Page 5 of My Freshman Mate
I stop walking, turning to look down at him. His face is flushed, a beautiful, high color on his cheeks. Those brown eyes are wide with panic and something else. Something deeper. The same raw, undeniable need that's clawing at my insides.
I take another step, closing the space completely. "You feel it too." It's not a question. It's a fact.
He swallows hard, and I track the movement of his throat with hungry eyes.
"That's not the point," he argues, but his voice is thin, his protest weak. "This isn't normal. You can't just—"
"This is the only way it's ever worked," I cut him off, my voice rough with impatience. "For us. The rest is just noise."
A group of freshmen passes by, their curious eyes lingering on us. On him. On my hand gripping his hip. My arm tightens around his waist on instinct, pulling him until he's plastered to my side. A low growl builds in my chest, a warning I don't even have to think about, and the students quickly look away, hurrying past as if they've felt the heat from a fire.
"You're scaring them," Braiden murmurs into my t-shirt.
"Good."
We start walking again, and I'm hyper-aware of everything about him. The way his body trembles slightly against mine. The sound of his hitched breaths. The wiry strength in his frame that feels fragile and perfect under my hand. The campus is crawling with students, all of them moving in their own little bubbles, completely fucking oblivious that the entire universe has just shifted on its axis. How can they not feel it? The world is different now. Sharper. Like I've been seeing everything through dirty glass until this moment.
"Yo, Chambers!"
I glance up, my jaw tightening as I see Tommy, our wide receiver, jogging toward us. He's grinning, that same stupid, easy grin he always has, but today it grates on my last nerve. The scent of another alpha, even a familiar one, getting this close to Braiden makes my blood run hot. I want to rip his fucking throat out for just looking.
"Coach said you'd be here." Tommy's grin falters as his eyes drift to Braiden, tucked against my side. His nostrils flare slightly as he catches the scent. "Oh. Shit. Is this—"
My voice is flat and cold. "Mine." It's the only word that matters.
Tommy's eyebrows shoot up into his hairline, but he has the good sense to take a full step back, raising his hands in surrender. "Right. Got it. Loud and clear. I'll, uh, tell the guys you're busy."
"Do that."
Tommy retreats, already pulling out his phone. By dinner, the entire team will know. By tomorrow, the whole campus. Good. Let them all fucking know. This omega is taken. Off the market. Forever.
Braiden is quiet as we continue walking, but I can feel the tension vibrating through his body. His scent shifts, anxiety spiking with notes of confusion and a deep, unwilling arousal that makes my cock throb. He's fighting it. Fighting us. The stubborn set of his jaw makes something hot and possessive coil deep inside me. I want to break that stubbornness. I want to taste his surrender.
He plants his feet, his voice suddenly stronger. "I have a plan. I can't just—this isn't—"
We reach the edge of campus. My apartment is just across the street, a luxury building my parents insisted on when I got the football scholarship."No son of ours is living in those glorified shoeboxes they call dorms,"my dad had said. For once, I'm glad my dad's so damn stubborn. There's no way I'm letting my omega stay in some paper-thin dorm where any other alpha could walk by, catch his scent, and think for one fucking second he had a chance. The thought alone makes me see red.
"This is crazy," Braiden mutters, but he doesn't resist as I guide him across the street. "We don't know each other. We don't know anything about each other."
"I know everything I need to know," I say, and I mean it. I don't need details. I just know, deep in my bones: he's mine. The rest—his favorite color, his taste in music, whether he sleeps on his back or his side—we have a lifetime for that.
"That's—that isn't rational," he argues, his voice strained.
I almost laugh. "This isn't about thinking, Braiden. It's about feeling."
We reach my building, a sleek six-story structure with a doorman who just nods as we enter, used to my comings and goings. The lobby is all polished marble and subdued lighting. Braiden's eyes widen as he takes it in, his head tilting back.
"You live here? Alone?"
"Yes."
His scent shifts again—surprise, a hint of intimidation, and underneath it all, that steady, undeniable current of arousal that he's trying so hard to hide from me. From himself. I guide him to the elevator, punching the button for the penthouse floor. As the doors slide closed, sealing us in the small, mirrored space together, his scent intensifies. It's all I can breathe. It fills my head, makes my mouth water, and I'm barely stopping myself from taking his mouth right now, from pushing him against the wall and showing him exactly what forever feels like.
"This isn't how I pictured my first day of college," he says quietly, staring at his reflection in the mirrored wall.
I look down at him, at the stubborn set of his jaw and the uncertainty clouding his beautiful eyes. A fiercely protective feeling tightens my chest, enough to crack my ribs.
"How did you picture it?" I ask, my voice softer than I intended.
