Eric, traitor that he is, gently closes my hanging jaw with two fingers and helpfully repeats, “He said he’s competing.”
I smack Eric’s hand away. “I heard what he said. I was hoping I was hallucinating or actively having a stroke.”
“Not hallucinating, Fylgja,” Aksel says smoothly, that infuriatingly arrogant smirk locking into place like it never left.
“Stroke’s still on the table, though, babe,” Eric adds, already reaching for my face. “Hold still, I wanna check your pupils.”
“No.” My brain finally catches up, and all that shock snaps straight into rage. I step into Aksel’s space, aggressive and deliberate, the toes of my beat-up boots pressing against his stupidly expensive sneakers. “No fucking way are you taking this away from me, too.”
I thought I was done competing with Aksel Winther. I left the state. I rebuilt my life. There is no universe where he was supposed to be here.
Did he follow me?
That’s ridiculous. I was never more than a pathetic background character in his perfectly scripted life. This isn’t fate. It’s a cruel joke from some vengeful god who apparently still has beef with me over something I did in a past life.
He blows out a sharp breath, puffing his cheeks before speaking. “You’re not seriously still pissed about something that happened eight years ago. Are you?”
Eric, traitor to our entire friendship, answers for me without hesitation. “Oh yeah, he’s stillverypissed. Last week at margarita and taco night, he went on a whole rant about theasshole who stole his life, starting with his seat in the fourth grade. It’s kind of his signature drunk story.”
I shoot Eric a death glare so intense he should be thanking whatever deity he believes in that we’re in public with witnesses. My cheeks burn as I turn back to Aksel, but I plaster on a scowl and hope it hides the humiliation.
“I didn’t take your fucking life, dude,” Aksel snaps, slamming his shoulder into mine as he storms past. “Get over yourself.”
His cinnamon scent hits me like a punch to the gut, and I hate,hate, that my body reacts the same way it did eight years ago.
I track him as he walks away, jaw clenched, teeth grinding when my eyes betray me and latch onto the perfectly round globes of his ass.
Fuck.
He’s broader now. His shoulders are wider, his thighs thicker, his hair cropped shorter. His tan looks earned, not inherited. If it’s even possible, he’s more attractive than he was in high school.
I hate that I still want him. I hate that my eyes follow him until he disappears into the crowd. And Ireallyhate my best friend for telling him I still think about him.
Eric clears his throat, breaking the silence I’m stewing in. “So,” he says carefully, “that was Aksel.”
I don’t answer.
“He’s… significantly hotter than you ever admitted,” Eric continues, clearly choosing chaos. “Which might explain why you’re so mad. Is it because you want to fuck him? Because honestly, that would upset me too, sugar.”
I turn slowly toward him.
“But,” he presses on, unstoppable now, “he wants it just asbad. If I were you, I would’ve climbed that tree years ago. Unless he’s not into omegas? But come on. All alphas are into omegas. So that’s not it.”
I stare at him, breathing slowly, counting in my head like I’m trying not to commit a felony.
Eric grins. “What? I’m connecting dots.”
I shake my head and let out a low growl, deep in the back of my throat. I’m ignoring him. All of it. Aksel, Eric, the past. I’m done engaging for the rest of the day. I worked too hard to get here, and I’ll be damned if I let Aksel Winther ruin what should’ve been a great day. I’m winning that prize money if it kills me.
The monotone woman announces we’re free to go and that filming for the first round of eliminations will start next Wednesday. The second she’s done speaking, I bail. I leave Eric to pack our shit on his own and head through the hotel toward the elevators. He knows better than to complain. He owes me after that circus earlier.
The marble floors gleam under the lights, and a massive fountain gurgles softly nearby as I wait. The elevator doors slide open without a sound, Elvis crooning from hidden speakers as I step inside. By the time the doors close, the stale air mixed with lavender cleaner is burning my nostrils. The lift shoots up, zipping past several floors before jolting to an abrupt stop.
I walk down the seemingly endless hallway, carpet swallowing the sound of my steps. When I finally reach my room, I swipe my keycard and wait.
Red.
I try again.
