Page 50 of The Rejected Omega

“Itchy,” he mutters.

“We can end our sessions?—”

He jerks his head up. “No! I just have to get used to it. And this room has horrible ventilation. I never noticed how stuffy it was in here.”

I stand up from my seat. “I’ll open the window.”

“Don’t. It’s freezing out there. You’ll get sick. You heard Kanata. Your immune system is probably compromised.”

“You look like you’re about to break out in hives.”

“It’s fine. I’m just struggling. I didn’t expect you to smell this?—”

I tilt my head and wait for him to finish.

“This good.”

My inner omega preens.

"Haven't you been around awakened omegas at your old school?"

"Sure, but they were either mated or smelled uninteresting to me.

"I smell 'interesting,' then?"

"Something like that."

I’m not sure if I should be offended, flattered, or concerned. A little bit of all three.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

We tryto 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 beingtucked 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.”

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