The butterflies in my stomach go wild, a nervous energy swirling inside me as I trail after Chad. I should talk to Dean. Clear the air before things get weird. Let him know that whatever just happened, it won’t make things awkward between us.
But I can’t quite settle the unease that’s gnawing at me, the way my skin still tingles from where Dean’s hands were. My head’s spinning with a thousand thoughts when Chad stops in front of me and turns around, cutting through the noise in my mind.
“You’re in your head,” he says, tilting my chin up with the lightest touch, forcing me to meet his eyes. His voice is softer than usual, and there’s a flicker of something in his expression—concern? Regret? I can’t quite tell. “Did that make you uncomfortable?”
The hint of worry in his voice makes my chest tighten, and I rush to shake my head, wanting to reassure him. “No,” I say, my voice a little too quick. “Not at all. I mean, it just… it caught me off guard, that’s all.”
He watches me for a moment, like he’s weighing my words, then nods. His hand lingers a second longer before dropping to his side, and I feel the tension ease just a little. But there’s still this thing between us, unspoken but heavy, and I can’t ignore it anymore.
“Chad, I’m okay. Really.” I offer him a small, reassuring smile. “It wasn’t... weird. I just—” My words falter as I bite my lip, struggling to find the right way to say it. “I knew you had a past with him from the way you looked at him that first time we met. But I guess I didn’t realize there was still... something there.”
He swallows, the smile that stretches across his face doesn’t reach his eyes. “He was my obsession as a teen. But it was always one-sided.” His voice dips, carrying a weight that settles deep inside me. “Dean was always kind. Too kind. The attention he gave me… it fed something starving in me. A part of my soul I didn’t even know was that desperate.” He pauses, his shoulders dropping a fraction, like he’s exhaling a burden he’s carried for too long. “My parents? They’re crap. Always have been. I think they expected an alpha, not an omega. Guess they picked the wrong surrogate. So yeah, for a while…I made him my whole world. Not that he knew that.”
He tries to shrug it off, but I can feel the sadness beneath the surface, raw and aching. It tugs at me, sharp and insistent. I can’t stand to see him like this.
Without thinking, I close the gap between us, reaching out and placing my hand on his chest. His heart beats steadily under my palm, but there’s something fragile in the way he looks at me. It makes my own heart twist.
“Chad...” I whisper his name softly, then I tilt up on my toes and press my lips to his.
It’s gentle at first, just a brush, a touch of reassurance, but when his breath hitches, something shifts. His hand finds my waist, pulling me closer, and I pour everything into the kiss—every unspoken word, every bit of understanding I can’t put into language. I want him to feel that he’s enough. That I see him.
His lips are soft, warm, and there’s a hesitance in the way he responds, like he’s unsure if he should let himself want this, but then he melts into me. The tension seeps out of his body as he kisses me back, and in that moment, it’s just us. No history. No expectations. Just this moment between us, something shared. And that blinding connection that burns between us.
When we finally pull apart, our breaths mingling in the cool air, he rests his forehead against mine, his eyes closed as if he’s savoring the quiet.
“Thank you,” he whispers, his voice rough with emotion.
I smile softly, my fingers still pressed against his chest. “You don’t have to thank me.”
His fingers flex on my waist, and he straightens, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “If you’re not careful, you’ll become my new obsession.”
A rush of warmth floods through me at his words, sending a thrill up my spine. The idea of being someone’s obsession—his obsession—it’s dangerous, intoxicating, but more than that, it’sexciting. My heart skips a beat, and I know I should be cautious, but I’m not. Not with him.
“I think I’d like that,” I murmur, my voice barely above a whisper.
I bite my lip, trying to contain the smile threatening to break free, but the way he’s looking at me makes it impossible to hide. His dark eyes, full of something I can’t quite name, lock onto mine, and it feels like the world narrows down to just this moment.
His grip on my waist tightens, drawing me closer, and I don’t resist. There’s a pull between us. Being close to him feels right in a way I can’t explain. Maybe it’s crazy, but I want to be the center of his world. I want to be the one who makes him forget about everything else, to be the one who gets under his skin the way he’s already gotten under mine.
“You’re playing with fire, Lakelyn,” Chad whispers, his lips ghosting against my ear, sending a shiver down my spine.
“Maybe I like the heat,” I tease, meeting his gaze head-on, letting him see the excitement flicker behind my eyes.
My palms aresweaty as I approach Dean’s office, every step feeling heavier than the last. I changed quickly, barely registering what I threw on before heading this way, my mind racing. My heart’s in my throat.No big deal. Just clearing the air and letting him know I can’t take any more lessons, I tell myself, trying to calm the anxious flutter in my stomach. But it doesn’t help. Not really.
I swallow hard, raising my hand to knock. I should wait, I know I should, but instead, my knuckles barely graze the woodwaiting less than a second for a response from inside before I push the door open.
“Dean, I—” The words die on my lips as my eyes land on him.
He’s leaning against his desk, shorts unbuttoned, skin flushed. His hand is frozen halfway into them, and for a split second, our eyes meet. His pupils are blown wide, the air between us thick with something I don’t quite understand. A glass of water, half-finished, sits precariously on the edge of his desk. He shifts, like he’s been caught in the middle of something—something private.
Oh god.
My brain catches up a second too late, and I whirl around, mortified. “I’m sorry, I?—”
“Stop.” His voice is low, rough, and I freeze—although it isn’t a bark—hand already on the doorknob.
I should leave. I should make up some excuse and disappear, but before I can do either, Dean moves.
