"Your moment is interfering with my GPA."
I look at him with genuine interest, recognizing him from our earlier class. He had answered every hockey-related question the professor threw out with the confidence of someone who grew up breathing the sport.
"Archie, right?" I ask, stepping toward his desk. "You are pretty knowledgeable. You knew a lot about the hockey dynamics they were discussing in class earlier. The history of pack structures in professional teams, the salary cap implications for bonded versus unbonded players. Most people glazed over during that section, but you were locked in."
He fixes his glasses, pushing them up the bridge of his nose with one finger.
"Well, obviously. My Dad is a coach. Hockey has been dinner table conversation since before I could hold a fork properly."
My brain makes the connection instantly.
"Your Dad is the coach? The one who was on the radio station this morning? Coach Holloway?"
His eyebrows rise slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing his otherwise guarded expression.
"Hmm. Someone who actually knows what is going on around here. Observant much?"
I shrug.
"A little bit."
I extend my hand toward him.
"Mabeline, but Mae is all good."
Cal's hand shoots out and pushes mine down before Archie can take it.
"Yeah, she is not flirting with you though," Cal says, positioning himself between me and the desk like a golden retriever who has decided his owner is not allowed to pet other dogs.
Etienne materializes on my other side, his scent intensifying the way it does when his Alpha instincts kick into gear.
"Because there is a line for her," Etienne adds, his voice carrying a sharp edge that sounds so unlike his usual gentle tone that I almost get whiplash, "and I am first. So, respectfully, fuck off."
I gawk at him.
Actually gawk, my mouth falling open in disbelief.
Then I punch his arm.
"Etienne! Be nice! He is just trying to introduce himself. You do not get to tell people to fuck off for attempting basic human interaction."
"I was being respectful about it. I said respectfully."
"Adding respectfully does not cancel out the fuck off!"
"No, actually, I am trying to kick you guys out so I can focus," Archie whines, rubbing his temples like our presence is giving him a migraine. But he extends his arm toward me anyway, his handshake formal and precise. "Archie Hale Rosedale."
I take his hand despite Cal and Etienne hovering on either side of me like a pair of overprotective gargoyles. His grip is firm but not aggressive. An Alpha who knows his strength and does not feel the need to broadcast it through a handshake.
Then he pauses, his eyes narrowing behind those wire-rimmed glasses.
"I have heard of a Rose before, though," he says slowly, studying my face with new interest. "You are not related toCoach Rose, are you? Theodore Rose? He used to coach figure skating at the regional level. My Dad mentions him all the time."
My heart stutters.
He knows my father. His Dad knows my father. The coach on the radio was talking about MY Dad. About ME.
I keep my expression neutral, shaking his hand with steady composure that costs more effort than anyone will ever know.
