Page 12 of Eight Count Heat
For the first time, she gives me a genuine smile. Small, but real. "That might be the most honest thing you've said all morning."
"You wound me. I'm always honest."
"Sure you are." She glances at her watch. "I need to grab my books before class."
I nod. "See you at afternoon practice?"
"Where else would I be?"
As she walks away, Bo sidles up beside me. "Strike out again, Romeo?"
"I wasn't hitting on her," I protest.
"Sure looked like it from where I was sitting," he says, his tone light but his eyes serious. "Word of advice? Back off."
"Why? You interested?"
Bo's expression remains neutral. "Just saying she's not like your usual targets."
"I noticed." I watch her disappear into the crowd. "That's what makes her interesting."
"Leave it alone, Beck." His voice has that edge now, the one that reminds everyone that despite his easygoing nature, Bo Strickland is the enforcer for a reason.
I hold up my hands in surrender. "Fine, fine. No pursuit of the untouchable coxswain."
But as I head toward my dorm, I can't shake the image of those calculating blue-green eyes seeing right through me. Reese Callahan is hiding something. And despite Bo's warning, despite Gray's obvious territorial bullshit, despite her own clear boundaries, I want to know what it is.
Not because I'm interested in her that way. I mean, she's attractive, sure, but that's not it.
It's because for the first time in a long time, someone looked at Beckett Monroe and saw past the golden boy act.
And that's both terrifying and exhilarating.
chapter FIVE
Reese
Ishake off Grayand Tyler's escort as soon as we reach the psychology building, pretending I need to use the restroom. Tyler buys it. Gray looks suspicious, but allows me to escape with only a stern "Don't be late" that makes my Omega instincts both bristle and preen.
Alone in the bathroom stall, I pull out my emergency kit – a small silver case containing backup suppressants. My hand trembles slightly as I pop one into my mouth, chasing it with water from my bottle. The bitter taste lingers on my tongue as I count to ten, breathing deeply.
Three days. Three days of constant Alpha exposure, and already I need supplemental doses. This isn't sustainable. But neither is revealing myself as an Omega to a team of eight elite Alphas at a university where mixed-designation teams face strict oversight and potential dissolution.
I splash cold water on my face, studying my reflection. My skin looks paler than usual, blue-green eyes too bright. Side effects of the suppressants. Worth it. Has to be.
The hallway outside the bathroom is beginning to fill with students heading to their next classes. I merge into the flow, keeping my head down as the scents of various designations wash over me. Sable Ridge has a higher-than-average Alpha population, a fact both their admissions brochure and their athletics department love to boast about. What they don't advertise is how the university monitors those populations, especially in competitive athletics where designation dynamics could provide unfair advantages.
I'm halfway to class when a hand grabs my upper arm, pulling me to a stop.
"There she is. Our token diversity hire."
I turn to find three women in matching Sable Ridge Rowing jackets. The women's team. The one I pointedly did not try to join.
The one who spoke is tall and lithe, with sleek blonde hair pulled into a perfect ponytail. Behind her stand two others in a formation that’s clearly rehearsed and designed to be intimidating. A redhead with freckles splashed across her nose and a brunette whose expression suggests permanent boredom.
"Can I help you?" I keep my voice neutral, carefully extracting my arm from her grip.
"Well, if it isn't Reese Callahan," she says with false sweetness. "Westlake's star turned Sable Ridge traitor."
