Evans #2
Bell might have been just what I needed to finally cut those strings from Sadie. They look hot together, a tangle of desperate limbs and starving mouths. It was never like that with Sadie. For a moment, my hazy brain tries to go back to Crest Haven, but I shut it down quickly.
“Who was cute?”
I know without even turning to look that Hunter is standing behind me. Even soaked in alcohol, my brain goes on high alert and the hairs on the back of my neck rise. Is he triggering my territorial instincts? Is that what this is? This constant awareness of him?
The warmth of his body radiates and I ignore the urge to lean into it. He hasn’t been around for weeks, coming and going as he pleases and now he wants to come and hang out like we’re all best buds. Fuck him.
“Bell is cute if you must know,” I say, crossing my arms as I watch the omega dancing with the other alpha. It takes me a moment to realise that it’s one of Hunter’s art cronies.
Hunter clicks his tongue in agreement, “Yes they are.”
Something bristles me as we both stand, staring at the bodies dancing in the lounge. Has he fucked Bell too?
Leaning in, his hot breath brushes against my skin as he murmurs just low enough for me to hear him, “But that’s not going to scratch your itch. And Sadie will gouge your eyes out for even looking.”
The scent of spiced oranges catches in my nose, and I inhale, my cheeks heating.
Shoving my elbow back into his stomach, I hiss. “Fuck you, she doesn’t own me. And you don’t know what I need.”
“Do you? Know what you need, I mean?” He reaches out and plays with my hair, fingers grazing against the back of my neck. “Or are you gonna keep avoiding me?”
I turn my head to stare at him. His blue hair is half tied up, and his piercings catch in the low kitchen lights.
What is it about his smug face that makes me want to punch him? It pisses me off that he always has something to say. He always has these digs at me. A nudge here, a push there. Little jibes.
Well, he can keep his words and choke on them.
I’m my own person, an alpha in their prime, and if I want to fuck Bell, I will. Hell, if I want to fuck every omega in this house, I can. It’s not like he can judge me. Is there anyone he hasn’t slept with?
“I’m outta here,” Blake rolls his eyes, scoffing. “You guys need to sort your shit out otherwise we’ll be staging an intervention hike.”
He gives us a little wave and ducks out the back door, probably heading home to get in another work out or some shit. The only thing he loved more than his corn snake (not a euphemism) was exercise. The man is a machine. Fuck, I hated those hikes.
In the first year, he started introducing them into the football team anytime there was an argument or alpha tension.
It was a way to tire us out, and dissipate the anger.
Blake’s mom was some sort of therapist and she recommended it when two of the guys on the team started beefing out over an omega.
The fresh air also helped with the pheromones—you were too busy sweating and aching to pump out aggression.
For a moment, I’m distracted by just the threat of a hike, that I almost forget about the asshole alpha at my back. Almost.
“What? So you’re the only person who can get laid?” I snarl, turning away and crossing my arms. If he wants to be a dick, he can talk to the back of my head.
He chuckles, the sound low and smooth and far too close to my ear again. “I knew you were jealous.”
I hate that I sound that way. Because I’m not. I have no reason to be envious.
“I’m not jealous of you.” I try to put some space between us but for every step I take, he’s right there. Pressed up against me. Invading my space and my senses so that I can’t think clearly. “I can have anyone I want.”
Without warning, he pushes us forward, trapping me against the kitchen island and I have to slam my palms down on the counter to stop him from crushing me against it.
“Is that right?” he snarls, and something sharp grazes against the back of my neck. “And who is it you want, Benedict?”
For a moment, panic snakes its way up my throat. He’s not going to bite me, is he? Are people watching us? Do I look weak as he boxes me in? Do they think he’s a stronger alpha?
Glancing around as I try frantically to push back, I realise that everyone else has already left the kitchen.
When did that happen?
It’s probably because of the angry citrus scent spiking as our pheromones ooze out. It’s suffocating, wrapping around us like thick smoke invisible to the human eye.
“Screw you,” I grunt. I’m a football player, an athlete–it shouldn’t be this hard to get him to move. Using my hips, I push back again, ignoring the way he grinds against my ass as I use the leverage to free myself.
This time, it’s me who shoves him, driving backwards up against the refrigerator. My hands are fists in his shirt as I lift him until he’s on tiptoes.
“Stop. Making. It. Weird.” I fume, slamming him back with every word.
Hunter doesn’t give a shit, as he tosses his head back and laughs. “I’m making it weird? I never met anyone more in denial than you!”
When he looks at me, his pale eyes shine as his nostrils flare. Our faces are inches apart, and I regret placing him above me as his lip curls up in disgust. “Grow a pair and stop living your life the way everyone else tells you to.”
Anger is what’s driving me now, as I push my fists harder into his chest. “What the fuck do you know about my life?”
He scoffs as he pulls my hands off him. Why is he so damn strong? I try to grab him again, but he slips out of my grip, kicking out at my left leg and almost bringing me down. That’s fine though, I’m a footballer, if there's one thing I know, it’s how to tackle.
We tussle, wrestling for dominance with a shove here and elbow there. I catch a knee to the face at one point and taste the coppery tang of blood. The odd rogue punch gets thrown too.
Somehow, we end up out on the back porch, where Hunter trips over the decking and drags us down onto the grass. How no one else has noticed us is beyond me. Is it because of the pheromones, warning them away?
My body aches by the time we stop, my lip swollen and a gash by my eye bleeding. Hunter isn’t much better, since it looks like I may have caught one of his piercings.
Panting, he straddles my hips as I cover my face with my arm, my chest heaving as I try to catch my breath. I groan, winded and tired of the whole thing. Tired of everything.
“I just want things to go back to normal,” I half choke out, suddenly feeling emotional.
I don’t think I can keep going like this. Between Hunter and my dad and Sadie lingering in the shadows, I can’t hold it together.
He seems to know it too.
Tilting his head, Hunter places his palms either side of my head and leans in. “Is that what you really want?”
No.
“Yes! I miss just hanging out.” I hate all this weirdness between us. Hate the way I think about him all the time. The way he makes me feel. My life made sense until a few weeks ago and now everything was a good strong wind away from derailing the track. “I just want my friend back.”
He sits back, hands raised in surrender and I try to ignore the weight of him on my dick. “Fine.”
Inhaling, he closes his eyes, and lifts his face to the sky. After a few moments, his intense stare zeros in on me. Goddess, that fucking artist gaze was like some sort of x-ray shit.
“From tomorrow, Crest Haven never happened. And whatever existential crisis you’ve been having, you can just pack that shit away in a box and forget about it.” He nods slowly as if he’s trying to convince himself it’s the right thing to do, and I find myself nodding along with him.
The grass is damp against my back and it tickles my skin, but it grounds me. It lets me focus on that instead of him. Or more specifically, him sitting on me. We were just a couple of layers and a whole lot of lube away from fucking when we were like this.
He continues, not bothering to climb off me as he tugs out the hair tie that’s mostly fallen out now anyway.
“We’ll go back to being Hunter and Evans, best buds who pull pranks, give questionable advice, eat too much ice cream and play video games until 3am even though they’ve both got papers due the next day. ”
Holding the tie between his lips, he sweeps the messy blue strands back off his face before re-tying it up. The motion has the hem of his shirt lifting, exposing the swirling ink on his hips and just above the waistband of his jeans.
Catching where my eyes are focused, he snaps his fingers with a sigh. “But this goes both ways Benedict, if you want to forget and draw the line, then you can’t overstep it either.”
“I won’t,” I whisper.
I can’t.