31. Brylee
31
brYLEE
The laundromat that my phone claimed was just a five-minute walk down the road is actually 8.5 million steps uphill. And while I’ve been working out and running, I’ve focused on agility and fighting, not long-term trekking with eighty pounds on my back. I’m sweating under the midday sun and breathing like an angry gorilla by the time I arrive.
Even my skin suit doesn’t weigh half as much as this , I grumble before mentally chastising myself for sounding like a serial killer.
Maybe I should have called a service to wash and fold my clothes. But even if I could send out all my stuff, I’d still have all my brother’s clothes to deal with. This will be easier. Midday, most people will be at work and nobody will have to witness my shenanigans.
Unless I collapse right here, right now.
Then there will be a ton of witnesses and a lot of dirty underwear all over the place.
My back screams as I reach for the glass door on the hole-in-the-wall laundromat that’s smack in the middle of a strip mall that’s seen better days.
An ache zings up my spine that makes me stiffen in pain. I might need to make an appointment for a massage tomorrow.
That actually sounds glorious.
I’m mentally adding massage to my to-do list as I scan the small, nondescript space that is old but clean before nodding at the sole other occupant, an elderly omega woman with curly white hair and coke-bottle glasses. She nods back, and then we both go about our business as if her lacy underthings aren’t currently on the giant folding table that splits the room in half. A detergent machine, vending machine, and a few ancient arcade games are tucked into the corner behind her.
Squatting down in my running shorts, I fill one machine with all of Teddie’s clothes and get it running and have just begun the excavation dig through my own pants pockets when a bell tinkles to announce the front door is opening.
I don’t look up, not until footsteps grow closer and a shadow falls across my face.
Uh-oh.
“Good morning, Princess,” Luka says formally as his scent wraps around me, luxurious and warm. There’s something both glamorous and feral about his scent, and I’m caught off guard by it. I end up inhaling and staring up at him from where I’m crouched, one hand frozen inside a pair of my jeans and clutching an old gum wrapper.
He stands immediately in front of me in crisp chinos and a well-pressed, collared shirt, his brown gaze as warm and delicious as coffee while I drink him in.
Damn. He looks so put together. Meanwhile, I’m in a sweaty T-shirt, fluorescent pink shorts, and have my hair tossed up in a ponytail. Lame.
My embarrassment over my appearance completely evaporates when it’s replaced by a much worse realization. Based on our current positions, it probably looks like I’m about to go down on him to that little old lady. Blazing chagrin rushes up my neck, scalding my cheeks.
I have to close my eyes as I turn toward a washing machine and try to maintain my composure. “What is going on? Are you guys taking turns stalking me?” I grumble as I load it with the pants I’ve already checked.
“Turns?” He’s genuinely curious, scratching at his cropped beard when I sneak a peek at him.
Does he really have no clue what his packmates are up to?
“This morning, Kylian brought coffee to my window at Darling. Breaking a zillion rules, by the way.” I arch a brow and study him as I speak, trying to gauge whether or not Alpha Team X is actively stalking me as a group.
“Wait, what? Kylian? Are you sure? The giant black dude covered in tattoos?” Skepticism is scrawled across Luka’s expression.
“Yes. I know who Kylian is,” I retort with an eye roll, though I immediately second-guess myself. Fuck. I forget. Should I know who everyone is as Brylee?
I’m about to scramble for a lame explanation, but Luka gives a whistle and that stops me. “Well, then, he must be fond of you. The hellion is never up before noon unless he has to be. I mean never .” His hand swipes to the side to emphasize “never” as if saying it twice didn’t make the point enough.
Inhaling, I focus back on loading laundry for a second as I grumble, “Well, he shouldn’t be fond of me.” He doesn’t even know me—not this version.
“We all are.”
There’s a giggle from across the room, and both our gazes swivel to the old woman. She holds up a hand in apology as she gathers up her bag of laundry. “Sorry. Couldn’t help overhearing.”
