Page 35 of Gigi and the Gym Rats

“If you’re interested.” She’s very close now. She smells of an artificial perfume, something with flowers, and it makes me want to sneeze. I understand that omegas using suppressants and blockers sometimes use perfume to cover up their own scent more effectively, but this scent… isn’t doing it for me.

Still, when she presses her curves to me, I don’t move away.

“You wondered, huh?”

A low laugh. “I sure did. Everyone says you’re unapproachable, but I thought, hey, you’re a man, I’m a woman…”

Right.

True enough. If that’s all you want. All you need. After all these years of a revolving door of women, and some guys, I wouldn’t mind settling down…

Still isn’t meant to be, though, it seems.

And Judy is persistent. She slides her hands up my chest to my shoulders and I should be getting excited. Well, more excited. Her scent is all wrong…

Stop comparing women to Gigi, asshole.

Her shape isn’t wrong—she’s a fine woman—but she’s not…

Not Gigi.

Judy isn’t giving up on my lack of response, though. And she’s bold. She draws back, frowning, when I don’t move a muscle, and lets her hand drop straight to my crotch.

Then a smile spreads on her face.

Because of course I’m still hard.

She doesn’t know it’s not because of her.

Alphas and omegas are less common than betas. I’ve read studies. And on average they live shorter lives, due to the stress of having to find a pack. We’re thought to be a kind apart. We’re thought to be sex-crazed all the time. Sex machines.

Stereotypes.

But I can see where they’re coming from.

I still don’t know if Judy is a beta or omega or even a latent alpha, but the determination in her gaze has nothing to do with permanence, pack, feelings—and everything to do with having a good time.

Not that it’s bad. Hell, it’s what I have been doing all this time. Live for the day. Have fun. Move on until you find the right one.

But now as she squeezes me through the thin cotton of my sports pants, I decide I don’t want it. Even if Gigi isn’t interested in me.

I’m done being a sex-crazed maniac.

So I push her away. “I can’t. Fucking can’t. Sorry, Judy.”

“What’s the matter?” she asks, brows arching.

“Nothing. I… I have to go.”

“But Zayne…”

Feeling like all kinds of a bastard, I stride past her, shoving a hand through my hair, and get the hell out of Dodge.

I’m a motherfucker. I’m a goddamn walking disaster.

My son was right.

But I won’t string Judy along, not when my heart isn’t in it.

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