Page 21 of The Rejected Omega

“Not my problem.”

“He misses you. You’ve been best friends for years.”

“I can’t be his friend anymore.”

“He’s going to school across the fucking country now, Lana! Is that what you want?”

It was perfect, actually. I didn’t accept any of the college offers I received yet, waiting until I knew where Connor was going. I guess the rumors that he was offered a full scholarship to a prestigious West Coast university were true.

“This isn’t my fault, Mac. You can’t blame me for his decisions.”

This was how, rather than having to move across the country for college to avoid Connor, I ended up staying right here in Crestwood. The local university, Crestwood U, wasn’tparticularly prestigious, but it was affordable and close to Dr. Kanata and the man paying for the ever-growing suppressant regimen required to keep my heats at bay.

CHAPTER EIGHT

THREE YEARS LATER:

My advisor asksme to meet her in her office after class, even though I need to get to my Tuesday job ASAP.

I sit and fiddle my thumbs while Dr. Craven shuffles papers on her desk and sips a watered-down iced coffee.

“I need to be somewhere soon?—”

“Of course, dear. I know you stay busy. This won’t take a second. I have a special case I need your attention on. A late transfer, mandated tutoring. I need the best we have. And you’re it, darling.”

I internally groan. “My schedule?—”

“Only an hour a week. The student can accommodate your schedule.”

I chew my lip. There is no hour to spare. I should know, I’ve become a scheduling fanatic out of necessity over the past three years to manage two jobs and a full-time course load.

But I need Dr. Craven’s glowing recommendation for grad school if I’m going to get accepted anywhere decent, and it’s not often I’m in the position to do her a favor.

“Okay. I’ll make it work. But I can only do Wednesday afternoons.” It was my lunch break between my upper-level class and the start of my waitressing shift, but I could always shove something in my mouth at the grill when my boss wasn’t looking.

“I’ll pass it along. I’m sure that will be fine, but I’ll let you know if there are any complications.”

I nod and smile and start to stand. “Great. If that’s all?—”

“One more thing, Ms. Crane. The student’s an alpha. That won’t be an issue for you, will it?”

Great. Shut in a room an hour at a time with a posturing hormone monster. I’ve tutored alphas before, but I avoided them when I could. At least the university requires all students to be on the minimum dose of suppressants, barring medical and religious exemptions.

I suck in a breath and force a smile. “No, not a problem. I’m on suppressants.”

“Wonderful. I knew you were the sensible sort. Hurry along now then, dear.”

I run all the way from Craven’s office, down the stairs in the outdated English building, and across the mile-long trek to the commuter parking lot.

I’m panting when I slide into my car and crank it, immediately blasted in the face by hot air that refuses to cool.

“Fuck!” I slam my hands against the peeling steering wheel. My Civic’s freon leak is back, and summer is only just beginning.

The middle of my back and the space beneath my breasts are soaked in sweat when I pull into Murray’s gravel parking lot.

Francine, the manager, shoots me a look when I swing in the door, still pulling my hair into a ponytail and tucking it beneath my hat.

“You’re late, Crane.”

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