That nickname again.
I shove him harder this time. He stumbles back a few steps, and for once, the calm arrogance cracks. Good.
He’s bigger than me. He always has been. Food’s never been a guarantee in my life, and puberty feels like it barely glanced in my direction. But I’m not afraid of him. Growing up with an alpha father who thought fear was a parenting tool burned that right out of me.
“Earned it?” I sneer. “I worked my ass off for this apprenticeship. Two years of nothing but practice. I deserved it. There’s no way you beat me fairly.” My voice shakes, but I don’t stop. “Your daddy probably paid your way in. Ineededthis. Fuck you and fuck your stupid nickname.”
His expression darkens as he steps into my space.
I don’t remember moving, but suddenly my back is against the car, his chest pressing into mine. My breath catches, traitorous and sharp. My stomach flips.
Fear? Anger? Something worse?
I hate it. I hate that my body reacts at all. Why does the person I despise most have to be exactly my type?
“Fuck you, Hale,” he snarls.
Relief flickers; at least he finally stopped with the nickname. He’s so close I can feel his breath against my face, warm and furious, smelling faintly of cinnamon. His eyes trace my face like he’s memorizing it, like he’s looking for something.
Thenheshovesmeoncemore,hard,andstorms away.
I suck in a lungful of air and hold it, counting slowly before letting it out. My heart is trying to claw its way out of my chest as I watch him go.
I’m not checking him out. I’m just… making sure he actually leaves.
Scout’s honor.
Aksel slams the door of his obnoxious, blacked-out Camaro. The engine purrs to life, and he peels out of the garage like he’s got something to prove.
“Nice car, Daddy’s Boy,” I mutter once he’s gone.
My hands are shaking when I open my own car door. I sink into the cracked seat, fingers curling around the steering wheel. It takes a few tries before the engine turns over, rattling like it might give up out of spite, but it starts.
I love this stupid car, blue velvet interior and all.
I pull out of the parking garage and into traffic, shifting uncomfortably as a strange feeling crawls under my skin. Something’s off. I can feel it.
At the red light, it finally hits me. I’m wet.
Like,reallyfucking wet.
Like, if I don’t get my shit together soon, there’s going to be a damp spot on my jeans and absolutely no way to explain that with dignity. This is the downside to being an omega. Everyone in a five-mile radius knows when you’re turned on.
“No,” I mutter, glaring down at my dick like that might help. “We are not doing this. That wasnothot. That is completely fucking forbidden.”
My dick, the traitor, responds by throbbing harder, slick gathering by the gallon in my ass crack.
Fantastic.
I sigh and adjust myself, biting back another wave of frustration. It takes the entire drive home before my body finally gets the memo and settles the fuck down. Honestly, evenifithadn’t,pullingontomystreetandspottingmy dad’struckinthedrivewaywould’vekilledthemoodinstantly.
I didn’t know he’d be back today.
My dad’s a long-haul trucker. He’s gone more than he’s home. He usually only shows up when he’s out of money or drugs. Sometimes both.
Even though I graduated a month ago, I’m still stuck living here because I’m broke as hell. Obviously. There’s no love keeping me tethered to this place. Not really. Sometimes my mom is lucid enough that I feel this sharp little ache for what could’ve been, but it never lasts.
If I’d gotten that apprenticeship, I would’ve stayed in the apartment they offered. A clean break. A future. Instead, I’m back here, killing time until I figure out how to escape.
