Chapter Ten #2
Lance raises an eyebrow. “No room in this session?”
“It’s a private session. And I don’t appreciate being interrupted. Why are you sniffing around what doesn’t belong to you?”
Lance swallows. “Just trying to do a friend a favor. Lana mentioned she lost her lunch break, and I know her schedule is mad. We eat in the caf sometimes.”
“She hates cafeterias. I should know. She ate lunch in my car every day in high school. She’s a very messy eater.”
He manages to make it sound like I was gobbling his dick instead of Italian subs. Part of me wishes that was true.
I glare at Connor as I speak. “Thanks, Lance. That was very thoughtful. I’ll make it up to you sometime.” I don’t have any cash on me, but I’ll bring it to our next class together.
Lance raises his hands. “No problem. I’ll bring you something again next week.”
“That—”
I’m interrupted by Connor’s growl in my ear. He stood up and moved behind me without making a sound. Heat pulses between my thighs as my hair stands on end.
“I will see that she’s fed from now on.”
His scent is kicking into high gear, and my mind shoots back to the dwindling bottle of suppressants at home.
“Thanks again, Lance, but we really have to get back to studying.”
Lance lets off the doorway, shooting glances between me and Connor. “Alright. See ya in chem.”
“See ya.”
I close the door behind him and turn toward the glowering alpha pumping the room full of pheromones. He’s breathing heavy, his shoulders and biceps straining beneath his shirt. The veins in his forearms are popped.
“You have a class together?”
“You have to calm down. I’m going to open a window.”
“It’s freezing outside.” It was March, the most meteorologically vacillant of months. Sweater weather in the morning, shorts by the afternoon.
“Yeah, well it smells like the locker room of an all-alpha rugby team here. What the fuck was that about?”
It’s a rhetorical question. He’s reacting exactly how I’d expect to an unmated alpha in his territory, trying to feed his mate. And even if Connor didn’t realize that, obviously some level of his subconscious did.
It was a threat, an indictment that he wasn’t taking proper care of his omega and seeing to her needs. I ought to say something to calm him down. But some spiteful part of me wants him to burn with the same irrational jealousy I had every time I saw him with Cassandra.
“I don’t know. I’m on fucking edge. Why didn’t you tell me you were hungry? That this was your lunch break.”
I try to pry open the stiff window, but it doesn’t budge.
Then Connor’s body is flush with mine as he reaches both arms around me.
I want to crumple against him. To press against his hips and see if he’s hard.
I can feel his breath against my glands. He mutters fuck under his breath, then clears his throat. “Let me.”
“Maybe they’re not supposed to open?—”
The window screeches up, letting in a draft of cold, fresh air.
I duck out from under Connor’s arm and move to the far side of the table.
I rip open the plastic bag from the local Tex-Mex place. It’s mediocre, but popular among students for its large portions and cheap prices.
Connor holds the muffin out to me in the palm of his hand.
I roll my eyes, then grab it and stuff it in my mouth. I don’t savor it, just scarf down two too-big mouthfuls and wash it down with my bottled water. It’s still fucking delicious. I wish it tasted like sand.
“Happy?”
“If you need to eat during our sessions, I will take care of it from now on. I don’t want him interrupting us again.”
I glare at him. “You’re being ridiculous.”
I open the Styrofoam lid and frown. The mushrooms are easy enough to pick out, but all of the rice and meat is drowning in a cheese sauce I usually ask for on the side. I hate wasting food, which means I’ll probably suffer through it anyway.
Connor leans over to look at my plate and scoffs.
I stab one of the few cheese-free hunks of chicken with the wobbly plastic fork and glare at Connor. “What now?”
“You don't like mushrooms. And you're lactose intolerant.”
“I'll just pick it off. It doesn’t matter.”
“Of course it matters. Either he doesn’t care enough to pay attention to what you like, or you don’t trust him enough to tell him.”
“Incisive as ever.”
“So, which is it?”
“Look, I didn’t even know he was coming today. It’s just typical pushy alpha shit.”
There’s an edge to Connor’s face as he asks, “Is he pushy with you often?”
“No. It’s not like that. We’re just friends.”
He leans back in his chair with a smirk on his face.
“ Friends. He wants to get into your pants, Birdy. An alpha doesn’t bring an omega food unless they want to fuck them.”
“Was that a fuck muffin, then?”
“If you want it to be.”
I go still, fork frozen in midair. All my nerves fire, and I flush down to my toes. It’s the closest he’s ever come to acknowledging that we could be sexually compatible. I’m in over my fucking head.
Connor laughs, breaking me free of my stasis. “Relax, Birdy. I’m joking. God, you’re wound tighter than a fucking rope, aren’t you? What do you do to unwind?”
“I don’t.”
I work. I study. I sleep. Repeat. I’m a hamster on a wheel of my own design.
“Well, that settles it. I'll see that you’re fed from here out. I already know what you like.”
I roll my eyes. “Like you remember?—"
“I remember.” He says it like a promise—like a vow. Like the last thing he’s talking about is food.
“Oh?” I croak. The chicken is lukewarm.
“No ice in your sodas cause it waters down too fast. You like fresh mushrooms but not cooked ones, unless they're enoki. Cheese and dressings on the side, and no mayo cause they always put too much. And if you’d actually drink the coffee I bring you instead of acting like a stubborn brat, you’d know I remember that, too. ”
I swallow.
“You expect Lance to know all that?”
“You two eat at the caf together regularly. If he cared, he would remember.”
Fucking Connor.
I go for another piece of chicken, and he drags the plate away from me.
“What the fuck?”
“Don't eat that. You don't like it, and your stomach will hurt later. You'll be laid up until bed with your heating pad regretting your decisions. I'll get you food. I want to feed you. Let me. ”
His words do something funny to my insides. There’s part of me that’s ecstatic he’s driven to take care of me, and another that recognizes it’s for all the wrong reasons. His guilt. Our past friendship. Not because he recognizes me as his mate.
“You’re being ridiculous.”
“No, you are. You’re fucking lactose intolerant.”
“I’m paying for that. I’m not going to just waste it?—“
“Makes you pay, too? I hate him more and more by the second. What do you want to eat?”
I fling my hand at the Styrofoam container. “That.”
“No.”
“Know what? I’ve lost my appetite.”
“Your stomach has been growling for the past twenty minutes, Crane. You’re making me hungry.”
“I’ll get something out of the vending machine, then. I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“Lana—”
He’s standing and pacing around now, his scent perturbed. I should really minimize the time I spend in this cramped environment soaking up his scent when it’s this strong.
“Fine.” He looks like he’s going to break something if we don’t get out of here.
He pauses in his pacing. “Fine?”
I was the easiest solution, the easiest way to end this conversation.
He preens, and my neck goes hot.
“Sushi. You’re buying.”