Try again.
"That's... that's me."
Eloquent, Mabeline. Really nailing this reunion thing.
Her grin threatens to split her face in half.
"I knew it! I recognized you the second I saw that ponytail. You always do the same little twist thing at the end. Like a signature."
She's bouncing on her heels now, practically vibrating with energy.
It's so achingly familiar that I feel tears pricking at the corners of my eyes.
Don't cry. Do NOT cry. You're in a public hallway, and you've already been humiliated enough today.
"And I dare guess you don't hate me, right?" The words come out before I can stop them, edged with thirteen years of hurt Ihadn't realized I was still carrying. "Since you kind of just...uh…you know…poofed."
The bounce dies.
The grin falters.
Sage's face crumples into an expression of such genuine anguish that I instantly regret saying anything.
"Fuck." She drags a hand through her multicolored hair. "Fuck, Mae, I'm so sorry. There's so much to explain about that. So goddamn much."
"Language, Ms. Holloway."
Miss Phillip's voice cuts through the moment like a bucket of cold water. I'd almost forgotten she was standing there, watching this whole dramatic reunion unfold with the patience of a saint.
Sage cringes, her shoulders hunching up around her ears.
"Sorry, Miss Phillip." She has the decency to look genuinely contrite. "Got caught up in the moment."
"Clearly." Miss Phillip's tone is dry, but there's no real heat behind it. "Try to remember that profanity isn't part of the standard Valenridge greeting, hm?"
"Yes, ma'am."
I'm still processing, trying to wrap my head around the fact that my long-lost best friend is standing right in front of me, wearing the same uniform as me, attending the same university as me.
What are the odds?
Actually, given how my day has been going, probably pretty high. The universe clearly has a twisted sense of humor.
Movement at the end of the hallway catches my attention, and I realize there's someone else approaching. The tall guy who'd been standing with Sage before she went full Olympic sprinter.
He strolls toward us with an easy, unhurried gait. Hands shoved in his pockets.
A lazy smile played at the corners of his mouth.
I take in his appearance without meaning to. Tall, maybe six foot one. Lean but muscular, like a swimmer or a tennis player. Tawny brown skin and dark hair that's been artfully tousled in a way that probably took twenty minutes to achieve. His eyes are a striking shade of gold, almost amber, with flecks of darker brown scattered through them like autumn leaves.
His scent reaches me a second later: sandalwood and sea salt and warm caramel. Pleasant. Inviting. But there's no spark. No flutter in my chest. No Omega hindbrain screaming about potential mates.
Alpha. Definitely an Alpha? Maybe…? But not one that makes my hormones sit up and take notice.
Which is honestly a relief. I've met enough Alphas today to last me a lifetime.
He stops beside Sage, his golden eyes sweeping over me in a quick assessment.
