Page 17 of My Freshman Mate
I raise an eyebrow, a slow smile pulling at my lips. He amends, his voice dropping. "Okay, you're terrifying. But not in a bad way. In a… in a way that makes me feel safe, which makes absolutely no sense." He drops his forehead against mine with a soft groan, the scent of his hair—clean and sweet—filling my nose. "See? This is why I need to understand. None of this follows any logical pattern."
"It's not supposed to be logical," I murmur, breathing him in. His scent is already changing, the sharp edge of his anxiety softening, my own scent sinking into his skin, marking him. "It's supposed to be right."
He lifts his head, studying me with those intelligent eyes, the ones that see right through the bullshit. "And how do you know it's right? How are you so certain?"
I take a deep breath. This is it. The moment I let him see behind the mask, behind the Wes Chambers that everyone thinks they know.
"Because the static stopped."
His brow furrows. "The static?"
I nod, my hands tighten on his back, a reflex to keep him anchored here while I say this out loud for the first time. "My whole life, there's been this… noise. This constant buzzing in my head telling me something's missing. That none of this matters." I run a hand through my own hair, a rare show of frustration. "Standing on the field after winning the championship last year, holding the trophy, fifty thousand people screaming my name… all I could think was,Is this it?It was all just static. White noise."
Braiden hangs on every word. No one's ever looked at me like this before—like what I'm saying actually matters more than my completion percentage.
"I was going through the motions," I continue, the words coming easier now that they've started. "Star quarterback. Campus king. Everyone thought I had it all figured out."
"It was all just the pre-show. Like I was waiting in the locker room for the real game to start. And then you crashed into me, and it all went silent. The static cut out. For the first time in my life, I could hear myself think. And the only thought I had was…mine."
His eyes widen slightly, shining with unshed tears. "That's… that's why you were so certain. So fast."
"Yeah." A rough sound escapes my chest. "My parents have the same story. I grew up watching my dad still look at my mom like she hung the damn moon. Even last Christmas, I caught him pulling her under the mistletoe like a teenager. Twenty-three years and he still can't keep his hands off her." A ghost of a smile touches my lips before it fades. "I always knew I was wired the same way. Made me hope I'd find the same thing someday. Made me afraid I never would." I cup his face in my hand, my thumb brushing his cheekbone. "And then there you were, with your color-coded planner and your big scared eyes, and it was like…finally."
"Finally," he echoes softly, his voice thick.
"The NFL scouts, the trophies, the championship games—it was all just noise. Static." I press my forehead against his again, needing the contact, needing the solid, real pressure of him against me. "You walked into me, and it all went silent. You're the song."
Braiden makes a small, broken sound in the back of his throat, and a single tear escapes, tracing a path down his cheek. I catch it with my thumb. He's not crying from sadness. He's just… overwhelmed. I know the feeling.
"I didn't think it would be like this," he whispers. "This… big. This fast. My parents are betas. They don't understand the whole fated mate thing. They always taught me to focus on my goals, my education. To not let biology dictate my life."
"And what are those goals?" I ask, genuinely curious. "Tell me about your plans, Braiden. The ones I'm disrupting."
He takes a deep, shaky breath, like he's steeling himself for rejection. "I want to be a doctor. A surgeon, actually. I've been working toward it since I was twelve. Top grades, academic competitions, volunteering at hospitals. I got a full academic scholarship here because of my AP scores." His voice gains confidence as he speaks, his passion shining through, and fuck, it's incredible. "I have a five-year plan that gets me to medical school with the best possible application. I can't… I can't just throw that away."
I listen to every word, watching the way his face lights up when he talks about his future. This brilliant, beautiful brain that's now mine to protect. Mine to support.
"Good," I say simply.
He blinks, clearly thrown. "Good?"
"Yeah, good. You'll get it. All of it." I run my hands up his back, feeling the tension in his muscles. "I'll help you. No one will stop you. Least of all me."
The look on his face—pure shock melting into cautious, blinding hope—makes something in my chest tighten painfully.
"You… you mean that? You don't think it's too much? That I should focus on… on us instead?"
I shake my head, a low chuckle rumbling in my chest. "This isn't either-or, Braiden. I have football. You have pre-med. We both have our things. But now we have each other too." I slide my hand to the back of his neck, cradling his head, my thumb stroking the soft skin there. "Your brain is one of the things I'm claiming, little mate. I want all of you—the doctor, the planner, the omega. All of it."
The tension drains out of him like I've cut a string, and he melts against me. "Oh," he breathes, the word a sigh of pure relief. "Oh, that's… that makes it better. That makes it make sense."
And then he kisses me.
It's not like our previous kisses—desperate, claiming, me taking and him surrendering. This time, he initiates. His mouth is soft but purposeful against mine, his hands sliding up to cup my face. There's a sweetness to it, but also a newfound confidence that makes my blood sing.
When he pulls back, his eyes darken, the pupils blown wide. "I want to try something," he says, his voice steady despite the flush on his cheeks.
Before I can ask what, he slides off my lap and onto his knees between my legs. My breath catches in my throat as I realize what he's planning. His knees are on the rug, his back straight, his chin tilted up with a challenge that makes my blood heat.
