Chapter 7 Sam
Sam
Trying to eat a spicy chicken wrap while yanking the collar of my hoodie up to my ears is a special kind of hell.
Salsa is leaking onto my fingers, the hoodie is thick as a blanket, and it has to be seventy-five degrees in the student center. I'm definitely sweating.
"You look like a turtle trying to hide in its shell," Jionni says, leaning back in his chair. He kicks his combat boots up onto the empty seat next to him, ignoring the glare from a passing freshman. "A very sweaty, guilty turtle."
"I'm cold," I lie. I take a bite of the wrap. Salsa drips onto my thumb. "Circulation issues, iron deficiency, it's a whole thing."
"It's seventy-five degrees, Sam," Toby points out. He's organizing his bento box lunch with terrifying precision—carrots here, hummus there, grapes in a perfect pyramid. He adjusts his wire-rimmed glasses and gives me his best Resident Advisor Look. "And you're vibrating."
"I always vibrate. I'm a vibrator. Wait, no. I have energy. I'm energetic."
"Jesus," Wes mutters. The quarterback is sprawled out at the head of the table, taking up enough space for two people. He's tearing into a sub sandwich like he hasn't eaten in a week. He pauses, sniffing the air. His nose wrinkles.
Then his eyes snap to me.
"Sam," Wes says, his voice dropping an octave. "Why do you smell like a pine forest in the middle of a thunderstorm?"
I freeze.
Braiden, who has been frantically highlighting notes in three different colors, looks up. "Pine? Like... an alpha's pine?"
"Like Morse," Jionni corrects, a slow, knowing grin spreading across his face. He taps his own neck, right over the gland. "Take off the hoodie, Sammy."
"No."
"Take it off, or I'm gonna assume you got a hickey from a vacuum cleaner."
I sigh, a long, deflating sound that takes all the fight out of me.
I drop my hands. The heavy fabric slides down.
The table goes silent.
Devan didn't just nip me; he branded me. The mark is a dark, bruised crescent right over my scent gland, impossible to miss.
"Holy shit," Braiden whispers. "It happened? You and the guy who looks like he murders joy for a living?"
"He doesn't murder joy," I mumble, picking at a loose thread on my jeans. "He just... organizes it efficiently."
"You're mated," Toby says. He sounds scandalized, but there's a softness in his eyes. He reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. "Sam. When? How?"
"Couple weeks ago," I admit. "Officially. But... yeah."
"A couple of weeks?" Jionni whistles. "And you kept that quiet? I'm impressed. I didn't think you could keep a secret for five minutes."
"We were trying to figure stuff out! And it's... it's a lot, okay? There's the proposal, and the internship, and suddenly I'm bonded to the guy I've been arguing with forever and my brain is still catching up."
"Wait," Wes says, wiping mayonnaise off his lip. "You were working on a massive research project with the guy who just claimed you? While hiding the claim?"
"Yes."
"That sounds... hot," Wes decides with a shrug. "Stressful, but hot."
"It was a lot." But even as I say it, my mind flashes back to the library. The way Devan looked at me when I solved the problem. The way he pulled me onto his lap. The chair creaking. The books falling off the table.
I shift in my seat, trying not to think about it. I've been mated for two weeks and I'm already completely gone for him.
"So," Braiden says. "Devan Morse. I mean... he's intense, Sam. Like, really intense. I saw him make a grad student cry just by asking one question about their research."
"He wasn't trying to be mean," I say automatically. "He just doesn't do small talk. He asks real questions. Some people can't handle that."
"He's an iceberg," Jionni counters, stealing a grape from Toby's pyramid. Toby slaps his hand, but Jionni eats it anyway. "Cold. Hard. Sinks ships."
"He is not cold," I snap.
The table goes quiet. My voice was louder than I intended.
"He's not," I say. "You guys don't see him. You see the resting bitch face and the black clothes and the silence. But he's not cold. He's... careful. He feels everything, he just doesn't know how to show it. So he holds it in until he trusts you enough to let you see."
I think of him last night, the way he traced my spine with his fingertips, the way he whispered mine against my skin like he was praying.
I swallow, my throat feeling tight. "He's actually really sweet. In a weird, intense, staring-at-you-until-you-combust kind of way. He brought me my favorite snacks because he noticed a pattern in my habits. Who does that?"
Wes grins. "A whipped alpha, that's who."
I look at my friends. "I've been defending him forever, haven't I?"
Braiden nods slowly. "Every time we called him a robot, you'd get all huffy and say he was a 'misunderstood genius'."
"And every time he beat you on a test, you'd spend three hours talking about how brilliant his argument was while pretending to be mad," Jionni adds.
"I thought I hated him," I say, shaking my head. "I really thought I did. I didn't want to be just another omega swooning over a smart alpha. I wanted to be his equal. So I picked a fight."
