Page 42 of The Alpha's Pen Pal

Sure, he cut a large and imposing figure as he stood in the small, narrow hallway, and sure, he had to be at least half a foot taller than me, if not more. And sure, those broad shoulders and muscular arms pulling at the fabric of his dark green polo might have been scary to others. But I wouldn’t let him affect me. Or, at the very least, I wouldn’t let him know he was affecting me.

Because, damn it, he was. But not in an intimidating way. In a very,verydifferent way.

I looked at the open door and back at him and then sighed. Unfortunately, I needed to put my polite hat on. Invite him in. Hear what he had to say. He was already in my building, so might as well go the whole way.

My cheeks heated at that thought, and I ducked my head and mumbled, “I guess you can come in.”

He bent to pick up the box at his feet and then followed behind me, and I tried not to imagine his eyes looking at my ass in my leotard. Tried and failed.

He set his box on the small table in the dining nook, and I went into my room without a word, crossing my fingers that he’d stay put. I tossed my bag on my bed, grabbed my oversized off white cardigan, and threw it on over my black halter leotard and black skirt.

Even though the ballet skirt came to my mid-thighs, it was sheer, and I knew it hid little. And I’d seen the looks he’d given me both at the lake and in the hallway.

I sort of liked them, sort of enjoyed the little flips my stomach did when he gave me them. But I’d never admit that to anyone. Ever.

“What are you doing here?” I asked him as soon as I walked out of my room.

“Why didn’t you come to coffee?”

“I had class.”

His head tilted to the side, and he shook his head. “I don’t buy it.”

I gestured to my attire, my bun, and my pointe shoe-clad feet. “Really?”

“I mean, I clearly see you just came here from a dance class,” he said.

He pressed his fingertips on the top of the table, making the veins in his forearms bulge and drawing my attention to the tattoo on his left bicep I hadn’t noticed before. I squinted at it, trying to make out what it was, but his voice drew my attention back to his face.

“But I don’t buy it as your excuse. You told me you had class last night, but then you said it was optional and agreed to meet,” he continued. “So, I can only conclude that, for some reason, you decided you didn’t want to see me after all. So tell me, Haven, why didn’t you come to coffee?”

My jaw ticked and my eyes itched. How dare he. How dare he come to my home and demand to know why I didn’t want to see him. As if he didn’t know. As if he wasn’t the one who pushed me away all those years ago.

The fire inside me burned hotter than I’d ever felt it, and something pushed forward, something I could no longer hold back.

“What makes you think I would want to spend any time with you?” I spat in anger.

He flinched back in shock at my vitriol. “We-we were friends. I—“

“Friends?” I said with a sarcastic laugh. “Friends? God, if we were friends, then I’d hate to know how you treat your enemies.”

“What do you mean?”

“Fuck you!” I yelled. “How can you stand there and ask me what I mean? You know exactly what you did to me!”

His brow furrowed, and he opened his mouth, then closed it as he looked at me in confusion.

I took a deep breath and tried again, explaining it to him slowly like I would to a child.

“You abandoned me,” I said, my voice raspy and weaker than I wanted it to be. “I had no one left except you, and then you were gone, too. I was alone, with new parents, a new life, one I didn’t even want because I had been JUST FINE where I was, and I didn’t even have the one person I knew I could lean on, either.”

“If I had known how to reach you, I would have written,” he said, his voice almost shaking. “I tried. They wouldn’t give us any information about where you’d gone, about the people who adopted you,” he added, taking small, slow steps around the table.

I rolled my eyes. “That’s bullshit, and you know it,” I replied. “I wrote to you. I gave you my new address. And then I waited. And waited. And fuckingwaitedfor you to reach out to me. And you never did.”

“Haven,” he murmured as he continued walking closer to me, shaking his head, his hand reaching out to me.

Only then did I realize I was crying, that hot tears fell from my eyes. I held my hand up, and he stopped in his tracks, his jaw clenching and unclenching as he held himself in place in the middle of my apartment.

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