Then her nose wrinkles.
"Oh my god." She sets the laptop aside and stands. "You reek of alpha."
I freeze in the doorway, keys still in my hand. "It was a crowded subway."
"That's not subway smell, Jamie." She crosses toward me, and I resist the urge to back away. "That's on you. In your clothes. Your hair." Her eyes widen. "That'ssexsmell."
"Akari—"
"Who?" She's in front of me now, studying my face with an intensity that makes me look away. "Jamie, who did you—"
"It doesn't matter."
"It clearly matters. You look like you've been hit by a truck." She reaches out and touches my collar, and I flinch.
I push past her into the apartment, dropping my keys on the counter with more force than necessary. I need a shower. I need to scrub Carter Crane off my skin and out of my lungs and pretend the last two hours didn't happen.
"Jamie." Her voice follows me down the hall. "Talk to me."
"There's nothing to talk about."
"Bullshit." She's behind me now, blocking the bathroom door. "I've known you for four years. I've seen you through bad dates and worse hookups and that disaster with the guy from thecoffee shop. I know what you look like after sex. This is big. When did you start hiding things from me?"
I meet her eyes. She's not going to let this go. I can see it in the set of her jaw, the way she's planted herself between me and escape.
"It was Carter Crane," I say.
The words fall into the silence between us and just sit there.
Akari blinks. Opens her mouth. Closes it again.
"Carter Crane," she repeats slowly. "I hope you mean the third Carter Crane and not the old one. That Carter Crane."
"Yes."
"The one you had a very public scent match with on Point of Contention."
"Yes."
"The one who's engaged to Georgia Mitchell."
"Was engaged." I don't know why I correct her. It doesn't matter. None of it matters. "She ended it. After the interview."
Akari stares at me for a long moment. Then she steps aside, clearing the path to the bathroom.
"Shower," she says. "Then we're talking about this."
The water is scalding. I stand under it until my skin turns red, scrubbing at myself, trying to wash away every trace of him. It doesn't work. I can still smell him underneath the lavender of the soap. I can still feel the ghost of his hands on my hips, his mouth on my neck and the weight of him pressing me into the wall.
I scrub harder.
What the hell was I thinking? I told myself I could handle Carter Crane. I couldn't even handle looking at him.
The moment that door opened and his scent hit me, every rational thought I've ever had evaporated. I became exactly what they've been calling me online: a desperate, needy thing that spreads its legs the moment a powerful man shows interest.
The bite on my shoulder throbs under the hot water. I press my fingers against it and hiss at the pain.
He marked me. He fucked me against a wall like an animal, marked me, and then walked out without saying a single word.
