"I'll think about it," I say, which is Mabeline-speak for 'I'm already mentally planning my tryout outfit.'
"Wonderful!" Miss Phillip claps her hands again. "Now, we really must start the tour. But first..." Her gaze drops to my clothes, taking in the full disaster of my current state. The blue stains. The still-damp fabric. The general air of 'I've been through a war and lost.'
"What happened there?"
I sigh, the sound carrying the weight of every humiliation I've endured today.
"Oh, nothing. Just jealous hormonal Omegas trying to protect territory no one needs." I pause, then add, "I don't suppose it would be possible for me to change first? I'd rather not tour the campus looking like a blueberry had a vendetta against me."
Miss Phillip's lips press together, but her eyes sparkle with suppressed amusement.
"Most certainly. Do you have a change of clothes?"
"Thankfully, yes." I pat my purse, which is miraculously slushie-free thanks to Étienne's quick thinking with the jersey. "I tucked a spare set in here because it didn't fit in my luggage."
The universe giveth and the universe taketh away.
Today, apparently, it decided to give me one small mercy.
"Excellent. Let's go inside the dorm, and you can change." Miss Phillip turns toward the golden door, pulling out a key that looks more like an antique artifact than a modern access device. It's brass, ornate, with intricate engravings that catch the light.
She inserts it into a lock I hadn't noticed before, and the door swings open to reveal a warmly lit entryway. Polished hardwood floors. Rich burgundy walls. The scent of cedar and something floral that's clearly meant to be calming.
Fancy. Very fancy. Not at all what I expected from 'pack integration housing.'
I take a step toward the threshold, relief washing over me at the thought of finally escaping the hallway and the three pairs of Alpha eyes that have been boring into my back.
But before I can cross into the sanctuary of the dorm, three sets of heavy footsteps move to follow me.
Miss Phillip holds up a hand without even turning around.
"No Alphas during the tour."
Rafe's voice is incredulous.
"But this is OUR place."
"Your place," Miss Phillip agrees, still not looking at him. "Which you can return to after the tour is complete. You know the rules, Mr. Calder. Rooms are off-limits when tours are happening. I'm not breaking them for you or anyone else."
"That's bullshit," Rafe protests, and I can practically hear the pout in his voice. "We live here. She's going to be living here. What's the point of?—"
"Scram."
Miss Phillip closes the door in his face.
I stand there, gawking in shock, as the solid thud of wood meeting frame echoes through the entryway. From the other side, I can hear muffled protests, Cal's soothing murmur, Étienne saying something in rapid French that sounds vaguely like 'I told you so.'
Miss Phillip turns to face me, completely unbothered.
"Men," she says, with the weary affection of someone who has dealt with far too many of them. "You just have to be rough with them and diminish their existence, and they usually cooperate."
A startled laugh escapes me before I can stop it.
She grins, the expression transforming her from intimidating administrator to potential ally.
"The bathroom is down the hall, second door on the left. Take your time. The tour will still be here when you're done."
"Thank you," I manage, still processing the fact that she just slammed a door in the face of the hockey team's star captain without blinking.
