Chapter 3
Chase
Professor Burke was here. At the bar. Here at the bar where Chase had come expressly to catch sight of him.
Chase just hadn’t thought it would actually work.
He had maybe been in a weird mental state since he’d realized the omega Noah was so twisted up about was actually Professor Miller, their Omega Studies teacher.
And then Chase had caught Noah just the other day researching their university’s policy on student-teacher relationships—mainly that there wasn’t one, at least not in writing.
Chase was pretty sure that had something to do with the campus heat services, but that wasn’t the point.
The point was Noah had fucked a teacher. They were allowed to fuck their teachers.
Well, actually, they probably weren’t—and Noah and Professor Miller would probably get into a fuckton of trouble if someone found out—but it wasn’t officially forbidden.
And just knowing that was all it had taken for Chase to start wondering: Had Professor Burke ever fucked a student?
It was maybe even a reasonable question to ask, because how else would the student body know about the bar Burke haunted—and the club it was adjacent to—if someone hadn’t seen him there in the flesh?
So now Chase was here. And also Burke was here. Professor Burke.
Chase had sensed him the moment he’d come through the door, with his leather-rich pheromones wafting in like the world’s most unfair temptation. The professor had taken a seat at a table where Chase only had to turn his head the slightest bit to the side to see him.
Did Burke remember Chase? Did he even know who Chase was? Theirs wasn’t a small university, and Burke probably taught way too many students to keep track of. And a new semester had already started. Maybe he’d said that thing he’d said to Chase only because he couldn’t remember Chase’s actual name.
Or maybe Chase had imagined it. Wouldn’t Noah have said something, if Burke had really said … the thing?
Chase hadn’t told his roommates he was coming here. He loved them, but Noah was struggling enough with his feelings for the omega professor, and Spencer couldn’t keep a secret if someone sewed his lips together. So Chase was flying solo.
Having a drink on his own was kind of nice, even, other than the jittery nerves dancing in his stomach like asshole butterflies. The bar was quiet and softly lit, with dark, jewel-toned upholstery on the chairs and booths that made everything feel a little … forbidden.
Or maybe that was Chase projecting.
He finished his drink, squishing his lime down with his straw, and the attentive bartender meandered over. “Another?”
Chase nodded. “Please.” And then, because it would be far too tempting to keep slamming drinks until he had some sort of liquid courage in his veins, “And I’ll close out.”
The scent of leather hit Chase’s nose again, faint but tantalizing, and just like that, Chase held out a hand. “Or, wait. Keep it open. Sorry. Thank you.”
The bartender shrugged like he didn’t care either way, pouring Chase another gin and tonic, adding a lime, and sliding it over.
Chase stood from his barstool, drink in hand. This was it. He’d decided he was allowed one stupid, embarrassing moment, and then he would put it behind him. No one would know, anyway. No one but him and Burke.
He walked over to the professor’s table.
The alpha was sprawled back in his chair, surprisingly thick thighs spread wide, with none of the rigid posture he showed in his classroom.
He had on another button-down with the sleeves rolled up, and Chase had to keep his eyes off those damned forearms in order to keep his cool.
Burke was watching Chase approach over a tumbler of what looked like whiskey, his expression unreadable.
“Professor Burke?” Chase asked when he was standing across the table from him, gratified that his voice came out steady. “I, um, had you last semester?”
Burke nodded. “I remember.”
Some of the butterflies roiling in Chase’s stomach settled. He was memorable, then, at the very least. Not just another random student in a sea of faces.
He steeled his nerves. Go big or go fucking home. “Can I buy you another drink?”
Something flashed across Burke’s face—surprise, maybe?—and then he shook his head slowly. “I’m only having the one.”
“Oh.” Chase’s cheeks flamed. There it was, his one embarrassing moment, already gone. “Understood, I—”
The chair next to Chase shot out from under the table. “But you may take a seat. If you like.”
Chase stared at the chair dumbly. Burke cocked a brow.
Holy shit, he’s asking me to stay.
Chase jumped onto the seat. Too eager by half, but oh the fuck well. He set his drink on the table and placed his hands in his lap.
They watched each other.
“I enjoyed your class last semester,” Chase told him.
Another slow shake of Burke’s head. “Try again.”
Burke didn’t want to talk about school. Of course he didn’t. He probably came here to get away, to de-stress or whatever.
Chase resisted the urge to clear his throat. “Are you from around here?”
Burke grunted. “Phoenix? No.”
He didn’t expand on it, didn’t offer up his city of origin, so Chase told him, “Me neither.”
