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A bare, muscular back, swirls of dark ink depicting fantastic beasts covering most of it.
Powerful, inked arms.
A tight ass, clad in clingy running shorts.
Is that the sound of my brain short-circuiting?
Oh, sorry. Introductions, Gigi! Where are your manners?
Meet my roommate, Ronin.
And maybe my hormones are all over the place. Definitely blaming my hormones. Why should alphas and omegas have the monopoly of that? Sure, I may not go into a heat or a rut, but hey, I’m a woman. I can be hormonal if I want.
And God, he smells so intense. Very alpha-like, pungent, like vetiver and leather imbued with male musk.
I think I might be drooling just a little. Can’t really blame me. I mean, look at him!
And then he turns, pulling his T-shirt on, probably hearing me panting like a bitch in heat, and cracks a grin. “Hey, Gigi. What’s up?”
It’s a devastating grin. Makes up for him covering up his chest before I get a good look at it.
Maybe.
My gaze doesn’t linger on his face, though. He’s just back from a run, that much is obvious from the way his shorts cling to his muscular thighs, his wet hair, and the sheen of sweat on his glorious muscular, well, everything. Torso, arms, shoulders. All covered in colorful ink.
That face… Helen’s may have launched a thousand ships but Ronin’s would have launched more, had Paris been into guys, I’m sure. Those blue eyes and that cut jaw, the silver hoop in his patrician nose and in one pale brow… And then that panty-melting grin?
Good lord.
Let me launch a few ships for you, boy…
“Cat eat your tongue? Did you need something?” Ronin pulls up the hem of his T-shirt to wipe at his face, and if that doesn’t fry my brain more… because the move bares a serious eight-pack, all deep ridges and perfect planes and… Dragging my eyes back to his face takes serious effort. I think I wrenched a muscle somewhere inside my head.
“Nah.” I shrug, hoping he can’t hear my ragged breathing. “I was just down with the girls having coffee. Going to study a bit now.”
“The girls? Was that pretty brunette with you? What was her name… Coco?”
A strange sting goes through my chest. “You like Coco?”
“What? She’s cute. Isn’t she an omega?”
“She’s a beta,” I snap, “like me. Sorry to disappoint.”
He frowns at me, and I frown at me, too.What the hell, self? What is this stab of irrational jealousy all of a sudden?This isn’t like me. I’m a happy-go-lucky sort of girl.
I need to get laid, stat.
“Gigi,” he starts, but I don’t want to hear whatever he has to say. He’s probably about to ask me about all the girls I hang out with, and to tell me how gorgeous they all are.
I know, okay? They totally are. They are the cutest girls.
But I turn my back to him before he manages to get another word in and head to my room, where I proceed to flop on top of my bed and drag my Bose headphones over my ears, blocking out the world.
I miss Bee. When she arrived here, only two months ago, she was so lost she gave me a purpose. I was her guide, her friend, her rescuer.
Now she’s found her path and I’m frigging happy for her but I feel left in the dust. Not that my family expects me to settle down and have babies. Notmyfamily. There is no pressure. No expectations, at least not in that department. Nobody drilling me—well, except for my friends—about liking anyone, about any potential boyfriend on the horizon.
Why is it that sometimes I wish they expected more from me?