“Here, let me help you carry that,” Luka offers in a very polite-grandson move that I totally should’ve expected from him. He seems like the type of man to help sweet, old, omega women across a street and then stab an alpha in the back when he thinks no one is looking.
He carries her things out, and she thanks him profusely, turning to me at the door and saying, “You’ve got a good set of mates, sweetie, if this one is any indication.”
It’s not worth arguing with a stranger, so I just give her a taut grin and finish loading my laundry. I debate calling Harper to rescue me, but honestly, I’ve been trapped in public with Luka before. What’s the worst he’s going to do?
I also stare long and hard for a minute at Ted’s laundry, but I decide I can simply explain that one away as being a good sister who’s helping him out.
Decision made, I head to the back corner of the room because, at the very least, I deserve to reinforce my defenses with extra caffeine if I have to put up with a handsome, arrogant alpha for the next few hours.
I’ve just cracked open the can and sat down in one of the chairs lining the back wall when Luka strides back in, looking oddly flustered.
“What?” I ask, suspicious of his expression.
He clears his throat, scratches absently at the stubble lining his jaw, and then says, “It appears as if that lady thinks we’re going to partake in…um…intercourse.” He focuses intently on a stray sock someone must’ve left behind, his lips pursed. “She told me to…um…clean up afterward.”
Am I mistaken, or is he blushing? It must be a trick of the light. Luka does not seem like the type of man to blush. He’s so confident and suave in the gym. I can’t imagine him being awkward or uncomfortable in any situation.
“Ew! What a perv!” I shoot a glare out the window at the woman’s car as she backs away. “I’m traumatized but also somewhat amused. ‘Traumused’?”
“That is not a word,” Luka critiques, apparently snapping out of whatever flustered funk he was in. Trust him to transform back into his bossy self just to chastise me about a made-up word.
Laughing, I shrug. “Might as well be a word. If ‘ate’ can be a whole thing, why not traumused? I definitely feel like that would be a permanent addition to middle-schooler vocabulary. Traumused basically describes their daily existence.”
He huffs in agreement as he sits down in the chair next to mine, making sure to keep a respectable distance between the two of us. Even still, I see his fingers twitch from where they rest on his thigh, as if he’s fighting the urge to touch me. I don’t know if I want him to keep his hands to myself…or touch me all over.
“So…” I trail off, unsure what to say.
“So, I see you took my comment about Brock seriously. I appreciate that.” He clears his throat and focuses straight ahead, his long fingers tapping an unfamiliar pattern against his leg.
“Well, it would suck to have to ‘eunuch-ify’ a friend,” I comment dryly.
He finally glances at me and rolls his eyes. “You missed your calling. You should go work for a dictionary company. Webster is missing out.”
“I did. If I’d been born a beta, maybe…”
He sighs. “Yeah, sometimes I wonder…” He glances down at his hands with an expression I would almost describe as wistful.
“Why’d you become a soldier?” I ask abruptly. Something flickers in his eyes, a wisp of longing that makes me wonder if Luka ever wanted to be a fireman or a chef or whatnot.
“It’s an alpha’s fate, isn’t it?” His brows come together and he shrugs, but his tone falls flat and there’s a hint of smothered sadness in his eyes that makes him so relatable.
“Did you want to be something else?” I tilt my head, studying the sharp line of his jaw and trying to imagine what he might have been like when he was younger. Probably a huge nerd. Whenever he’s not teaching a class or beating the shit out of another alpha, I see his head buried in a book, his reading glasses sliding down his nose. I always wonder what he’s reading but have never gotten the courage to look.
“I honestly feel like war was drilled into my head for so long…” He shakes his head, as if physically trying to pull himself out of some unnamed fantasy. “I don’t even know what else I would have wanted to be. Is it ridiculous to be sad over something you don’t even know?”
“Not at all,” I say, right as he answers his own question, “Yeah, it is.”
“Guess we’re all sort of trapped by birth, huh?” I ask, with a regretful twist of my lips.
