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Scarlett
Dickasso
“Nicedick.”Thebetaat the desk beside me leans over, inspecting my drawing. “It’s a bit small, though. I think you need a better reference. I’d be happy to help.”
I whip my head, and attention, to just stare at the guy, a smile creeping across his face as we both ignore Professor Hart droning on about the significance of Javier García’s journey in Madrid and Moonlight had on his life. I’d usually pay better attention, but he’d stopped reading passages, turning from sexy narrator to stuffy professor in a matter of minutes.
“What do you say, Dickasso?” the beta murmurs, leaning closer. Is he serious? Dickasso? Ugh.
I avert my eyes back to my desk, gawking at the life-like sketch I’ve been working on for the past day. The flaccid appendage hangs sadly between the thin thighs of the scrawny beta guy I saw strolling through the co-ed showers without a towel. I admired his confidence, but the moment imprinted in my brain. The only way I can think of getting it out is to draw it—every tiny blood vessel, curly pubes, and the freckles on the crease between his leg and pelvis.
I shake my head, trying to focus on Professor Hart. I can smell his woodsy floral scent from here, and it does something to me today. It could be the fact that I’m an omega passing as a beta with hormone suppressant lotion or just because he’s hot, even for a man my dads’ ages. Whatever it is, I need to focus on something else. Like my rendition of a dick pic.
“Don’t be embarrassed. You’re talented. It’s so realistic that I want to gouge my eyes out for having to stare at it.” The beta chuckles, his voice echoing over Professor Hart. He’s not even trying to hide his attempt to converse with me anymore.
I hiss under my breath. “I’m trying to focus.”
The beta traces his finger on the edge of my desk, scooting his a bit closer. “On dicks? Come on. You know—”
Dropping his book to the desk, Professor Hart startles me with the boom. I frown and try not to draw attention to myself, my body frozen at my desk. I sink lower with the fire flaming my cheeks. This fucking beta. I never thought they were the type not to take hints, but I guess since I’m the one pretending to be something I’m not...
“If you feel the need to talk over me, leave. You will not disrespect me, Mr. Broderik.” Professor Hart growls, his deep voice as powerful as his presence, his alpha nature commanding attention.
“My apologies, sir. I couldn’t help it. She’s distracting me with her cock drawings.” The beta hunkers in his desk, clearly acting like the type of fucker that would blame everyone else except for himself if called out. The asshole should’ve minded his own business. Now I feel the rage of Professor Hart’s glare smoldering over me hotter than my blushing cheeks.
“Excuse me?” Professor Hart asks, striding closer. “That doesn’t give you the excuse to interrupt my class.”
Fear pours through me, Professor Hart’s intoxicating scent billowing over me. I take a deep breath, the sudden attention on me making me feel as if I’m as bare and vulnerable as my nude self-portraits filling my folder along with my other explicit artwork. I’ve been too scared to leave them in my dorm because of my nosy roommate but facing her would be better than this.
This feels like Omega Prep of San Francisco all over again, the strict environment giving me no right to privacy or the ability to express myself creatively. It’s why I begged to attend a beta-dominated university while waiting for my parents to find me a pack after I couldn’t find any interest myself. It should’ve happened by now, as I’ve already hit the age I needed to be married by, but it just hasn’t happened. My mom thinks it’s because my sisters appear better on paper. I was always average. Not outgoing, not really into afterschool activities that required socializing. I just preferred to draw the world as I saw it and the way I wanted it to be. I didn’t get what I wanted, but this private university is good enough. The art program will suffice...unless I’m about to get kicked out. Fuck me.
My phone rings, shocking me out of my state of surprise, and I cringe, wishing I hadn’t turned on the volume earlier. I was afraid of missing the call from the coffee shop about hiring me to paint their windows for Halloween. I don’t need the money, but it would be the first time someone paid me for my art.
Now, I don’t know if I’m going to survive the next sixty seconds.
I scramble to grab my phone from my bag, spotting my mom’s name flashing on the screen. “I’m so sorry, Professor Hart. This is an emergency. I’m so sorry.” I scoop up my belongings and launch myself from the desk, dodging around my professor and bolting toward the door without waiting to see what unfolds between him and the beta.
I might as well escape before I get kicked out anyway. I’ll email him later and hope he can forgive me. The last thing I need is to be expelled. I’m so close to getting my art degree, which I hope will look spectacular to a pack. Maybe. My mom always complained that I should’ve done something more valuable. Like accounting. Business. Something the pack who chooses me would be proud of since graduating from Omega Prep doesn’t seem to be enough. Even if I never use it.
My body goes out of whack, my heart racing, and my palms sweating. I’m absolutely mortified. I wonder if it’s even worth trying to apologize to my professor. It might be better to just disappear. Mom would be happy to have me home, so she could berate me and shame me for being on the cusp of being considered unwanted. I’ll be another disappointment like my older sisters, who failed to follow the path set before them. This was supposed to be my time to shine, but my internal light dims like my vision as I run into the sun.
I can’t see shit as my legs refuse to stop running, and I slam my shins into something solid. I fly forward and tumble, my belongings scattering everywhere. I hit the grass with a thud. The air escapes my lungs with a heave. I blink my eyes, trying not to let the uncontrollable tears fall. This is the worst day of my life. I thought it was every single one before this today because no one has shown any interest in me as an omega, and my mom never lets me forget it, but what the fuck is happening to me now?
“Oh, shit! Miss, are you okay? Is someone chasing you?” The deep rumble of a masculine voice shocks me like a defibrillator, trying to save me when all I want to do is be buried right here on the spot. “Let me help you.”
A silhouette of a figure hovers over me, and I rapidly blink, trying to make out who this man is. He squats beside me, his citrusy-lime scent like a salt-rimmed margarita I could desperately chug right about now.
I roll over onto my side, moving out of the way before he can reach for my hands. He doesn’t realize that I’m an omega, and his pheromones get to me in a confusing way. I’ve been rubbing a scent-suppressing lotion on daily for the entire duration of being here. I wanted to blend in. It’s not normal for an omega to be at a university after our intensive education at the national prep school.
“I’m fine. I’m so sorry.” I scramble to get to my feet, putting space between me and the sweat-glistening alpha, shirtless with tattoos crawling up his arms and around his chest. He only wears a pair of athletic shorts and tennis shoes, one with an untied lace. I can’t see much of his face with his sunglasses blocking his eyes and the dark beard with patches of gray obscuring his cheeks and jaw. He must’ve been running and stopped to tie his shoe.
“No need to apologize. You obviously were trying to get away from something. If someone’s bothering you, you can report it to me. I can handle it.” The man offers me a small smile, keeping his space as if he thinks I might run again. And I might. Because his gaze trails down my body to land on the grass where the last couple of months of my sketchbook now lies scattered across the grass. In any normal circumstance, I would be unfazed. But this is my dirty little secret sketchbook. The one I would never dare show the world.
And this stranger alpha, someone who probably works at this damn university, now drinks in the sight of my naked self-portraits, erotic fantasies, and a huge collection of dick pics—drawings.
Kill me now.
