that he’d been afraid Will would notice the sound of the first or the sight of the second. His eyes started to turn right there in the coffee shop. He’d had to breathe through it.

Totally at sea, he’d needed a good, long moment to regain his composure before he could stumble back into the conversation… But yeah, he had, in fact, just known.

Will Adams was his mate. His fated fucking mate. Will Adams, who didn’t particularly like him, a Beta who could not possibly scent him back and just know a damned thing, was his mate. 

How had he missed it the first time they’d met? 

When he’d bumped into Will at the party, he’d certainly found him excessively beautiful, but he hadn’t just known. No one really needed pheromones to find Will attractive. Dark hair, penetrating light blue eyes, face like a fallen angel, body like the place he’d fallen from was an issue of Men’s Health. Total smoke show. That was obvious to anyone. Will’s looks hadn’t tipped Brent off, they’d just given him an awkward public cockstand.

When they'd spoken, Brent had taken an instant and unusually intense interest in him, as one might expect when meeting a fated mate. The fact that Will had been manifestly eager to get away from him, however, hadn’t exactly helped him figure things out. That wasn’t supposed to happen. 

If Brent had been able to scent him at the fundraiser, he’d probably have figured it out sooner. He did remember noticing that Will smelled good at the party, like some nice cologne. The cologne would have covered Will's relatively faint Beta scent signature, delaying Brent's just knowing. That wasn’t supposed to happen, either. People with traits rarely wore cologne or perfume for that exact reason. 

Everyone had pheromones, including Betas, and everyone responded to them on some level. Only people with traits (PWTs), however, were anatomically equipped to consciously detect other people’s pheromones. Nature had done Alphas and Omegas the favor of giving unique scent signatures to each PWT. They were filled with pheromone-based information about reproductive status, mood, and genetic factors that influenced compatibility. Scent was a continually-updated osmic resumé that each PWT carried with them through life.

It was also the crucial means of identifying a genetic hypercompatible, also known as a “fated mate.” Only the brains of Alphas and Omegas got curb-stomped by their reproductive and limbic systems the first time they scented their hypercompatible mate. When Brent had finally scented Will at the courthouse earlier? Well. He had not been lied to on that score. He’d just known deeply and instantly. Apparently, someone was seriously either your fated mate or they weren’t. It was black and white.

Will…Was.

There had been a moment there when Brent thought he was about to be granted his HEA as foretold in the Legends of RomCom. Immediately after he'd identified his mate, his mate had extended an invitation that was clearly intended to end in bed… Seemed right! He’d thought Will was somehow feeling it, too.  

Wroooong. 

Mostly wrong. Brent had been feeling optimistic and enchanted as they got their coffee, walked, and conversed while Will steered them towards his place and oh-so-casually suggested they head inside. 

Yes! Perfect! his heart and dick had yelled in unison.

It had been all he could do not to snatch Will up and crash through the front door like the Kool-Aid Man, leaving a cookie-cutter-perfect outline of himself behind. 

Ah, but then had come that little speech. The ‘one-off’ speech. Ego-puncturing, that’s for sure, but since Brent had given that speech a time or two, he could acknowledge some justice in being on the receiving end of it. 

That wasn’t the universe’s last laugh.

The way Will had kissed him had absolutely turned him inside out. God-tier kissing. No one could possibly kiss someone that way if they had no feelings for the kissee, could they? Brent had to believe that no one was allowed to move through the universe with the power to kiss innocent people like that and then just… Walk away. Unaffected. 

It was not really possible to separate the fact that Will was his mate from the way he kissed, but Brent had a strong sense that even if he hadn’t scented Will, those kisses alone would have made him aware that he’d found his once-in-a-lifetime person. 

Holy shit. 

He needed to be kissed like that again. Immediately. Continually. Exclusively. 

That still wasn’t the worst of it. 

His life before he’d gone down on Will Adams now seemed like a complete irrelevancy. No point to it. None. Everything in Brent’s spank bank had just lost all value. Like Confederate Dollars, his memories of previous relationships and sexual encounters were now worthless currency created in service of an unjust cause. The only thing of worth left in the vault was that blow job. 

He wasn’t mad about this. The sight of Will’s body, stripped and draped over the couch cushions… The taste of his skin… The feel of Will’s hands roaming over his body… His gorgeous, heavy cock… His lack of shyness—of course, what could Will possibly have to be shy about with his movie star looks? There were the outrageously pretty blushes, too… The way he’d allowed Brent to look and touch and taste to his heart’s content… The way Will had held his head in his hands, gripping it as he’d come, making those sounds. 

…The taste of his cum. His scent, concentrated, bathing Brent’s tongue.

For the rest of his life, Brent would be self-abusing to those memories.