Burke’s lips twitched up at the corners. “And where are you from?”
“Minnesota, sir.”
The “sir” just came out, a habit at this point, but Burke didn’t seem offended. Instead, something hot gleamed in his eyes. “Ah. The manners make sense.”
“Just how I was raised.” But Chase bit back the “sir” this time.
“Your parents’ influence?”
“Sort of.”
“Not close?”
“No.”
“I’m surprised.” Burke took a sip of his drink, dark-blue gaze dancing over Chase’s face. “You seem like you’d be the perfect, dutiful son.”
Chase wasn’t sure if he was being teased or not. He shrugged anyway. “Dutiful, yeah.” At least he had been, once upon a time, when it had seemed worth the effort. “But not—not close.”
“Me neither,” Burke told him, an echo of Chase’s earlier words.
Chase tucked that little tidbit of information away somewhere safe in the back of his mind. Burke didn’t seem to be hurting for it, the lack of closeness with his parents. It didn’t seem like much could hurt him. He was … steady. Solid. Larger than life.
Like his hands. Like the one currently dwarfing that poor tumbler of whiskey in its hold. Chase wanted those big hands on him, wanted to see how far that broad grip would span across his waist.
Fuck. No. Conversation—they were having a conversation.
“Siblings?” Chase asked. Had his voice gone all husky, or was that in his head?
“No.”
“Same.”
They went silent again. Chase was usually better at small talk than this.
It should have felt awkward, like the world’s worst nondate.
But awkward wasn’t the word Chase would use.
He felt … calm. No longer embarrassed by his own presence here.
Maybe it was the strength of Burke’s pheromones, which were deepening the longer Chase sat there.
Sweetening, almost, that cherry note coming out to play again.
Was this what omegas felt like all the time, surrounded by strong alpha pheromones? It was pretty damn nice.
Chase let out a small, contented sigh before he could stop himself.
Burke leaned forward in his chair, the movement almost startling in its suddenness. “What brings you here, Chase Adler?”
Chase suppressed a shiver at the sound of his full name said in that smooth voice. Apparently Burke really did know who he was.
“Did you come here to meet someone?” Burke pressed, his pheromones suddenly thick in the air.
Chase nodded without thinking, then shook his head. “Just … curious.”
“About?”
Instead of answering, Chase took a large swallow of his as-yet-untouched drink. “Do you come here a lot, sir?”
“I do.” Burke swirled his whiskey, looking into the glass as if considering something. And then his next statement took Chase’s breath away. “There’s a kink club across the street. Haven. Perhaps you’ve heard of it?”
Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy shit.
“V-Vaguely,” Chase managed to say. And because he didn’t want this line of conversation shut down, he hurried to add, “You’re a member?”
“I am. Not the most active.” Burke’s tone was casual, but as he met Chase’s eyes, his gaze was anything but. It was heavy, with the weight of a physical caress on Chase’s skin. “I don’t dom for anyone regularly, and I don’t participate in any public scenes.”
Chase couldn’t believe they were talking about this. He didn’t know how it had started, and he didn’t know how to keep from messing it up. “What do you do, then?” he asked cautiously.
“I watch. Mingle. Occasionally search for someone … compatible. Take them home for the night.”
Chase set his lips to his straw, then backed off without taking a drink. “How do you decide if they’re compatible?”
“How does anyone?” Burke’s eyes bore into him. Should Chase blink? He should probably blink. People blinked, didn’t they? “A conversation. Chemistry.”
Chemistry. Chase had to ask. “Pheromones?”
“Often, yes.”
“What if someone doesn’t have any?”
Burke cocked his head. “Are you asking me if I ever take home betas?”
“Do you?” It wouldn’t be that unusual if Burke didn’t. Some alphas preferred to stick with omegas, where they could safely scent compatibility on the surface and be sure of a welcome receptacle for their knot.
Oh fuck. Don’t think about Burke’s knot.
Except now it was all Chase could think about. Burke’s knot, thick like his thighs, stretching Chase open. Could Chase take it? He bet he could, with enough prep. He’d fucking make sure of it.
Oblivious to Chase’s horny daydreams, Burke swirled his whiskey again, the motion hypnotic. “I’m almost done with my drink,” he said, seemingly out of nowhere. “I’ll be leaving afterward. So if you have something you’d like to ask me, Chase Adler, now would be the time.”
Chase parsed through the words, trying to get at their true meaning. If he was right, it meant maybe Burke was not actually oblivious to the horny daydreams.