"And now?" Wes asks. "Are you his equal?"
"I think so," I say. "He makes me feel like I am."
And just like that, the reality crashes back in.
"Friday," I groan, dropping my head onto the table. "Oh god. Friday."
"The interviews," Braiden says.
"The Johnston," I mumble into the Formica. "Less than a week."
"So, how does that work?" Jionni asks. "You're mated now. You're bonded. Biology says you should be glued to each other 24/7. But that internship? It's one slot. One winner. What happens to you two when only one of you can have it?"
I lift my head. "We talked about it. He said we're a team. That we'll figure it out together. That the internship isn't as important as us."
"And you believe that?" Toby asks.
"I want to," I say. "I really want to."
Wes leans forward. "Listen, Sam. Bonds are strong. Stronger than people give them credit for." He points a finger at me. "If Devan is half the guy you say he is, he meant what he said. He wants you both to come out of this okay."
"But what if it doesn't work out like that?" Braiden asks. "What if the interview changes things? What if it pulls you apart?"
"It won't," I say. "We're stronger than that."
Jionni is quiet for a moment. Then he leans forward, elbows on the table.
"Here's the thing, Sam. I believe you about Morse. I do. But that interview room? The people running it? They don't give a shit about your bond."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean Sterling. The hedge fund guy. People like him, they don't see mates.
They see competitors. They want gladiators, not partners.
" Jionni's grey eyes are sharp. "Biology says you're a team.
But capitalism? That boardroom? They want to see a winner and a loser.
And they'll do whatever it takes to make you fight each other.
Not because they care who wins, but because that's how they test people.
They want to see what you'll sacrifice."
"Jionni," Wes growls. "Ease up."
"No, he needs to hear this." Jionni doesn't look away from me. "Sam, look at me."
I look. He's not smirking anymore.
"You're Sam Sharma," Wes says, leaning in. "You're the smartest guy I know who doesn't make me feel stupid for asking questions. You deserve that internship just as much as Morse does."
I manage a smile. "Thanks, Wes."
Braiden chimes in. "Maybe you can go in there as a united front? Show them you're stronger together than apart?"
"The interview is about individual merit," I remind him. "Professor Foster was very clear. One slot. One winner."
"Screw Foster," Jionni mutters. "Guy looks like he sleeps in a coffin."
I check my phone.
"I have to go," I say, standing up and gathering my trash. "I have to prep. We're... not studying together tonight. We decided to take the nights off before the interview to get in the right headspace."
"Separation," Toby nods. "Healthy boundaries."
"Yeah," I say. "Healthy."
It feels awful. The idea of not sleeping next to him tonight makes my skin crawl.
I pull my hoodie back up, hiding the mark. "Thanks, guys. I... I needed to say it out loud."
"We got you, Sam," Wes says, saluting with his sandwich.
"Text me if you panic!" Braiden calls out. "I have breathing exercises!"
I wave and leave, weaving through the crowded tables. The noise of the lunch rush washes over me; laughter, shouting, clattering trays.
I'm almost to the exit when a hand catches my elbow. It's Jionni. He's not smirking now.
"Hey," he says, letting go of my arm.
"Hey. Did you come to scare me some more about Sterling?"
"No." Jionni shoves his hands into the pockets of his ripped jeans. "Look, Sam. I like you. You're... you're real. You don't pretend to be perfect like everyone else at this prep school factory."
"Thanks? I think?"
He steps closer, lowering his voice. "This bond thing... it's heavy. The hormones, the instincts... it's like being drugged. It makes you want to give them everything."
I nod. He's right. It does.
"But listen to me," Jionni says. "What I said in there about Sterling? I meant it. People like him, they'll put you in a room and force you to choose. Him or the job. Your future or his. They'll make it feel like there's no other option."
"So what do I do?"
Jionni shrugs. "Remember that it's a trap. Whatever impossible choice they throw at you? It's designed to break you. Don't let it."
He pokes me in the chest.
"And if Morse is the guy you say he is? Make sure you two face that trap together. Don't let them turn you into enemies. Because that's what they want."
Don't let them turn you into enemies.
That's it. My fear, put into words.
Not that Devan will fail me. But that someone else will find a way to make us fail each other.
"We won't," I say. "Let them."
"Good," Jionni says. The smirk flickers back onto his face. He punches me lightly on the shoulder. "Go get 'em, tiger. And fix your hoodie. Your neck is showing."
He turns and saunters back toward the table, moving with that loose-limbed, careless grace that screams I don't care, even though I know he cares more than anyone.
I stand there for a second, watching him go.
Friday. I have to walk into that room and prove we're both worth betting on.
I push open the doors and step out into the afternoon sun.