“That's who you are. Not your designation.”
Emotion rushes through my chest so quickly it almost hurts. I take a breath and let it settle.
“Adrian.”
He looks at me.
“I've been watching you manage me,” I say. “All of you, each in your own way. Checking on my symptoms. Making sure someone was always nearby. Building me a room.”
I hold his gaze. “I kept thinking it was instinct. Pack behavior. An omega response triggering alpha protectiveness.”
He's very still.
“I'm starting to think it's not just that.”
His eyes drop to the water bottle in his hands for a moment. Then he says, “I'm terrified you'll decide it's too much.”
I wait.
“Not just the heat. Not the pack dynamics or the biology of any of it.” He says it like he's been carrying the words around for a while and is finally setting them down. “You, specifically. I'm afraid you'll look at all of this and decide it's overwhelming and pull back, and the reason that terrifies me has nothing to do with instinct.”
He pauses.
“I've liked you since that morning on set when you caught the location issue and didn't tell anyone about it. You just fixed it because it needed to be fixed, not because you wanted credit.”
His thumb moves across the edge of the bottle cap. “I don't want you in this pack because you're an omega and we're alphas and biology makes the arrangement convenient. I want you in my life because of who you actually are.”
I've seen Adrian Wells act more times than I can count.
He's not acting.
He's looking at the course, his jaw set slightly and his hands not entirely still on the bottle. He's just being honest.
I reach over and pull the water bottle gently from his hands before setting it beside me on the platform.
He turns to look at me.
I reach up and wipe the paint smear above his eyebrow with my thumb. His expression shifts, only slightly, but enough for me to notice.
“You’re making it very hard for me to keep being scared,” I say.
“Good,” he says, and the word comes out rough.
Our foreheads come together. I don't know which of us moves first. I only know that the space between us disappears, and the cedar-and-amber scent of him feels like home.
I kiss him.
This isn't urgency. It isn't the surge from the kitchen or the spillover from last night. I'm thinking clearly. I know his name. I know where we are. I know exactly what I'm reaching for, and I reach for it anyway.
His breath catches.
Then his hand comes up to cup the side of my face, and he kisses me back. The care in it is almost my undoing. He moves slowly, like he's memorizing the moment. His thumb rests against my cheekbone, and I feel him breathe me in, the soft vanilla-citrus of my scent filling the space between us.
I lean into him. My hand finds the front of his shirt, and I feel his other hand tighten slightly at my waist. For a moment, the afternoon fades away. There is only the smell of him and the undeniable reality of this choice.
Then he draws back slowly and his hand remains on my face. We're both breathing unevenly.
“We have time,” he says. His voice is low and rough. “I need you to know that. You don’t have to jump into anything physical because your heat is coming.“
