Chapter 7
WREN
“Excuse me, but who—and let me speak plain French here—the fuck is that?” Nikita hisses at me the moment I come around the corner.
Holding up her phone, Gabbie points to the recent trail of messages in our group chat, green eyes sparkling. “What part of ‘I’m being privately escorted to the library by an Adonis’ did you forget to include in your texts?”
“Don’t start.” With a groan, I dump my coat and bag on a free chair and slump forward onto the table, smothering my face with my hands.
“No way. We’re starting. So start spilling.” Nikita taps the table. Keeping her mirth to a barely leashed whisper. “Who’s ten foot tall, eight pack, man mountain?”
“Is he a scent match?” Gabbie joins in the game of whispers.
That has me whipping my head up real fast. “No way.” I first point at Gabbie’s hopefully wistful expression, then turn to jab my finger in Nikita’s direction. “Connor Renfro is one of my brother’s teammates, so stop smirking at me like that. And besides, he’s six four, not ten foot tall.”
“Either way, he looks extremely climbable. How are your mountaineering skills?”
“God, don’t even go there. Let me remind you of the ground rules. I’m here to get my degree, which means passing on anything and anyone who might compromise that. I’m not gonna be that Omega who drops out and doesn’t even bother getting qualified.”
“Ahh, so your kitty would be open to visiting Pound Town if you could… It’s just a wrong place, wrong time kind of vibe,” Nikita hums.
“We’re in a library. You can’t talk about my kitty in here—wait, what are you doing?” I try to snatch her phone.
“Ohmygodhe’sabigdeal,” she exhales and pushes me right in the face to hold me at arm’s length.
“G, take a look!” It’s too late, the evidence of Connor’s rugby prowess is being passed around, the girls oohing and ahhing over the internet search results, like he’s everyone’s favorite-flavor birthday cake.
“Excuse me. Those thighs he’s hiding under those sweats?”
“More like tree trunks, don’t you mean?” Gabbie keeps poking at the screen. Meanwhile, I’m about to combust into a flaming wreckage in the middle of these bookshelves.
“Boyfriend clearly doesn’t skip leg day.”
“He’s not my boyfriend,” I mutter weakly. “What part of he’s my brother’s teammate are you two not hearing?”
Nikita gives me a look as if I’m an adorable puppy.
“Oh, my sweet Omega. He walked you right up to the front door and then lingered. Whatever you two were out there talking about, Scotland looked ready to ask you out on a date. Obviously, he doesn’t have this weird little hyper-independent guilt thing you’ve got going on, or care about your brother.
” She flaps a wrist in my general direction.
That leaves me groaning and burying my face in my hands once more.
This is a mess.
Cursed day: 5
Wren: -1
“Wait…” Gabbie gasps. “He doesn’t know, does he?”
I shake my head, still hiding behind my fingers.
“Ohhhh shittttt. You didn’t tell him about your brother? The plot thickens.”
“Am I a terrible person?” I wince and peek between a gap formed by my forefinger and middle finger.
We spend the next twenty minutes huddled together as I explain the whole Connor situation to the girls, answering all their questions in a hushed voice. Once I’ve successfully word vomited everywhere, they sit there quietly contemplating.
“Okay, I get it, you don’t wanna spoil things for your scholarship—which is entirely fair—and you’re worried about consequences that might come back on your brother…
but I’m also not not saying you should break the rules a little.
Maybe bend them? Just a teeny tiny bit?” Nikita pinches her thumb and finger together, squinting one eye at me.
“We can all agree that rules about Omegas are archaic. If you were a Beta or Alpha, no one would bat an eyelid.”
Gabbie nods. “It’s really sweet that he asked you out on a date.”
“Asking if I’m going to watch his rugby match hardly counts,” I snort.
“I’m pretty sure trying to get your phone number, walking you across campus in the rain, and trying to get your name even after you shot him down several times counts,” she presses.
“That’s not a very high bar to meet. Pretty sure all these professional rugby players have got more names and numbers than they know what to do with.”
“Exactly. Scotland is the type of guy who probably doesn’t need to do anything except wink, and he’d make clothes spontaneously disappear.
That’s what we’re saying… the guy is into you, in a way that if he were just in it for a quick hookup, that certainly wouldn’t be the route to go down. You’re not making it easy for him.”
Huffing out a breath, I pull out my textbook. “And I imagine that’s exactly the situation. He probably just loves the chase. As soon as I give in, guaranteed he’ll be going after the next girl.”
“You can protest all you like, but we’re going to that game this weekend.” Nikita eyes me. “I wanna learn about this rugby business.”
“Then you’d better quit distracting me with all your interrogation tactics.” Shaking my head, I rummage in my bag for my planner and pens. “Otherwise, I won’t be going anywhere but eyeballs deep in the contents of Chapter Eight.”
“Speaking of distractions…” Nikita fakes a meow. “Professor eye candy at three o’clock.”
Glancing up, I see that she’s not so subtly pointing out a tall, broad-shouldered man with a tangle of dark hair and reading glasses standing in the stacks, leafing through a book.
He fills out a midnight-blue dress shirt, unbuttoned at the collar, shirt sleeves folded back up his forearms. He’s certainly a fit for the classic tall, dark, and handsome profile.
All the brooding academic boxes are checked with this one.
Except, he’s certainly no stranger to a weights routine; that much is easy to spot at a glance across the quiet rows of shelves. The guy is solid.
“He’s hot with a capital H. Wonder what he teaches?
I should try and pick up that class for a bit of aesthetic appreciation next semester.
” Nikita giggles. “Did I tell you my psych professor smells like moldy yogurt? I don’t know if I’m gonna last in his class unless I wear a clothespin on my nose. ”
I hum to myself and turn back to the gauntlet of my textbook. “He’s definitely been blessed with good genes.” Not my type, but I can see he’d be easily someone else’s daydream.
Gabbie shrugs. “If you’re into that, I guess.” Her nose wrinkles, but I see the way her eyes flicker over there briefly, before turning back to focus on her notes, highlighter poised in hand.
And she certainly doesn’t do a very good job of hiding the pink flooding her cheeks when he walks past our table to head out the front doors.
Perhaps my sweet little roommate has some secrets of her own she’s forgotten to share with the class.