“I suppose so,” he murmurs before his hand reaches out and his pinkie grazes mine for a fraction of a second. I’m not sure if the touch was meant to comfort me or himself.
Either way, when I look over at him, dark red stains his cheeks. He clears his throat and pulls his hand back to his lap.
Gauzy silence hangs over us like a shroud for a moment before he slides forward on his chair and claps his hands together. “Sorry. I’m not usually so melancholy. Let’s pretend that never happened, okay?”
While I’m fascinated by his admissions and curious about his past, he’s clearly not ready for more. I respect that because if the shoes were flipped and I was wearing them, I wouldn’t be either. I swipe a hand across my forehead. “Already forgotten.”
His lips twitch in the beginnings of a smile before they straighten out. He stands and digs into one of his pockets before gesturing in the direction of the claw game. “Come on and I’ll win you a toy.”
“Oh, very gentlemanly of you.”
“Well, I need to redeem myself now. I can’t be spilling feelings all over the floor. That’s just unseemly.”
“True. It was kind of disgusting. I was about to ask for a trash can to puke in,” I say, with an exaggerated grimace.
He snorts—a noise I’ve never heard him make before—and a wave of amusement lifts us both out of the doldrums of our old conversation. “Well, it’s not murder, but let me skewer a stuffed animal for you.”
“The way to every woman’s heart, caveman style.”
“I’ve been doing research on ways to court omegas, and winning them prizes was moderately high on the list,” he tells me seriously.
Why am I not surprised?
He shoves a bill into the ancient machine, and it springs to life, carnival music playing and lights flashing.
“Which prize do you want?” He gestures at all the tightly packed stuffed animals.
Standing, I saunter over and peer down, looking for one that seems like it might be loose. “How about the turtle?” I point to a bright green and turquoise toy about the size of my fist.
Luka cracks his neck and shakes out his hands, taking this far more seriously than I expected. He also proceeds around the side of the glass and crouches to check out just how the turtle is tucked in amongst the turkeys and dolphins and puppies.
“You okay there?” I’m seriously beginning to question his mental sanity.
“There’s a method to it,” Luka retorts, his expression pure male focus. I’ve seen this sort of thing on Teddie’s face before. My brother went through a very intense gaming phase, and he had that same tight look whenever he played.
“You do know it’s okay if you don’t win?—”
“Shh!” He cuts me off, raising his hand.
I’m tempted to high-five him just to be annoying, but I don’t because alphas can be a little over the top when they laser in on something. I stand back and sip my soda as Luka paces back around to the front of the machine, leans over the controls with an incredibly menacing look that would shake those stuffies to the core if only they were sentient.
His hand grasps the joystick. And then…then he starts to move the claw.
Two inches.
That’s all he does. Two freaking inches before he walks back to the side and checks, bending, inspecting, even squinting.
He’s the exact opposite of everything I see in class when I’m playing Ted, more lighthearted than when we ran into one another on the street. This side of Luka is adorably amusing. All the danger and swagger when he’s a combat professor has suddenly been replaced by this razor-edge concentration over something utterly absurd.
“Luka…am I detecting a little bit of OCD?” I tease.
He straightens and stomps over to me in a way I shouldn’t find attractive but makes my breath catch in my throat like a sail in the wind.
“I’ll show you OCD,” he growls, grabbing me by the hips and spinning me so that I’m in front of him. My back ends up pressed against the glass, my ass just in front of the control panel of the claw machine, and my nerves suddenly fizzing with energy.
I think flirting with two members of my scent match group in a single day might just be a bad idea. Unfortunately, having that thought and acting on it are two entirely different things. My knees have absolutely melted from his dominant display.
His fingers dig into my hips for just a second as his eyes pour heat down my body. My breasts grow heavy under his stare as his spicy, masculine scent makes me grow greedy for more.
His mouth ticks up arrogantly on one corner as he leans closer.
Closer.
I inhale and part my lips.
He leans right past me, peering over my shoulder and holding me trapped, captive, as he grabs the joystick. His hands bump against my ass as he navigates the claw just where he wants it.
