Page 125 of Citius

“A bridge to the unknown? Beautiful view, but maybe missing a fewcrucial planks?”

Alijah scoffed and narrowed his eyes, on the verge of scolding me—until something in the metaphor caught his interest. His head tilted to the side. “Throw in a nauseating amount of butterflies, and yeah… That’s exactly it.”

I gathered him into my lap, popcorn bowl and all, tucking his head under my chin. “I think you’re both standing on opposite sides of that bridge, too scared to take the first step. What if she slips? What if you stumble? Or a board’s rotten, or a rope snaps?” When his shoulders began to tremble, I tightened my arms around him. “But worrying isn’t enough.”

I caressed his bond mark, grounding us both.

“Alijah, if you have butterflies, follow them. Give them to her. Let her hear that telltale giggle of yours when a good photo turns out to begreat. Share every single reason you hate goat cheese. Show her how you curse up a storm while you’re editing. And,” I said, dropping my voice to a sinuous whisper, “that you taste like an orange creamsicle when given theproperencouragement.”

Alijah squirmed in embarrassment, despite his mouth curling into a tiny smile. “Don’t say that.”

He tried his best to play along, but anxiety began to gnaw on our bond.

“I just don’t know how to tell her about my parents,” he muttered.

“Just be honest,” I said. “Those assholes don’t deserve the title of parent. They have nothing to do with your success—in life or love.”

Nipping at his earlobe, I earned a precious laugh and silently renewed my vow to protect that sound for the rest of my life. I kissed my way down his neck until my lips brushed against the first hint of his fern leaf tattoo—a symbol we’d chosen together to honor his resilience.

Rubbing his back, I continued. “Has she ever made you feel less for being a beta? Judged you, slighted you?”

“No, never,” he admitted softly. “She doesn’t talk about designations much in general. Actually… I’d almost think she was a beta if I didn’t know better.”

I asked something I’d wondered since that first glimpse of her shimmering plum-red hair. “What’s her scent, anyhow?”

“It’s—it’s…” Alijah blinked at me with an owlish expression. “I havenoidea. None at all. Is that weird?”

“Might be a safety thing, given how much time she spends around the football team.”

I paused, tempted to holler at Wyatt down the hall. That sneaky fuckwould know.

“Doesn’t matter. Just gives us something to look forward to. The real question is…” I cupped his chin, thumb stroking the fullness of his bottom lip, and unleashed my sneakiest, most sinful smile. “Do I have your permission to misbehave?”

“No, at least not for my sake.” He set the popcorn bowl aside and leaned against my chest, resting his chin on my shoulder. “Flirt with Morgan as you see fit, but I need to be the one to explain myself to her.”

He exhaled, on the verge of relaxing—then suddenly pulled back, moving so quickly his sparkling eyes left comet trails.

“But there isonelittle thing you could help me with.”

Thirty-Five

Morgan

“We’ve got to stop meeting like this.” Joaquin grinned as he set a takeout bag on the table in front of me. How he’d made it into the football operations center staff breakroom without an escort was anyone’s guess, but here he was, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

“Where’s Alijah?” I asked, scanning the room for the absent beta.

“Getting drinks from the vending machine,” he said, sliding into the seat across from me.

I was relieved to know Alijah was just on the other side of the wall. Joaquin hadn’t pulled a Garvey—not that I thought he would.

“But while we have a minute alone…” Joaquin pulled a folded piece of paper fromhis back pocket and placed it next to my half-eaten salad. “I took the liberty of reserving a table for you at the fall gala.”

“Why?” I asked, unfolding the paper to reveal a partially completed registration form. The Belcrest Ballet logo adorned the header, and my name was already listed as a sponsor for an eight-seat table at the post-performance dinner and silent auction.

“Gold Medal Realty sponsors a table every year.” Joaquin leaned back in his chair and raised a smug brow. “Don’t tell me you didn’t know.”

“Jacobi handles the social stuff. I just approve the expenditures.” I slid the registration form across the table.

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