Page 21 of The Gamma's Second Chance

He pauses his chewing and blinks, and I snatch the bag back and continue my munching, a triumphant smile on my lips. But he smirks as he finishes his chip, then moves closer to me, forcing my knees apart. His hips line up with mine, resting against the counter and the cabinets, and I inhale through my nose. The tips of his fingers press into the granite countertop, and he leans forward, his chest almost bumping against mine and his nose brushing my ear. Infinite goose bumps ripple outward along my skin from that microscopic point of contact, and I’m frozen in place, neck arched subtly and body practically trembling from the unexpected nearness of him, and his warm, spicy scent of cardamom wafting into my nose.

But he’s gone again before I can react further, before I can form thoughts or frame a sentence. In his hands are the secondbag of chips and the permanent marker he used on my book the other night, and he’s scribbling across the front of the bag in long, hurried strokes.

I catch my breath while his focus isn’t on me, resisting the urge to fan myself or release the frustrated growl pent up in my chest. I’m not sure if he’s realized I’m attracted to him and was using it against me or if it was just a coincidence, just in my head. But either way, I will not reveal to him how flustered he’s made me. I won’t let him have that win to hold over me. Not when we have to live together for Goddess only knows how long.

“There.” He shoves the cap back on the marker and turns the bag so I can see the front. “Now my name is on it.”

It takes me far longer than I should admit to process his words and understand what he means and what I’m looking at. But then my eyes and brain register that he’s written “NOLAN” across the front in all caps, staking a claim on the extra bag of chips his mom bought during her grocery run.

His smile matches my triumphant one from moments before, and he turns around, prancing into the pantry to shelve the now labeled bag.

And I can’t help but smile bigger. He wants to label things? Fine. Two can play that game. Whatever it takes to get him to acknowledge me, to give me that brief glimpse of the real Nolan I caught when he leaned in close to me and when he thought he gained the upper hand.

He may have won this round, but the war has only just begun.

Chapter 7

NOLAN

Some may argue thatgoing on a run twice in a day is excessive. That I will burn myself out or give myself an injury. That this level of extreme avoidance is unhealthy for my mental state.

And they’re probably right, in all honesty. But they’re not the ones who have to live with Daisy.

I mean Cassandra.

They’re not the ones who have to see her smiles, hear her laugh, or smell the daisies she places all over the house.

When we’re in the car or at rehearsal with Haven, it’s manageable. There are others around creating a buffer, and my work requires enough focus to keep me distracted from it all.

Mostly.

But when we’re alone in my house? Just the two of us? That’s when I can’t trust myself. That’s when I know if I’m stuck with her for too long, I’ll end up doing something drastic. Something I’ll regret later.

Like grabbing her face and kissing her into oblivion.

Or lifting her up, throwing her over my shoulder, and carrying her up the stairs to my bedroom, my hand massaging and squeezing her ass every step of the way.

I’m not sure if I have the urges to do these things because I actually want to do them or if it’s because I want to see how she’ll react. Will she remain chipper and enthusiastic? Or will she snap at me? Will she finally show me her teeth?

Either way, it’s a bad idea. She’s too good for me. Too sweet, too pure, too optimistic. I’m a broken, jaded realist, and I’d only end up ruining her.

If I act on these urges, it will end in disaster. Like all my relationships. They all have a common denominator, and that common denominator is me.

So, I’m avoiding Cassandra. Her and her smiles and her laugh and her daisies.

I’m not sure I can pinpoint the exact moment my annoyance switched from being directed at those things to being directed at myself for starting tolikethose things.

Maybe it was the morning I watched her playing my piano with her skilled fingers and passion-filled expression. I never knew it was possible to be jealous of a musical instrument until she came into my life. But damn if I didn’t want to be that piano, to have her fingers dance over my skin, to be the music that enraptured her and brought fire to her eyes.

Or maybe it was when I found her in the kitchen with my mom a few days ago, perched on the counter with a bag of chips in her hand, talking with her as if she’d known her for years. Or maybe it was when she got sassy with me about my name not being on the bag of chips. Maybe it was when I leaned in close to her and sensed her racing heart and caught the barest hint of arousal wafting through the kitchen from between her legs.

Maybe it was all of that combined, all those moments building one on top of the other, until the source of the tension in my body switched to being caused by wanting her and being unable to act on that instead of being caused by wanting to be anywhere other than around her.

There are a million and one reasons I shouldn’t give in to my desires. A million and one reasons it would be a terrible idea to start anything with her. And aside from the fact I am a failure with females and relationships, the biggest reason I shouldn’t act on my urges is that she’s only a temporary fixture here. She’ll leave Crescent Lake once Haven is settled with the pup and her aura returns to normal. She’ll return to Greece, so she can become a true oracle once she finds her mate.

Her mate, who isn’t me. And won’t be me.

We’d know already if I was.

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