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I was still optimistic, until now.
Jonah used to ask about it. Why didn’t I ever bring anyone back to our dorm? Why didn’t I ever date? Why didn’t I seem to notice when girls reached over and flirtatiously stroked my arm?
Because I was doing my best not to snarl at them. Trying hard not to feel their fingertips on my skin or the sick swoop that echoed through my stomach when I did.
He once asked if I liked men better; I didn’t know how to explain that I only preferred them insofar as their touch made me want to fight. Sometimes, rage is easier to take than a roiling gut.
I shower and shave, ignoring the aching pulse in my knot while I dress in my usual slacks and a fresh shirt. Every few moments, I have to pause to take deep breaths, reminding myself that the lingering sweetness buzzing in my sinuses isn’t real.
It’s a phantom sensation, one that’s common for unbonded alphas who find their scent-sensitive mate. It won’t go away until I bite her and she bites me back.
I honestly can’t decide which step in that process sounds worse.
I debate how much I’ll regret skipping my workout while I pack my leather messenger bag and shrug on a blazer. The truth is, our gym is on the first floor, and I can’t risk running into Serena until I’ve made some sort of plan for how I’m going to handle this.
Her.
If I take the elevator, I can go straight down to the garage without chancing a run-in. Skipping my daily exercise, coffee, and breakfast will likely have disastrous results for the students in my ten a.m. lecture, but these are desperate times. More desperate than I’d ever admit to anyone.
With a few final breaths, I slip into the hallway.
The dark slate floor and matte black walls are cool and dark. Our solar-powered LEDs barely glow, which means last night’s thunderstorm has bled into morning. That puts an edge on my foul mood—I spent the better part of the night listening to the rain. If I have to hear it all day long, I’ll be constantly reminded of why I spent hours tossing and turning.
My mind plays tricks on me while I stride down the hall. Serena’s scent swells, a richer, sharper version than the traces she left with me last night.
I grit my teeth, irritated with myself for being so surprised. Omega pheromones have been my life’s work. I’m well aware of the many phenomena associated with scent-sensitivity. Yet, knowing all of this would happen hasn’t made the reality any less jarring.
Muttering chastisements to myself, I turn the corner and run right into a small, scurrying body.
“Ah!”
A squeal-like whine rips out of Serena while she reels back, jumping away from me as though I’m a human branding iron. I recoil, too, trying to process the sensations that swarm me. The outline of her figure lingers along mine while her scent pours into the air between us, rising in a cloud of cream-soaked sweetness.
I wish I hated it, but it’s fucking paradise. Everything warm and exotic and so delicious that my mouth waters.
Goddamn it.
I grapple for control, barely managing to find my reins and yank myself back from the instinct to pounce on her.
For her part, Serena shrinks down, her knees wobbling until she’s forced to steady herself with a hand on the nearest wall. She opens her mouth, but nothing comes out.
Jonah texted to report that she spoke to him last night, though I’m sure he didn’t glare at her the way I am right now. I know I should stop, but I can’t quite keep the sting out of my voice as I scowl down at her.
“What are you doing here?”
chapter
twenty-three
“What are you doing here?”
Great question, Professor.
I don’t know what I’m doing or why—I’m too busy trying not to throw up on your Oxfords.
This is not the first impression I wanted to make with the alpha Jonah described as “the most particular.”
For one, I’m still in this stupid bodysuit and Avery’s hoodie because there are no clothes in my room that fit me. I suspect the joggers and athletic shorts folded on the suite’s dresser are intended to get me through the day, but they’re all so large, they immediately fall off my body when I try to wear them.