Perhaps I should push back against his chest. Maybe I should try to tease and distract him. But I’m caught up in the cloud of his scent and the feel of his arms around me. And there’s this completely baffling purring sensation deep within my chest—one I’ve never felt before.
Images arise in my head suddenly. Things I somehow desperately need like…a handmade quilted blanket and four feather-stuffed king-size pillows and…
“You want to push the button?” Luka’s warm brown gaze interrupts my wandering thoughts. I have to repeat his sentence inside my head before I actually understand it.
But when I do, I nod. “As long as you’re willing to share the glory.”
His lips tick up. “Just this once. But if you tell the others, I’ll deny it to our dying days.”
He spins me around then, and he gives me a second to catch my balance. With one hand firmly on my hip, he steps closer, pressing himself against my spine and making my entire body illuminate. His other hand comes down on top of mine and guides it toward the button.
Very, very solemnly—as if we’re in the middle of some occult ritual or something, he whispers in my ear. “Ready?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t be scared.”
“I’m not,” I retort with a scoff.
“It’s okay if you’re sca?—”
“I swear, Luka, I’m going to press this button without you.”
He chuckles, and I can feel the motion against my spine as he guides our hands to hover over the button. “Three. Two?—”
I try to cheat and press it before one, but he interlocks our fingers and keeps my hand still. “Naughty omega.”
Oh fuck.
Fuck.
That one phrase kicks my instincts into overdrive. My panties grow damp, and suddenly I want to nuzzle at his neck and beg him to do unspeakable things to me. I don’t, because that would be disastrous for both of us. But I want to.
Luka, probably well aware of exactly what he’s doing to me, counts down again.
Our hands slam into the button, and I watch the dangling little claw swing back and forth, so flimsily that I feel certain there’s no way it will scoop up a cotton ball, much less a stuffie.
But then, the claw swings at just the right angle and scoops up the turtle. My jaw literally unhinges as I stand there, watching the toy dangle in the air.
Two seconds later, Luka has scooped his prize out of the dispenser and is handing it to me with a very familiar, very smug alpha look on his face.
“One try?” I’m outraged. Disgusted. Hella impressed that he’s that good.
He dusts his shoulder off in reply, and I sock him lightly in the arm.
“Good form!” he compliments me.
I shake my head, refusing to think about that hit and focusing on the toy, which I shake in the air. “That was pure luck.”
“That was a compilation of research, practice, and skill.” That smirk he’s wearing is about to kill me because it has a direct effect on my heart.
“Sure.”
“It is. And if you’re a good omega, I’ll let you have a front row seat to some of the other skills I’ve perfected over the years.” His voice oozes sin. A throbbing erupts in my core, and I feel a tiny bit of slick in my panties. I hold my breath as I stare up at him, wanting more and hating myself for it. He steps toward me, his eyes twinkling, and whispers, “If you think the claw was hot, you’re going to be over the moon when you see how I fold laundry .”
I assume he’s joking.
He’s not.
And by the time he’s done, I’m seriously debating whether or not I should let him fold me into whatever shape he wants and have his way with me.
But, in a rare gentlemanly twist, Luka merely puts all my folded laundry into his car, even complimenting me on helping my brother out, before he drives me back to campus. He leaves me at the gate, weak-kneed with a huge bag of fresh clothes, wondering when exactly I agreed to go on another date with him.
I’m not sure what happened.
Maybe it was the way he knew how to handle my pleated skirts. Or the crisp way he’d slide his hand down a pant leg before he’d fold it smooth. But somehow, some way, he tricked me. Addled my brain so my mouth would say yes.
Now—even though I’ve sworn them off, I somehow have a date with an alpha.
As I turn and head up the stone steps of Darling Academy, I shake my head. But I’m not even clear-minded enough to scold myself yet.
No.
I have something else I need to do first. My fingers are absolutely itching to update that picture of my nest.
It needs a quilt and a stuffed turtle immediately.