Now, it’s her turn to laugh. “And that you had a bit of an ego.”
“Just a little.”
I tell myself, as I look into her eyes, that helping her learn music can be enough.
I can ignore my Alpha instincts as long as I can bringthisinto her life.
“I can leave you alone,” she says. “If you’re busy.”
“Technically, it’s an office hour,” I say with a grin. “Feel free to sit.”
My office is already cramped, with my desk and chair in one corner and a piano keyboard across from it. Bookshelves line the opposite wall, with a second chair beside it.
She leans her guitar case against the wall, then grabs the chair and rolls it forward, thinning her lips as she digs through her messenger bag.
“I have questions,” she says, placing her notes on the desk, and I’m grateful the door to my office stays open, allowing a breeze in, so I’m not forced to drown in her sweet Omega scent.
I bite my tongue. I can still scent the other Alpha on her, and I want to askhera thousand questions.
Are you looking for another Alpha? Do you have a pack yet?
“Ask away.”
Maeve doesn’t give herself enough credit, at all. She’s a quick learner with reading music, regardless of what she says. Looking at her work, she’s immediately grasped the basics of reading music notes in a treble clef.
“Flash cards help,” I tell her. “Eventually, you’ll look at a note and be able to name it immediately.”
She chews on the end of her pencil, her face scrunched as she stares at her work. “We didn’t even open our guitar cases last class. I was bummed.”
Yeah, we can’t be having that, sweetheart. I just want to make you happy.
“Fuck it. Let’s do it, then. Grab your case.”
She raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t realize professors swore so much.”
“They sure fucking do.”
She giggles, and I almost fall to my knees in front of her.
My inner Alpha is going wild, roaring in my ears and desperate to taste her.
Get. It. Together.
I move my chair from behind the desk and pull it next to hers.
Not too close, though. I don’t need to indulge in her scent; it will just make things more difficult.
My brow furrows when she takes out the acoustic guitar. “They rented you the worst one. This shouldn’t even be in the music lab anymore.”
She takes in the scuffs on the body and frowns. “It just means it was well-loved. I like the idea that maybe it absorbed all the passion from other musicians.”
I stare at her. “Oh. That’s…a great way to look at it.”
“I try.”
I direct her gently how to hold the instrument, and the best posture to use.
“You already looked it up, though,” I ask, “didn’t you?”
