Page 63 of Party Girl: How a Naughty Omega Finds Love
“Cars won’t save those kids.” I take the glass from him.
“No, but it will make them happy.”
I pick at a string on the couch. “Yeah, well, that’s my hobby. What about you?”
“I like hiking and writing.”
“You write?” I turn toward him and sip, watching as his cheeks pinken.
“Mostly rambling. Nothing worthwhile.” He gestures to the empty cup. “I’ll make another one?”
My stomach is warm with alcohol, but not enough to be drunk. “Sure.” He takes the glass from me, and I lean back, tracing a little crack on the ceiling with my eyes. Letting my mind wander, I space out while Trev and Asher come into the room. They talk with Avi, but I don’t pay attention to the conversation. All I can think about is Hayden hunched over a desk with nothing but a candle lighting the paper as he writes.
The couch shifts, and I right myself, smiling at the beta. “Don’t think I didn’t notice you changing the subject. What do you write about?”
He narrows his eyes and takes a long drink. “I said I hike too.”
“Everyone can hike, not everyone writes. Do you write fantasy? Some epic adventure-style stories?”
“No.” He hands over the drink. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”
“Nope.”
He stands. “Come on then.”
“Where are we going?” I follow him down the hall, not letting Trev’s heated gaze on my back get to me. He doesn’t like me, I get it, but I’m not going to stop talking to Hayden because Trev’s a jerk.
Alpha and beta scents coat the air, teasing my senses and awakening something deep inside of me. A carnal desire. I don’t hate the emotion, which surprises me most of all. Maybe it’s the vodka making me stupid, but my fingers ache to touch Hayden. To caress the five-o’clock shadow.
“Into my secret lair,” Hayden whispers in a menacing voice.
“Nerd,” I say, taking a healthy gulp before entering his room and closing the door. Hayden smells like the first few minutes before a thunderstorm, and in his room, that scent slaps me in the face and burrows inside of me. I inhale, against all better judgment, savoring the fresh, earthy air. Does he like to stand in the rain or does he run away from the moisture?
His room is nothing fancy. A simple queen-sized bed on a frame, no headboard. Dark green comforter, light green pillowcases. The space is pretty tidy for a man, based on my limited experience. There’s a laundry basket next to the closet. I set my drink on the dresser and take in the rest of his domain.
He has one picture on the wall, and it’s of him and what must be his mom. A woman with gentle eyes, the same gray color as his, and streaks of white in her otherwise dark hair. She’s smiling in the picture, but the hollow, sad look in her gaze is painfully familiar. This is not a happy woman. She loves her son, I’m sure, but something in her is broken.
Pulling my attention from the picture, I turn and find Hayden with his back to me, hands busy unbuttoning the front of his shirt.
“Should I leave?” I ask, moving toward the door.
“No, I have a white tee on under. I just need to get out of these clothes.”
Out of respect, I should avert my gaze. I don’t because I have absolutely zero shame with the buzz. Besides, he’s not getting naked. I’m not technically being a creep, right? His arms flex when he reaches back and pulls the shirt down, revealing a tight undershirt. When his hands fall to his belt, I bite my cheek. Is he going to take his pants off too?
God, I hope so.
No. Those are dangerous thoughts. I shouldn’t want him to strip. I should be focusing on his writing. That’s why we came in here. Besides, I have no money to give him if he suddenly decides to give me a lap dance. I snicker a little but stifle the sound with a drink.
“Why are you laughing?” Hayden turns around as he finishes unbuckling the duty belt. He holds the straps in his hands and raises his eyebrows.
“Um, no reason.” My eyes stray to where he holds the belt, and I swallow, heat crawling up my neck the longer I stare.
He removes the belt and gently places it on the desk, leaving the gun in the holster. I lift my gaze to meet his. The same curious desire fills his irises. He bends down, maintaining eye contact while he unties his boots. One at a time, he slips them off with careful control. Setting them down, perfectly aligned before straightening and prowling toward me.
I step back into the dresser, unable to escape his approach. He stops a few inches away, his toes nearly brushing mine. His eyes drop to my lips, and he leans forward. My breath hitches when he presses against me, reaching one of his hands around me to open a drawer. My softer body molds to the hard muscles of his chest, like we’re meant to be smashed together. A perfect contrast of masculine strength and feminine softness. It would be easy for him to overpower me, but I’m not as scared as I should be. I lean into the touch, craving it within the most primal part of me. His warmth envelops me, telling me there’s nothing to worry about, even though I’m not sure I can trust that feeling.
The drawer shuts with a soft thud, and he steps back, giving me room to breathe. I suck in a sharp breath. Hayden watches me for a second before holding up what he grabbed. A small black notebook.
