Chapter 56
WREN
Somehow, I managed to convince the enormous Alpha—with a jaw working overtime perfecting the art of chewing rocks—into waiting for me at the Acorn, rather than causing a scene in the heart of campus.
Whatever Atlas thought he’d achieve today by shadowing my ass, I was determined to make sure he didn’t stand over me at every turn.
The last thing I need is an overbearing Alpha rugby player, star of the Wolves starting lineup, and best friend to my brother, obviously, publicly shadowing my every move.
Because that won’t spark rumors like wildfire.
Hell. These Alphas don’t know how to play it cool, do they? I’d bet my comfiest blanket that Connor and Theo put him up to this.
This morning has been a blur in the lead-up to our meeting at the dog shelter later today.
As the clock ticks closer to the time we’ve agreed to meet, my heel has progressively bounced faster and faster.
Somehow, I manage to focus all through classes—barely concentrating, if I’m completely honest with myself—but it’s the most boring mapping market trends for intangible goods lecture ever known to man, and I’m sure half the auditorium is snoring or has zoned out completely, rendered slack-jawed, staring into space.
A masterclass in “losing the crowd 101.”
Of course, I’m less sent into a stupor by droning monotone about analytics, and more distracted as hell by an Alpha-preoccupied brain. I’m sure my frontal lobe has decided to become a sovereign Omega nation, population: Theo Brennan, Connor Renfro, and Atlas Palamo.
Thinking back to the library leaves me with a stomach full of butterflies and knees gone weak. I’m seemingly incapable of doing much more than retracing all the events of that night, replaying the tape, until it’s undeniable that I’m in hopelessly over my head.
Being around Atlas did something to me in a way that I can’t explain or wrap my mind around.
It’s entirely different from my experiences with Theo and Connor.
This isn’t a scent match thing. Which is why I’m confused by the way my neediness seemed to pick up speed so dramatically.
His presence led me to feel things in an unfathomably greedy way.
Am I just a slut for an Alpha with rugby player thighs and biceps bigger than my head?
What we did wasn’t as a result of anything approaching how I’ve felt during a heat spike. I simply wanted and couldn’t stop. Gold stars for a lack of self-control while around virile Alphas I want to lick from top to bottom.
Clearly, I need to figure this mess out.
So when I walk out into the crisp air after class ends, prepared to make my way to the Acorn, I falter at the top of the steps while exiting my lecture.
As my eyes lift across the crowds moving between buildings, I meet his piercing hazel stare drilling into me in such a compelling way it leaves goosebumps trickling over my skin.
Atlas isn’t supposed to be here, and yet there the Alpha is, so imposing, utterly larger than life.
He stands waiting, with arms folded and broad shoulders leaning nonchalantly against a brick wall.
My stomach does a little flip.
He really can’t be hanging around on campus… but I fear there is a glimmer of realization inside me that I like knowing he’s already waiting for me. I need to shake that particular notion with prompt efficiency.
“I wasn’t expecting you to be waiting here.” I duck my chin as I hustle across on my short legs and get close enough for him to hear. “It wasn’t a bother to have to walk to the café like we agreed, you know.”
Atlas grunts, as if that’s the most preposterous thing he’s ever heard. “Tell that to these two anxious motherfuckers.” He flashes his phone at me, where I catch a brief glimpse of a screen littered with messages back and forth. “They haven’t stopped harassing me all day. Ready to go?”
“Sure. Thank you, again… for the ride.” I hide a smile; they’ve been texting me frequently since this morning, too.
“Don’t mention it. My truck’s over there.” Atlas jerks his chin in the direction of the narrow side street running behind the building. While it’s not a completely foolproof plan to be seen with him in the middle of the day, at least he’s thought far enough ahead to park in a quiet part of campus.
With a slow nod, I follow after his massive shoulders, our footsteps falling into time.
Keeping my arms wrapped around my front, eyes lowered, I’m quietly praying to whatever patron saint of Omegas exists out there to safeguard us from running into anyone, especially not someone who might recognize that the one and only Atlas Palamo is wandering around WFU.
He’s quiet for the entire rest of the time it takes us to get to Wagging Tails, which isn’t unusual—silence and long pauses are Atlas’s comfort settings, after all—however, that same old feeling hits me.
