Chapter 22
WREN
My feet carry me toward home from campus a little wearily.
After a day of sitting through lectures on market segments and consumer psychology, I’m ready to disassociate into a plate of carbs.
Also, lord help me, I just want to be in my own space.
The onslaught of smells in the packed room today was an overstimulation nightmare.
I just want to spend an hour in the bath, followed by wrapping myself in the fluffiest bathrobe I own and doing a face mask as I inhale mac and cheese. Is that too much for an Omega to ask for?
With my headphones on, I’m determined to block out the noise of student life and be an antisocial creature. All while still getting sidetracked into thoughts of last night and Connor.
Well, make that a double-team of Theo and Connor.
One Alpha, I was able to spend a few hours breathing the same air as and ended up in a very nearly compromising situation with. The other, I had to fight the urge to text, long after I curled up in bed and ended up staring at his replies on my phone, sitting there unanswered.
I’m a complete disaster.
Both men have giant stamps on their foreheads saying: DO NOT EVEN THINK ABOUT IT.
And yet here I am. Thinking about it. In lurid detail.
No matter how sweetly my scent match might be treating me, sending little texts here and there to check in, asking if there’s anything I need—as if he knows all that simple care and attention is weaving a little path straight to my heart—like some sort of Omega fantasy.
He’s still my ex-boyfriend’s father. A line I got far too close to crossing, and now I’m left stuck in a horny little prison, longing for more.
Then… there’s the giant Scottish problem in the room.
He’s scented blood in the water and keeps on circling.
That Alpha keenness in him seems to recognize that my guards are wavering where he’s concerned.
And I’m not entirely sure I can do much more to prevent myself from slipping up, other than avoiding him at all costs.
How exactly I’m supposed to do that, when my brother is so closely entwined with him, I just don’t know.
Letting out a long sigh into the crisp afternoon air, I feel my phone buzz in my jacket pocket.
The immediate onset of heart-flutters merges with pussy-flutters to collide somewhere in my stomach at the thought it might be another message from Theo.
I’ve become more than a little addicted to receiving his little check-ins, even if all I do is stare at them and not reply, for the most part.
You know, how a normal person would react when they’re being sent messages by a veritable god.
Unknown:
I didn’t get to tell you how pretty you looked last night, Bambi.
My feet almost trip over each other, and I stop dead in my tracks.
I scan the words on the screen again, before I truly believe what I’m seeing.
Whipping my head up, I look around, scanning the empty path around me.
Connor Renfro cannot seriously be texting me right now.
Is he watching me from somewhere? Is this some kind of prank?
Unknown:
Consider this my formal plea, that next time you come to one of our team events, please take pity on a desperate man and give him some warning if you’re gonna turn up looking ready to break hearts. Even then, I’m probably still gonna find it impossible not to stare at you all night.
I’ll have you know, I was barely hanging on by a thread.
I’m gonna get you in my jersey. Even if you gotta wear it hidden underneath one of those cute sweaters of yours.
Seeing his texts keep on arriving, I’m left shaking my head in part disbelief, and in part more fluttery than ever.
That has me trying to fight a smile while staring at my phone.
With another furtive peek at my surroundings, I’m almost certain he’s not here.
Or at least, isn’t following me. Besides, I think the team has training at this time of the afternoon.
Me:
You’re not even trying to beat the stalker allegations, are you, big guy?
I change Connor’s contact in my phone with a guilty little glance around. As if I’m expecting the Dean of the University himself to be standing, watching over my shoulder. Death with a scythe in hand, ready to reap my soul for daring to fraternize with one of Willow Falls’ professional athletes.
Me:
How’d you get my number?
Big guy:
Your brother isn’t very good at keeping his phone secure.
Did you know he has an entire folder full of screenshots of houseplants? It’s very cute.
Me:
Stalking, and now breaking and entering?
Big guy:
Hardly. He gave me his password at training on the second day I met him.
Me:
I wish it wasn’t so easy to believe you’re telling the truth.
Finch really is the worst at looking after his phone.
Big guy:
Go on a date with me, Bambi.
Me:
That’s not even a question?
Big guy:
Please.
As I continue walking, I’m outright grinning now. The line of pleading emojis he follows that single word with is far too endearing.
Damn him.
Stop it.
I cannot be smiling at my phone, entertaining thoughts of this Alpha. No matter his charm or the slutty little chain around his neck I want to tug on.
Taking a deep breath, I square my shoulders and begin to type. I am made of steely resolve. I am a still lake at dawn. I am in ice queen mode.
Me:
No.
Big guy:
Why not?
Oh my god. He’s relentless. I should really expect nothing less, considering his choice of career as a pro sportsman.
Me:
You know why.
Big guy:
What if we just so happened to both turn up at the same maple farm at the same time and go on a tour, side by side?
They can’t kick you out for enjoying the good gospel of maple syrup. That’s gotta amount to sacrilege in Vermont.
Me:
I can’t risk my scholarship. You know that.
Big guy:
That’s not a no.
Me:
Are you this belligerent in Scotland, too? Or is it an affliction that gets worse the longer you’re separated from the homeland, going without Highland cows and kilts?
Big guy:
What I’m hearing is that the little Omega would like to travel to visit the Isles, with a dashing tour guide on her arm.
Probably also quite fancy seeing me in a kilt, too.
Me:
Oh my god… that is not what I’m saying.
Although, damn him. Because I’m now imagining what it would be like to be able to play tourist by day and be wrapped in his arms by night. What does Connor look like when he’s relaxed and at ease in his natural environment?
Probably even sexier, is what.
Me:
There are way too many rules. Too many complications.
Big guy:
No one can tell you off for socializing.
Me:
I’ve got enough friends.
Big guy:
I’m very happy to hear it.
Me:
Oh, yeah?
Big guy:
Yeah… because I don’t intend on being anything remotely close to your friend.
I’m gaping as his next message arrives and officially turns my blood molten on the spot in the process.
Big guy:
In no world am I gonna let you prance your pretty single Omega smile around me.
I’ll show you exactly how the word friend tastes when I kiss it out of your playbook.