The car comes to a stop in front of the valet, and she slips out with practiced ease. I hesitate, my hand lingering on the seatbelt. My gaze locks onto the building ahead—the place I haven’t set foot in since that night. The memories of that heat slam into me like a tidal wave, and I struggle to push them away.
My skin feverish I moved through the darkened Country Club. The patrons packed up and went home for the night. But I knew Dean was still here. He used the after hours to practice for the Olympics. His dad owned the place, so he could.
Something drove me toward him. My skin tight, perfume seeping off of me like I’m an overripe fruit. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. But it feels like if I can just make it to him?—
Maybe this was a mistake. I shake myself out of the memory. The residual of my first heat clings to me still, but it isn’t like I can just stay in the car. Even with my perfume blooming slightly sickly around me. Papaya and limes, the perfect combination if you’re looking to get drunk on a beach. I should have snagged some of those scent blocking pills from the show for moments like this.
My mother pauses, one hand on her hip as she waits, her impatience barely masked. With a deep breath, I unclip my seatbelt and step out, slipping back into my carefully crafted mask.
Perfectly poised.
Unshakable.
I follow her inside the country club, trailing behind like a dutiful child and not the grown man I am, as she makes her way to a group of her friends.
"Jennifer, you remember my son, Chadwick. He's in town from New York City," she says, her tone carrying just enough pride to make it clear where I fit in her narrative—an accessory to her status, nothing more.
The woman in question turns toward me, a bright smile spreading across her face as she extends her hand. “You can call me Jenny, Doll.” Her southern twang wraps around the words, familiar and warm, like so many in Blue Ridge. People here are all sugar on the surface. It’s only when you scratch the veneer that their true selves start to show.
I take her hand with a grin. “And you can call me Chad,Sweetheart,” I reply, letting my voice drop into a smooth, flirtatious tone. I give her a playful wink, then lift her hand to my lips, brushing a soft kiss across her knuckles. Her ring fingeris bare, and I make sure she catches the fake flicker of interest in my eyes as I glance back up at her. “How’s a beautiful woman like you still single?”
She titters, exactly as expected. It’s almost too easy. Too boring. I know the effect I have on people, especially alphas like her, the ones that don’t have it in them to go after what they want. The moment I release her hand, my mother steps in, pulling her into a conversation about some local event or another. It’s the perfect cue for me to slip away. I’ve mastered the art of turning on the charm in an instant—and shutting it off just as quickly.
A survival skill, really.
Greeting people that know me via my parents and nothing else, I drift toward the courts. My heart beats in my chest at a rapid pace as I push outside. Each fenced tennis court is full. But my eyes land on the one person I said I wouldn’t seek out.
Dean.
And damn does he look like he’s aged like fine wine. The sight of him stops my breath cold in my chest. He has his arms around a striking auburn-haired girl, guiding her as the machine launches balls at them. I watch, transfixed, as he moves with the same smooth confidence I remember, his body aligning with hers, showing her exactly how to hit each ball. When she gets the rhythm on her own, he steps back, watching her like he’s proud of her progress.
Attempting to distract myself, I drag my gaze from him. The girl throws him a smile as she hits another ball. It’s bright like sunshine and warms something inside of me, even if it isn’t directed at me.
She captures my attention in a way females rarely do. Something about her is magnetic. She doesn’t have that commanding alpha presence, so I figure she’s probably a beta. But those tiny white shorts hugging her hips and that red shirtclinging to her sweat-dampened body as she fights against the machine, they’re doing things to me I didn’t expect.
She’s not omega-pretty, but she’s got an aura, a way of moving that makes it impossible to look away. She’s striking and almost perfect.
I lean against the chain-link fence, completely absorbed in watching her. The way she moves, every muscle working in sync as she returns each volley—it’s mesmerizing. There’s something raw and real about her. There’s nothing fake about her. It draws me in. Almost to the point of forgetting where I’m at.
When I turn slightly, shifting on my feet really, Dean’s staring right at me. There’s an intensity and sharpness in his gaze that I remember well. Yet, it cuts through me, lacking any of the warmth it used to.
“Dean?” I call out, a forced grin spreading across my face, pushing down the awkward tension bubbling up inside me. “Wow, it’s been forever. Last time I saw you, I kissed you, didn’t I?”
I let out a laugh, not even bothering to filter myself. I did a hell of a lot more than kiss him. Really, embarrassment should have me red as a tomato and stammering over my words at even mentioning that night. Not that it was thelasttime I saw him, I saw him after that when hetriedto smooth things out, and Ipretendedlike none of it mattered.
But I always rip the bandaid off. They can't hurt you if you put it all out there first. I push open the gate and move closer, drawn to him like he’s the sun and I’m just another planet in his orbit. He probably has hundreds of omegas in love with him by now. I’m surprised he doesn’t have a pack. It was the one thing he used to talk about. And me, being the obsessed boy I was…imagined myself in that mix.
But I remind myself I’m not going to fall into that trap again. I don’t need an alpha to be complete. If these last few months have taught me anything, it’s that.
Dean’s face tightens, his expression hardening. “Yeah, I remember,” he says, his tone cool, distant. He doesn’t like the reminder any more than I do.
Then he lifts his shirt to wipe the sweat from his face, giving me an eyeful of those perfect abs and obliques that make my mouth water. My breath catches in my lungs as a literal war rages inside me—a slow burn of heat travels straight to my belly from the attraction that’s still very much alive, battling against the chill his words create, trying to drag me down.
I shrug off both feelings and shift my focus to the girl, who’s paused mid-volley to listen in on our conversation. Missed balls bounce around her. I smile, letting my gaze travel over her full, curvy figure. The warmth that settled in my belly slides lower, stirring something deeper. But as our eyes meet, I realize she’s not just listening—she’s watching me.
CHAPTER 2
Lakelyn
