Chapter 16 Easton
EASTON
The first morning I walk Kit to class is a Monday and the campus reacts like I've detonated a bomb in the quad.
We're crossing the courtyard between the science building and the humanities wing, Kit's coffee in his hand because I bought it for him at seven fifteen like he demanded, and I'm matching his pace which means I'm practically shuffling because his legs are half the length of mine and he refuses to walk faster on principle.
"People are staring," Kit says, not looking at me, his coffee cup lifted to his mouth.
"Let them stare."
"Easy for you to say. You're six-three and built like a refrigerator. Nobody stares at you with pity. They're staring at me like I've been kidnapped." He takes a sip and scowls at the cup. "This has sugar in it."
"It does not have sugar in it."
"It's sweet."
"That's the caramel drizzle."
"I said black. No sugar. I did not say caramel drizzle.
Caramel drizzle is a deviation from the agreed-upon terms of your penance.
" He stops walking to glare up at me and the glare is so perfectly Kit, undercut by the fact that he's already drunk half the coffee, that something in my chest loosens for the first time in weeks.
I have to bite back a smile, unsure if that’ll piss him off or make him melt.
He did a lot of melting through Sunday when I wasn’t actively running line drills under coach’s watch to make up for my sorry excuse of a game.
There wasn’t even practice, just coach, me, and the goddamn court.
"I'll get it right tomorrow," I tell him.
"You'll get it right every day for the rest of the semester. We discussed this." He starts walking again and I fall into step beside him as his shoulder brushes mine. A girl from Kit's literature class passes us and does a visible double-take, her eyes bouncing between Kit and me.
Kit notices and his jaw tightens but he doesn't move away from me. He takes another sip of his sugared coffee and keeps walking.
Practice that afternoon is the first since the locker room confession and the energy when I walk in is different, charged with something I can't identify until Devon jogs over during warmups and bumps his shoulder against mine.
"So," Devon says, spinning a ball on his finger. "You and the angry Omega. That's a thing now."
"His name is Kit."
"You and Kit. That's a thing now." He catches the ball and tucks it under his arm. "Cool. Does this mean you're going to actually play basketball again or should I keep carrying this team by myself?"
I snort, shaking my head as I head for my locker. "You scored twelve points last game."
"Twelve heroic points while you were busy having an emotional crisis on the court." He grins obviously having had dealt with what happened last week. "Marcus owes me twenty bucks, by the way. I told him you were in love months ago. He thought you were just being territorial."
"You bet on my love life?" I had no idea I was being so obvious but then again, why else would I single out an omega like that?
"We bet on everything, East. Last week Terrell bet Marcus that Coach's car wouldn't start on the first try. Keep up."
Marcus is more measured about it, finding me at the water fountain between drills and standing beside me without immediately speaking, the way Marcus does when he's choosing his words.
"I'm not going to make it weird," he says finally.
"But I need to know your head is back. Because I can handle the team adjusting to this, I can handle Devon's mouth, but I can't handle another game like Saturday. "
"My head is back."
"You sure? Because Kit was at that game and you played like you'd never held a basketball before."
"It had nothing to do with him and everything to do with the fact that I had my head up my ass. I’m good now. Me and Kit are good now.” I grab my water bottle and take a long drink. "We're good, Marcus."
He studies me for a moment. “This new… version of you is kind of strange and is going to take some getting used to you. You’re usually more of…”
“An asshole?” I laugh, lightly shoving Marcus’ shoulder. “That’s what got me into this mess. Things had to change.”
He just nods before jogging back to the court.
Not everyone is as easy as Devon and Marcus though.
Terrell pulls me aside after practice and tells me straight that a couple of the younger guys have been talking, not about Kit specifically but about whether my head is in the game, whether the team can rely on me when it matters.
I tell Terrell what I told the locker room.
It's not up for debate. He shrugs and says fair enough and that's the end of it.
I’ll have to prove to everyone all over again, I’m worth the effort. Especially Kit. Especially when he starts showing up to my games. The past three games, he’s shown up on time, his gaze clocking my every movement.
He doesn’t hide in the back of the bleachers, though.
The Omega sits in the fourth row, dead center, with Milo on one side and Avery on the other, visible enough that I can find him the moment I step onto the court.
The first time he does it I almost trip over the baseline because the sight of Kit Peralta sitting in my gym without pretending he doesn't want to be there short-circuits something in my brain.
He catches me looking and raises his coffee cup in a mock toast, his expression flat and unimpressed in a way that somehow communicates both I'm here for you and don't make it weird simultaneously. Devon elbows me in the ribs during warmups. "Your boyfriend is watching. Try not to suck."
"He's not my boyfriend."
"He's sitting in the fourth row wearing your practice hoodie, East. He's your boyfriend."
I look back at Kit and realize Devon is right.
The oversized hoodie Kit is wearing, the one he's been living in for the last week, is mine.
