“I finished it,” he states, like that’s the important part. “Anyway, my dad would be pissed and even more disappointed in me if he saw me right now. Never can please him.”
There it is. The real thing, tucked behind the cockiness. The pressure. The image. The constant invisible audience.
He tries to pull away, jaw flexing. “Where’s the camera guy? There’s always a camera guy.”
“There isn’t,” I say, though there absolutely could be, which is why I’m walking him like a shield toward my car.
“June, listen. I’m not supposed to be like this. I’m supposed to be… respectable.”
My mouth twitches. “You? Respectable?”
He glares at me, then immediately loses the thread and points at my face instead. “Don’t laugh at me.”
“I’m not laughing.”
“You are. I can tell. Your eyes.”
“Your eyes are drunk,” I remind him. “They’re not trustworthy.”
He stares at me for a second too long. The air shifts, subtle but noticeable. “You’re my scent match,” he repeats, quieter now. Not goofy, not teasing. Certain. “I know it. I can tell.”
I snort, partly because it’s ridiculous and partly because if I don’t make it a joke, my throat is going to do somethingembarrassing. “You can barely tell which direction your feet are facing.”
He leans closer, breathing in like he’s trying to pull the truth out of my skin. His fingers flex at his sides, restless, like his body wants to reach for me and he’s holding himself back by sheer willpower. “It’s you.”
My pulse kicks once, hard, and I hate it. Not because I want him to stop. But because I don’t want my body to betray me. Not now. Not ever.
“I’m a Beta, sweetheart.” The lie comes easily, worn smooth from years of practice. “No scent match for you here. Just a very tired woman who wants to go home.”
His eyes narrow. “That’s bullshit.”
“Language.”
“I don’t care.” He tries to straighten again, like he’s about to make a speech in front of a crowd. “You’re hiding. I know what hiding looks like.”
I stare at him. “Okay,” I say, deadpan. “We’re not doing emotional insight in the middle of the night. We’re doing walking. One foot. Then the other.”
He opens his mouth, probably to argue, but I tighten my grip and steer him forward again.
He stumbles, catches himself.
We’re almost to my car now. I spot it up ahead, when Seth stops so suddenly I nearly plow into him.
“Wait.” He holds up one finger, swaying. “I have a very important question.”
“Can it wait until we’re in the car?”
“No.” He turns to face me, and despite the glazed look in his eyes, there’s something almost serious in his expression. “Do you believe in fate?”
I blink at him. “What?”
“Fate. Destiny. The universe conspiring to bring two people together.” He gestures expansively, nearly losing his balance. “Do you believe in that stuff?”
“I believe you need to sleep off whatever’s in your system.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only answer you’re getting at two in the morning.”
