Page 36 of Broken-Hearted

And yet here I am, sharing a pillow with Nathan, a man I have repeatedly told myself I wanted nothing to do with.

“I never know what you’re thinking,” he says.

“Nothing exciting.”

Just me, possibly maybe definitely making impulsive and reckless decisions I should be old enough not to keep making.

Like always.

“Why don’t I believe that?”

I shrug. “You’re paranoid?” My tone is light, but I’m already pulling away from him. Not because I regret what I did. The problem is, I don’t regret it.

He strokes a hand down my spine. “You know, you can talk to me about stuff.”

“What kind of stuff?” I edge back as I remind myself that I need to stop being impulsive and giving into the moment instead of using my head like I should.

Think instead of act.That’swhat I need to do more of.

Nathan’s hand settles low on my spine, stopping my less than subtle retreat. “Stuff like the reason you were looking at me as closely as you were in Rosenwood.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” I lie.

I don’t talk about being an omega.Ever. I didn’t talk about it in Dawley and I don’t intend to start now. I don’t know if Adrian knows what I am, or he just guessed, but it doesn’t really matter. It’s become clear over the years that the fewer people who know what I am, the better.

I don’t want to be a thing to own, and I being an omega reduces me to a thing rather than… well, me being me.

“Regan never liked to talk about being an omega either,” Nathan says, watching me closely.

I get up.

He tries to stop me. “Hey!”

I shove the sheets off me and snatch up my T-shirt from the floor, stuffing it over my head on the way to my bed. “I don’t want to talk about it, Nathan.”

“Because you think?—”

“Because I’d appreciate you not sticking your nose where it isn’t welcome. We scratched an itch together. That doesn’t mean you get to pry into my life. Backoff.”

His face turns blank.

I need to remember to have a good, long shower tomorrow morning before we hit the road. The last thing I need is to roll up in Hardin and meet Nathan’s packmates smelling like we just had sex. They’ll figure it out with or without a shower, but I’d prefer not to telegraph it.

“Scratched an itch, huh?” His voice is as inscrutable as the look on his face, and I turn away, pulling the sheets up to my neck.

“Exactly.” I should try to sleep, if only to avoid thinking about the strange note in Nathan’s voice that almost sounds like hurt. It’s making me feel like maybe I could have found a nicer way to tell Nathan what we did was a onetime, never going to happen ever again thing.

Instead, I feel like I just kicked a puppy. Which is to say, pretty fucking terrible.

I turn to look at Nathan when sheets rustle.

He’s on his back, so I can’t read his expression. “Nathan?”

“So, it’s a what happened in the motel room stays in the motel room situation, huh?”

“That’s all it can be.” I know myself. Settling anywhere for longer than a few weeks isn’t in my future. I get bored, itchy feet, restless, whatever you want to call it. It all amounts to the same thing: commitment is not in my future.

I’ll go to Hardin, meet his packmates, maybe enjoy being somewhere new for a little while, then an itch will start up and grow stronger and stronger until it drives me crazy. So I’ll move on. Like I usually do.

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