The one where I worry that I’m overstepping and imposing on a slice of Atlas’s private haven, where the dog shelter is concerned.
When we arrive, the place is buzzing. The parking lot and street are filled with cars, and as we enter, there’s a lively commotion coming from a few dozen volunteers milling around waiting.
Linda, the coordinator I met the first time I came here, is already in the process of ushering everyone through into the back room, shooing us like unruly chickens.
I follow the direction everyone else is moving in, a little nervous, but making an effort to smile at all the new faces—all of whom seem as if they’re lifelong friends. Great. Love being the new girl.
We end up in the meeting space–come–storeroom where we sat for the interview that day, and it’s as if the dogs themselves know we’re here for their benefit.
A cacophony of excited high-pitched yipping, along with hearty baritone woofs, sounds through the walls in addition to the laughter and chatting.
Fragments of conversations drift my way.
Dog adoption updates, canine escapades, and comparing notes on the frustratingly springlike weather.
Unsurprisingly, I lose Atlas immediately.
Did I want him to stick by my side? Maybe.
Although, can I blame him for ditching me with record speed when I’m nothing but a newcomer and probably a nuisance in his eyes?
Glancing around, there’s no sign of him, which makes my shoulders deflate a little.
For such a physically imposing Alpha, he’s seemingly perfected the art of vanishing into thin air where crowds are concerned.
“Alright, everyone listen up… thank you for coming, as always, I don’t want to keep you here long…
so I’ll make this part quick, and then you can all catch up in your own time.
” Linda claps her hands and hollers to get the attention of all the volunteers.
“Some of you have to get back to work, and we all know Jim is on the pain of death not to forget it’s his turn to do the school pickup duty today.
” She flaps her hands in our general direction, encouraging us to settle down as quickly as possible.
Amid a groan from presumably Jim, raucous, genial laughter rebounding around the room at his expense, and a flurry of chairs scraping across concrete, I take the lead from other people around me. As they sit down, I follow suit, quickly sliding into the nearest available empty seat.
“It was one time. And in my defense, ya’ll know how cutthroat the queue is…
” Jim winces and sticks a hand in the air apologetically, before pushing wire-rimmed glasses back up his nose.
“While I’m here, a general PSA: help yourself to the cake pops set out on the front counter before you leave.
Darcy, my eldest, wanted to bake us a ‘Bark Box’ to sample…
They’re her golden retriever and chocolate labrador pup pops.
She’s planning on holding a bake sale to raise money for the Waggers of Wagging Tails, so taste-test, and I quote ‘yumminess feedback’ is welcome and appreciated. ”
“Wonderful… thank you to Darcy for my sugar fix to get me through the afternoon. Now to dive right in the deep end.” Linda consults her notes set on top of a pallet of sacks filled with dry dog food.
“Good news, since last week’s gala, we’ve managed to secure funding for construction of the next five emergency kennel enclosures, scheduled to begin immediately—”
A hard, muscled arm brushes up against my sleeve, and that beautifully comforting aroma of orange and oak hits in a rush. Atlas drags a chair over, appearing without warning. His quiet, imposing presence fills my periphery as he sits next to me, while the volunteer meeting carries on around us.
Well, I presume it continues. In reality, the world fades away while I’m in danger of neglecting to listen to a single word.
All I can concentrate on is his warmth and scent and the way our hips press against each other’s when he readjusts his weight every now and then.
There’s a possibility I’m the worst dog shelter volunteer in the history of volunteers, because my brain cells all decide to flock to the side of my head closest to Atlas.
It’s as if they’re guests on a cruise, all racing to the starboard railing in order to gaze adoringly at the compelling, frustratingly gorgeous Alpha at my side. As if he’s some spectacle of nature.
Before I know it, all agenda items have been covered.
Volunteer rosters. Donations. Community outreach plans.
Then, Linda is efficiently answering final questions from among the group, all while a clipboard is passed around to update our contact details if there have been any recent changes, then the meeting promptly disbands.
The room starts to empty out, with those who have places to be beginning to race out the door as they head back to work or to navigate the overbearing politics of the school pickup line.