Chapter Fourteen
We try to continue as normal.
It doesn’t work.
One more week until I can fill my prescription—to no avail, according to Kanata.
Three more weeks until the end of the semester. Three more sessions. It was too long.
Connor's scent grows stronger every session. There’s no way I can keep tutoring him. He will inevitably find out if we carry on like this.
Tuesday night, instead of retreating completely up and telling Connor we're through, I have a stupid, reckless idea that might just solve my problem.
None of my college friends know the full extent of my secret.
They know I’m on supps—I have to keep the shots refrigerated, and some people recognize the muted, chemical scent—but that’s all.
I let them assume what they will and dodge any questions inquiring further.
Most of them think I’m some kind of medical anomaly.
It’s worn on me to keep such a large part of myself hidden for so long. People can sense when that much of a person is being tucked away. It’s like there’s an invisible barrier between us at all times.
I call one of my old roommates, a gay alpha named Roy, and ask if he can come over.
When he arrives and I answer the door, I try to keep my expression from curdling. His scent smells much stronger to me now than it ever has before.
Roy’s got nineties David Beckham hair, and he’s wearing a handsome emerald fisherman’s sweater. His eyes are bulging out of his head.
“Holy shit. You finally stopped supps.”
“Is it that obvious?”
He bursts past me into my living room and heads for the couch. “Honey, you’ve smelled like my grandma’s mothball closet as long as I’ve known you. Now pour us some drinks. I need all the tea.”
I uncork some white wine I got for my birthday and pour it into tumbler glasses. It’s the best I’ve got.
I bring the drinks to the couch and sit next to Roy. He grimaces when I pass him the tumbler.
“You want a Solo cup?”
He rolls his eyes and props his feet up on my ottoman.
“Alright. Spill.”
“I need a favor from you.”
“You’re asking me for a favor? Who are you and what have you done with Lana?”
“I don’t want you to feel obligated. If it makes you uncomfortable?—”
“Out with it. You’re giving me anxiety.”
“I want you to scent me.”
His eyes narrow in confusion. “You want me to what?
“I said, I want you to scent me.”
Roy starts laughing.
“Very funny, Lana. You got me.”
He takes a sip of his wine, winces, and spits it back into the glass. “Who gave you that wine? They aren’t a true friend.”
“I'm not joking. You're not seeing anyone right now, right?
“No, but?—”
“There’s an alpha I’m tutoring, and our scents are…compatible.”
Roy arches a finely manicured eyebrow. “How compatible?”
“Very compatible. Worrisomely compatible. And if you can scent me until the end of the semester, things will be a lot less awkward between us.”
“What happened to the horse load of supps you were taking?”
“My doctor’s cracking down.”
Roy tapped his fingers against his glass. “Lana, how do I smell to you right now?”
My lip curls. “Like trash that should have gone out last night.”
“Wish I hadn’t asked you that. But my point stands. You want to smell like that to yourself?”
“I can deal with it.”
“Have you ever been scented before?”
“No.”
“Then, respectfully, how do you know you can deal?”
“I have to try something, Roy.”
“Who is this compatible alpha? Anyone I know?”
“Connor Masters.”
Roy’s mouth falls open. “Connor Masters, your childhood best friend, muscled hunk, jock of the year, filthy rich Connor Masters?”
“Unfortunately.”
“Holy shit, Crane. You’ve been holding out on me. You don’t want to tap that? Are you still doing that creepy stoic celibate thing?”
“It’s…complicated.”
“This seems like an extreme solution. The semester’s almost over—you can’t manage a few more weeks? Or better yet, ride his dick into dust?”
I snort. Trust Roy to bring some much-needed levity to the situation.
“My heat is soon. I’m not going to be able to put it off this time.”
“And you don’t want to end up doing the two-person tango with your old buddy, Meaty Masters? I bet his knot is huge.”
A flush runs down my neck at the mental image. “No,” I croak.
“Shit. You are close, huh? Fine, I’ll do it. But I refuse to rub you with my spunk—I have to draw the line somewhere. This will send a message, though.”
Roy takes my hands and rubs my wrists against the scent glands on his neck. Then he licks my wrists for good measure, and immediately begins spitting and sticking out his tongue like he’s tasted the wrong end of a can of compressed air.
“God, it's like you sprayed it in my mouth.”
I laugh. “I’m sorry. Thank you so much.”
It’s one of the least sexy exchanges I’ve ever been privy to, even compared to those awkward teen designation comedies.
Roy pulls the collar of his sweater over his nose and pinches it shut.
“Wait. What do I smell like to you?”
“You know in middle school, when girls would hose themselves down in fruity body spray?”
“Unfortunately.”
“You smell like you’ve been marinating in off-brand cucumber melon.”
I grimace. “Really?”
“Yes. It’s revolting. I may have to puke in your bushes when I leave.”
“Alright. Try the neck.”
Roy lowers his sweater, scoots toward me, and starts to lower his mouth to my neck. His scent is repulsive. When his lips meet my skin, I shudder and pull away. My stomach roils.
I wring out my hands and try to suppress the feeling of bugs crawling all over my skin.
He slides back away from me on the couch. “Here. I have an idea. Remember, you asked for this.”
Roy spits a glob of clear saliva into his palm and rubs his hands together.
“That’s disgusting.”
He wiggles his fingers at me, strings of saliva stretching between them. Then he smacks his hands against the sides of my neck and pats the spit into my glands.
“Oh, my god. I want to hurl.” The urge to wipe it off is overwhelming. I sit on my hands to stop myself.
Roy cackles. “You’re not going to believe me, but that’s way hotter when you’re actually into each other. I have an ex who loved to rub his spunk into my glands. I should call him…”
“Do you think Connor will notice?”
“Oh, honey, he'll notice. Are you sure you want to do this? If you two are as compatible as you say, it’s probably going to piss him off.”
You don’t know the half of it . “I'm sure.”
“You owe me for this one, Crane. When this plan backfires and you end up in Masters’ bed, I want all the dirty details.”
“That’s not going to happen.”
He winks. “Of course not.”