“You will know them,” Benji says.
He blinks. His jaw snaps shut like he didn’t mean to say it. Like the sentence slipped past his teeth before he could stop it. He looks away fast, staring hard at the fountain.
I don’t point it out. But I heard it. He saidwill, notwould. That’s a word that looks forward. A door left open, maybe by accident, maybe not. Something tight and painful in my chest suddenly loosens. I don’t touch it. I don’t say a word to jinx it. I just let it sit there between us.
We look at each other. The ridiculousness of it hangs in the air—us sitting here acting like we’re above all the sappy bullshit, while the mate bond hums between us so loud I can feel it vibrating in my teeth. His mouth twitches again. I don't smile either.
The light changes. Golden hour bleeds into dusk, and the park starts to empty out. We’ve been sitting here for over an hour. Neither of us has made a move to leave. The six inches between us is definitely down to five, and I honestly don't know which one of us shifted.
“So now what?” I ask.
Benji looks at me. For half a second, his face is completely open. No sarcasm. No Aubrey Plaza deadpan. Just him. Tired, messy, and real. I can see exactly how much he doesn’t want to be here, and exactly how much he doesn’t want to leave. Then he catches himself, and the armor slides back into place. But it’s slower this time. That half-second is enough.
“I don’t know,” he says. And for once, it doesn’t sound like a weapon.
The park is quiet. Just us, the water, and the fading light. I’m sitting on a bench next to Benji Rowe, and I don't want to leave. Not because of the scent, or the bond, or the biology screaming at me.
It’s because he’s funny, and he's mean, and sitting next to him is the best I’ve felt in months.
And that thought is scarier than anything that happened in his hallway.
Knox
Benji stands first, because of course he does.
"I should go," he says.
The softness from the bench vanishes. He brushes off his jeans, shoves his hands in his pockets, and starts walking. The easy conversation we just had is gone.
I should let him walk. That’s the smart move. The Knox Rivera move. Watch the hot omega leave, think about him later, never follow. But my legs are already moving.
"Back to hating me already?" I catch up in a few strides. "The bench was nice. You were almost pleasant. I was starting to think you were a real person under all that eyeliner."
"The bench was a lapse in judgment," he says, not looking at me. "I was bored and you were there."
"You laughed at my jokes."
"Your jokes aren't that good. It was pity."
"I've gotten pity laughs. That wasn't one."
He shoots me a look that's trying to be murderous but doesn't quite land. We're walking side by side on the sidewalk as the park falls behind us. His scent is stronger in the evening air. Mybody tracks it, a constant, heavy pull in my gut. I tell myself I'm just walking the same direction. My body calls bullshit.
"You're following me," Benji says.
"We're walking the same way. Coincidence."
"That's following."
"That's parallel navigation."
He almost laughs, then kills it. We keep walking. The banter is sharper now, both of us overcorrecting. His building comes into view. He unlocks the door, goes in, and doesn't look back. Doesn't invite me. Just leaves it open. An open door is Benji's version of an engraved invitation, and we both know it.
I follow him up the stairs.
His apartment door closes behind me. The scent hits. Not new—I've been in this hallway before—but heavier now, layered with memory and the bond. Benji stands in the dim light, looking like everything I've been trying not to want.
Somebody grabs somebody. His mouth is on mine, teeth and tongue and the cold press of his nose ring against my lip. He tastes like coffee and his own mean mouth. I bite his bottom lip because he's already biting mine.
