Page 68 of In Doubt
I follow her silently, unable to decide if I’m pissed off or turned on. Probably both.
Half way down the slope, she loses her footing stumbling over her feet. I leap towards her, catching her elbow, the electricity sparking in my palm. I prevent her from tumbling to the ground, but her bag drops from her shoulder, the contents scattering across the sand.
“Oh no,” she mumbles, scurrying after her belongings on her knees, and scooping everything back inside.
I crouch down beside her, catching the pens and pencils that go rolling over the dunes and hand them to her.
“Thanks,” she says.
Then I catch sight of something else on the ground, shining silver in the starlight. I pull it out of the sand and as I do, I realise what it is.
A pack of scent blockers.
I clamber back to my feet, staring down at the small rectangular packet in my hand.
“Your blockers?” I say, turning the half-used packet over in my hand, a crease forming between my brows as my thumb skids across today’s empty pouch.
She holds out her hand to me, repeating her thanks.
I blink at her, then drop them into her palm, staring at her in a way that makes her blush from the top of her head to the tips of her toes.
Blockers?
Giorgie Martinelli is on scent blockers.
* * *
When my alarm rings the next morning, I’m awake. I’ve been awake the whole damn night. Staring at the ceiling, hearing the peaceful breaths of my packmates all around me.
I didn’t tell them about the second kiss or the blockers when I returned last night. In hindsight, a stupid mistake. I wanted to keep it private, something of my own for a time while I mulled it over.
OK, not mulled, relived. Relived it over and over like some love-sick teenager.
And tried to make sense of it. Giorgie Martinelli is on blockers. Yet I could smell her scent as vividly as ever. What the hell does this mean?
I’m going to tell the pack. Only not yet. They’ll be a whole host of questions and excitement. It’s obvious the others are interested in her too, and while I’m not averse to the idea of sharing an omega with my pack (hell, no, that’s the dream), I’m still struggling to line up my feelings when it comes to Giorgie. Despite wrestling with them all night.
To say I’m confused is an understatement.
She’s my academic rival. Up until a few days ago we hated each other.
Then there’s the jealousy that keeps rearing its ugly head, anytime Levi’s captures her attention, and there’s no room for jealousy in a pack.
And the pack is a complication in itself. Giorgie Martinelli won’t want to mess around with a pack of alphas. Not when she’s been hurt before.
Of course, it would all be so much easier if she’d told me how she’d been hurt. If she trusted me enough to share her secrets. But I haven’t earned that yet.
Then finally, there are those blockers.
This hangs over my head like a heavy storm cloud, threatening to block out the memory of those kisses.
Of the feel of her lips, the taste of her mouth, the softness of her body.
I take a quick shower, dress quietly as the others continue to sleep, then bundle straight into the waiting taxi. The rest of my class are already at the temple, and I see them pouring out of the bus as we pull up.
I climb out of the car, and stalk towards the group, eyes scanning for Giorgie, stomach rolling with anticipation.
I’m eager to see her this morning but cautious too. Will she give me the cold shoulder? Talk to me as if nothing happened? I need to talk to her. To ask her about those blockers.