The one I left on my desk chair the night he first came to my room.
He stole it and I never asked for it back and now he's wearing it in my gym where everyone can see and the possessive satisfaction that burns through my chest is so intense I have to look away before my scent gives me away to the entire court.
We win that game by fourteen. I play the best I've played all season.
Devon calls it the Kit effect during the post-game huddle and I don't argue because he's right. Having Kit in the stands, having him choose to be there visibly and publicly, settles all of the chaotic emotions I’ve been dealing with.
However, I still haven’t publicly claimed him. With words. With some kind of public declaration. Kit made it very obvious he doesn’t do PDA just because. Walking hand in hand or the brief kiss on the cheek sent Kit’s scent in a spiral that almost had me asking about his next heat.
Instead, he just whispered ‘don’t do that’ so while I spend my time with him publicly, touching is reserved for behind closed doors. Not that I haven’t tried to steal a kiss or two when the time permits.
With finals closing in over the next week and Kit resuming his shifts, the only time I get with Kit is in the morning, walking him to class or at night when I open my door to find Kit snuggled up in my bed.
My roommate is MIA, though, I think that’s more for my privacy than the fact that he actually moved out.
I’m sure I’ll find a bill for the other half of the room at some point.
By Thursday, I’m strung out, worrying over a way to show everyone who my Omega is while also surviving the conference semifinal on a Friday night, the biggest game of the season.
The gym will be packed, scouts in attendance, the kind of atmosphere that makes or breaks a team's year.
Coach ran us harder than usual all week, with extra film sessions, and extended practices, the whole squad dialed in with a focus that pushes everything else to the margins.
It’s been nearly two weeks since the auction but it’s time to finally make a move. Kit deserves more than just walking him to class.
I want to tell everyone he’s mine.
I find Kit in the dining hall on Thursday evening, sitting with Milo and Avery, the three of them crammed into a booth arguing about something that involves a lot of hand gestures from Kit and a lot of patient nodding from everyone else.
I slide into the booth beside Kit and his body tenses for a fraction of a second before it relaxes against my side, a reflex he's still getting used to overriding.
"Hey," I say.
"You're sweaty," he observes, wrinkling his nose. "Did you come here straight from practice?"
"I showered."
"You showered inadequately. You smell like a gym bag."
"You're wearing my hoodie. You've been smelling like me for a week."
"That's different. Your hoodie smells like your laundry detergent. You smell like you personally." He picks up a fry and points it at me. "There's a difference."
Milo watches us with an expression of profound amusement that he's not bothering to hide, leaning forward to place his hands beneath his chin, his elbows propped up on the table. “You guys are disgustingly cute. Is it official yet?”
Kit scrunches up his nose, now pointing the fry at Milo.
“I’m not cute. You know who’s cute? You and the way you hang all over your Alpha every chance you get.
The only thing stopping you is respect for your job.
” Avery opens his mouth and Kit cuts him off, chucking the fry in his direction.
“No, you’re the cutest of all! You’re mated to your stepbrother. ”
The Omegas burst out laughing as I resist the urge to pull Kit into my side. Milo sighs as he tugs at Avery’s shirt. “Come on. Let’s go find our packs and leave these two love birds alone. They’re going to get all mushy.”
Kit’s ears turn red as he ducks his head a little, throwing the other Omegas a middle finger. The moment they disappear around the corner, Kit pulls away from me. I clock the movement, about to ask when he twists to look up at me. “Hey.”
“Hey, what are you doing?” I clear my throat and correct myself. “What did I do?”
He throws me a sheepish smile. “I think my heat is coming much sooner and every time you touch me in public, my body…”
It suddenly dawns on me that it has nothing to do with PDA and everything to do with timing. Slowly, I reach for him, Kit giving in as he melts into my side. Almost automatically, his scent sweetens, a small whimper falling from his lips.
My cock thickens between my thighs in response as Kit squirms away from me. How the fuck did I not notice? His scent is always really sweet at night when in my room, I never thought anything about it. “Jesus Christ. Do you know when?”
Kit huffs out a laugh. “No. It was supposed to happen in another week or two but I don’t think I have that long.” He tilts his face up a little, the flush that started on his ears spreading to his cheeks and neck. “I really like you. Like really like you but… uhm.”
“Of course. I only came over here to ask you to come to the game tomorrow.”
“You have my number. You could have texted me.”
My smile widens as I stand up from the booth and pull him to his feet, Kit stumbling into my chest. His scent spikes again, his eyes widening. I almost ask what’s wrong when I catch the scent of his slick flooding the space. “I also came over here to walk you back to my dorm.”
Kit groans as he pushes off of me. “Good because fuck, I think… shit. I need new pants.” I laugh all the way down the hallway until his next words render me silent. “Stop laughing at me or I’ll fuck myself when we get back to the room.”