Page 3 of His Problem Alpha
"Exactly! Wait—no!" I grab a decorative pillow and hurl it at his head. He catches it easily. "You're the worst friends ever."
"We're your only friends," Lawson points out, not unkindly.
"A fact I question on a daily basis." I check the time on my phone and let out a long, weary sigh. "I should head back. I need to salvage what's left of my workday and probably disinfect something."
"Try not to murder your very annoying, not-at-all-attractive roommate," Kole calls as I gather my things.
"No promises," I mutter, but the words feel hollow.
---
The apartment is mercifully quiet when I return. Too quiet. A prickle of suspicion crawls up my spine. I pause in the doorway, listening. I've learned that silence from Alex's room usually means one of two things: he's either asleep, or he's plotting something particularly disruptive.
I tiptoe past his closed door and hear the faint, telltale sounds of his audio software—the soft clicks and low hums that meanhe's deep in a mixing session. The one he said had a deadline tonight.
A petty, vindictive idea pops into my head.
It's childish. It's unprofessional. It's exactly what he deserves.
I glance at the thick black power strip where all of his expensive equipment is plugged in. The cord snakes out from under his door and across the hallway—a blatant fire hazard I've complained about at least twenty times. One accidental trip, one clumsy stumble over that cord, and...
I shouldn't.
I really, really shouldn't.
I do.
My foot catches the cord with the surgical precision of a trained assassin, yanking it clean from the wall socket. Suddenly there's a silence so complete it's almost deafening.
Three. Two. One.
"FUCK!" The roar from behind his door is visceral, followed by a sickening crash that suggests something very expensive just met a very untimely end.
I sprint to my room, closing the door just as his flies open. Heavy, furious footsteps thunder down the hall. I have approximately two seconds to decide between pretending to be asleep (unconvincing) or facing the music (terrifying).
The pounding on my door makes the decision for me. It's not a knock; it's a full-on assault.
"Open the fucking door, Devon!" Alex's voice has dropped an octave, that dangerous alpha rumble that makes something primitive in my hindbrain want to either submit or run for the hills.
I take a deep breath, smooth my expression into one of pure innocence, and open the door. "Problem?"
Alex fills the entire doorway, a six-foot-two monument to barely contained fury. His eyes are dark, pupils dilated withrage, and there's a muscle ticking violently in his jaw that I've never seen before. He's breathing hard, his broad chest rising and falling under the thin fabric of his t-shirt.
"You unplugged my equipment," he says. It’s not a question. Each word is a piece of ice, precise and deadly quiet.
"Did I?" I give him my most innocent look. "Must have tripped on that fire hazard you leave strewn across the hallway. The one I've asked you to fix, what, a dozen times now?"
He takes a step closer, forcing me to back up into the sanctuary of my room. "I lost three hours of work."
"That sounds like a you problem." My voice is steady, but my heart is hammering against my ribs. I refuse to be intimidated, even as my back hits the wall and Alex keeps advancing until there's barely six inches of air between us. "Maybe you should save more often."
"You did it on purpose." He plants one hand on the wall right beside my head, the sound a sharp crack in the tense silence. He's caged me in.
The air between us changes, crackling with something that makes the fine hairs on my arms stand on end. He's so close now. Too close. I can smell him—not just the bitter coffee he's always drinking, but something sharper, like ozone from his overheated equipment, and under it all, something earthy and warm that feels ancient and undeniably alpha. It scrambles my brain, short-circuiting my anger with something far more dangerous.
It's just rage. It has to be. Just pure, unadulterated rage making my heart race and my breath catch in my throat.
"Prove it," I challenge, tilting my chin up to meet his furious gaze.
