Chapter 47
chapter
forty-seven
I’m still not sure what, exactly, just happened.
But somehow, while Jesse was fucking my brains out in the library, Adrian, Dante, and Colt did the most .
Or should I say they also did the most? Because, damn . Jesse really delivered.
I’m still a little dizzy when we use the spare ID badge I keep in my desk to let ourselves out of the library.
Principal Newson and Adrian are waiting outside the administrative offices down the hall, the former trembling and sweating while our pack alpha keeps his arms crossed and taps his loafer on the linoleum.
The second he sees us, he knows what we’ve been doing. He can probably scent it, given how worked up Jesse got both of us, and the fact that he made a point to come deep inside me.
If my beta boss has any clue, he’s wise enough not to mention it. Instead, he launches into a jittery, long-winded apology, only pausing to glance at Adrian for approval every few sentences.
I try not to reveal my shock all over my face, smiling and nodding along while Jesse swipes his thumb across my knuckles in light, distracting touches. The contact feels good, though. Like the connection we shared before is so precious to him, he wants to keep hold of me for a while.
I squeeze his hand as I accept the principal’s apologies and do my best not to balk when the man goes on to promise funding for the recycling program he had zero interest in last week. Or even today when I spoke with him at lunch.
All of that is crazy, but the wildest part comes just after I shake Newson’s hand and he lumbers back into his office.
Without skipping a beat, Adrian glances up the hallway behind me and waves other people forward.
Not just people —Dante and Colt.
And Linus .
Colt drops the fist clutching my student’s baseball jersey and nods at him, flexing alpha dominance. “Tell Miss Woods what you told me.”
Linus grinds his molars, but the look in his eye isn’t the malicious, gleeful one I’m used to. He seems wary. Begrudging.
“You’re a good teacher, and I shouldn’t mess with you like I do,” Linus grits, darting a hesitant glance at my eyes. “Sorry or whatever.”
I almost smirk. Biting back my amusement—because, yes, he’s an ass but he’s also a kid . And sort of hilarious —I scold, “You shouldn’t mess with anyone like you do. Right?”
He kicks at the scuffed floor. “Yeah. Whatever.”
My lips quirk up slightly. “So the next time you’re a jerk to anyone, or to me , you get that I’m not going to turn a blind eye anymore, right? I’ll be reporting you to the principal. And your coach.”
“We don’t have a coach,” he mutters, sullen. Then sees the look on Dante’s face and swallows audibly. “But yeah. Sure. I get it.”
“Good,” Colt determines. “Now what are you gonna do?”
Linus scowls at him. “Go run laps around the field until I puke?”
“Yup,” Dante chirps. “And tomorrow?”
“I’ll turn in all my late homework for health class,” he grumbles, then snorts. “I still don’t get why all that stupid alpha-omega bullshit is important, but?—”
Adrian’s alpha undercurrent cracks through the air like a shot. He steps in front of me, his body language making his protective impulses—and the threat they pose—perfectly clear. He meets Linus’s widening eyes and offers his signature quirked brow. “Don’t you?”
Both of Linus’s hands fly up in surrender. “Okay. Yeah. Whatever you say.”
Adrian’s eyebrow hitches higher.
Linus gulps. “Sir.”
All the alphas nod, satisfied. I roll my eyes, pushing around them. “Okay, okay. you heard him, he’s sorry. Or whatever. Interrogation over.”
I pat Linus on the back, eyeing him with my most intimidating teacher look. “Did you have a chance to eat lunch, or were you too busy tagging my car?”
I know he’s on the state-funded meal plan. Which means he probably won’t get another meal until breakfast tomorrow if he skipped today’s lunch.
Before I can glance around for my purse, Colt sighs and extracts his wallet. Glowering, he hands the kid a twenty. “So help me God if you use this to buy anything other than dinner...”
Linus blinks at the cash. For the first time since I met him, he isn’t angry or antagonistic. He seems genuinely thrown when he takes the money and pockets it.
Then a miracle occurs.
“Thanks,” he mumbles, shuffling away. “Or whatever.”