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Jealousy pierces me as I imagine him working it out with a random girl. I want to wear his hand necklace, and the idea of someone else getting that pleasure makes me feral. I grip the counter in front of me, attempting to keep it under wraps, but even I can smell the bitter bite of jealousy as it rolls off of me.
“At the rooftop gym, there is a punching bag he’s friendly with,” Dean says.
“I didn’t–”
“You didn’t have to,” he replies. “Audrey, you have to know something. I might have the nickname of Saint because I choose the right path most of the time, but if you ever spread your legs and offer yourself up like you did this morning again… I won’t resist.”
My breath catches in my throat, and I blink, his words sinking in.
“I resisted this morning because I hadn’t made that clear before. So if you don’t want that, keep your door locked, especially when you feel a heat coming on.”
“Or maybe you could not come in if the door is closed?” I suggest.
“She has a point,Saint.” Felix looks up from chopping up a tomato and winks at me.
CHAPTER20
Austin
Sweat dripsfrom my brow as I land another blow to the punching bag. Images of Audrey spread out before me play in my head like some sort of carousel I can’t get off. Her mouthwatering delicious brownie scent clings to me.
If I am not absolutely wrecked when I go back to the apartment, I will do something I’ll regret.No omegas. It’s a rule. One I plan to keep. Even if I can barely remember the face of the one that made me put it into place. No, each time I try to bring it to mind, I see Audrey’s wide innocent eyes and her defiant pouty lips.
Fuck.
I slam my fist into the bag; my knuckles split under the force, but I keep going.
It isn’t until I’m hanging on the bag to keep myself upright that I stop. I push back to my feet and wobble on exhausted legs.
Perfect.
Rut avoided.
The other people working out ignore me as I swipe my face with a towel and head out. Even my sweat smells like spice and fallen leaves. I haven’t had a rut hit me so hard in my life. It is the omega. There is something about her scent. It feels like she belongs to me. Like she is mine.
I shake off the feeling as the elevator closes to travel a single floor because my legs will not carry me down a flight of stairs. The apartment is silent when I enter. No cozy scene of Audrey and Felix playing a game in the living room. Or cooking in the kitchen.
Justsilent.
It works for me.
Sinking into the armchair, I stare out at the night sky. A whole day has passed. I’m not even sure how. The clock on the wall reads just after nine.
It should make me anxious that someone else will get to the painting first. Losing a day of planning to the haze of rutting was not in the plan. And we would have lost more than that if we hadn’t called the doctor.
That is possibly what haunts me the most. I could have given in, and no one, including Audrey, would have blamed me once the heat was over. Hell, she may have even thanked me. But I would have known that there was that moment of choice, that sliver of ability to walk away. Even knowing what she tastes like, I did it, and my dick had reminded me of that fact all day long.
I’m not sure how long I stare out the window. The soft snick of a door unlocking and opening comes from the hallway. Still, I keep my eyes on the bridge, sparkling with lights in the distance. Her brownie and ice cream scent washes over me, and I can feel her eyes on me like a physical touch.
“Your hands,” she gasps.
“Are fine.” I curl my sore fingers in, cracking the dried blood where it started to form a scab. I should have taped them, but I was too far gone. Over this girl.
Ifeelher putting space between us. I don’t even have to look to know that she’s moved to the kitchen. Water running tells me I’m right. Then she is back. Standing in front of me in that damn ratty hoodie and a pair of leggings that draws my attention to her legs. She drops to her knees and reaches for my clenched fist. I pull back, and she gives me an irritated look.
“Let me,” she commands. A bit of her own growl infuses her words, making her seem like an angry kitten.
When she reaches for my hand again, I let her. The soft touch of her fingers on my skin sends an electric current straight through me. She brushes the wet paper towel over the wounds, removing the excess dried blood before drying it with a different one. I watch her through hooded lids.She is perfect.
