Page 15 of My Shy Alpha

“I’d like that.”

Snuggling into his chest, I squeeze him closer just to feel him squeezing back. With every pulse of his heartbeat against my forehead, every slow expansion of his ribs beneath my arms, I relax.

His scent washes over me as he plants a soft kiss on my neck, sending electricity through me. This time, his kiss there doesn’t feel sexual. I feel loved.

Curling up with my arms hugged to my chest, I allow Noah to cocoon me. His warm, sweet scent lulls me to sleep.

The next morning, I wake up to find Noah nowhere in sight.

6

At first, I wonder if any of it was real, flushing with embarrassment as I replay the way I acted. The irrational, impulsive things I confessed.

But the clothes I’m squeezing to my chest are proof; my oversized shirt is stretched a size further.

Noah did wear this. I draw the shirt to my nose, struggling to slow my breath enough to inhale the fabric’s scent.

It smells like him. Sweet, but leafy from all that running we did through the forest.

Noah is real.

Which means everything I did was real.

Oh, God. I don’t understand how assertive I became, taking charge of my desires. Why I felt so strongly for a stranger. No, why I still feel strongly.

My gut churns as heat pulses in my groin - an ache for touch that hasn’t gone away since last night. It dawns on me that it wasn’t just a spur-of-the-moment fling; I would’ve had sex with a stranger last night. I almost did.

That’s the most vulnerable I’ve been with my body since Steven hurt me.

But after how much I told Noah it would hurt me if he left after I opened up, he still left. He’s gone.

Sobs rip from my throat, startling me with their intensity. Anxiety and heartbreak burn throughout my limbs as I hunt around my parents’ living room for any other trace of him. Scrambling around the couch, I throw flowery couch cushions, chunky knitted blankets, and well-loved, sauce-stained pillows to the floor in search of something, anything. But Noah left no visible trace beyond the clothes he borrowed. Not even his number.

Does this mean he left, never expecting to come back?

I whimper through tight breaths, feeling ridiculous for everything I believed and did last night. I took a risk in accepting this love-at-first-sight thing, and one of my worst possible outcomes came from it. It fucking kills. I wobble, gripping my heart as it aches with every beat.

I’m so hot that the room spins, threatening to topple me over. It burns. Everything burns. I strip my clothes in a fit of discomfort, afraid I’ll pass out if I don’t lower my temperature fast. But as I stand shaking in my living room in my bra and panties, I only burn hotter, doubling over in pain as it wreaks havoc in my guts.

I feel sick enough to die. Am I losing it? It’s starting to feel dangerous to be alone. What if I pass out and hit my head?

I call Jenny without questioning it.

Until the dial tone rings. What the hell am I going to tell her? That I got lost, met a man I almost fucked in the leaves, and brought him home? That I thought the dream came true?

She answers on the second ring, and I bite my thumb, knowing I have no time left to think.

“Hello, my dear! How’s it going?”

“It’s– Well, it was going well–”

Jenny loses her singsong cheeriness. “Are you safe? You don’t sound okay at all.”

I struggle to breathe deep enough to speak. “I’m safe. I’m just feeling really sick, and I’m panicking.”

“Okay, let’s talk through this. Are you resting comfortably?”

“No...”

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