Page 32 of Citius

“Yeah.” The habit of protecting my shortcomings was too ingrained to allow for honesty. “Just need a minute to adjust to the noise.”

Alijah’s near-black eyes trailed across my face, tongue worrying his bottom lip. “You sure?”

“Mhm,” I said with a slight nod. No sudden movements until the meds kicked in.

The brass section marched closer, and Alijah knelt to photograph them from a better angle.

My gaze strayed across the crowd of coaches and equipment staff, looking for Dr. McEwen and Reyhan, but my attention was snagged by Cal leaning down to answer a sports reporter’s question. The man could seamlessly transition to football commentary if his position as residentpheromone stud ever fell through.

Alijah shifted to the opposite knee, adopting an extreme lean, as he captured photos of the color guard, flags spinning from side to side before sailing high into the air, collar shifting to give me an inadvertent glimpse of his mating bite.

“How did you and Joaquin meet?”

“At the university bookstore, buying a stylus during an alumni sale. Well, I bought one. He was only pretending to.” Alijah glanced back, shoulders hunching toward his ears, failing to stop a bashful expression from spreading across his features. “Thought I was an employee. Because, you know…”

He gestured to his preppy get-up.

I indulged in a soft laugh. “Let me guess. He kept asking you about different models, looking for the perfect match?”

“Something like that. Might have died from mortification if he hadn’t insisted on treating me to coffee afterward.”

“To thank you for your assistance, of course,” I said, failing to fend off a smirk. “And to apologize for his genuine mistake. A gentleman would never unknowingly impose like that, especially not on a fine, upstanding young man like yourself.”

The back of his neck gathered color until Alijah’s embarrassment was strong enough to propel him to his feet. He fiddled with his camera, shooting me the occasional self-conscious glance.

“Sounds even worse when you say it.”

“Bet he texted you at least three times before you got home.”

“Wait, how—” Alijah turned to me, mouth agape, eyes blown wide. After failing to find a proper rebuttal, he knocked a tentative elbow against my arm. “Be nice to me.”

I patted his shoulder in mock consolation. “You have all my sympathies because I know a determined flirt when I see one, and Joaquin would probably hit it off with my best friend—like a pair of pyromaniacs in a fireworks warehouse.”

Alijah’s sheepish, involuntary shudder was more than a little cute. “That bad, huh?”

“Or that good, depending on your point of view.” We exchanged a laugh, and a lull followed as the band moved further downfield.

“I’ve been meaning to ask, how’d your pack business go?”

“Great! We’re all moved in. Still getting used to having so much extra space and all the unfamiliar sounds. Not that the building is creaky or anything. It’s basically a brick fortress. Everything’s just…different. You know?”

So, those were moving boxes on Joaquin’s social media. My single foray into internet sleuthing had paid off.

“Do you like it?”

“Oh, absolutely! It’s amazing, the nicest place I’ve ever lived bymanymiles. The stove is so fancy I’m almost scared to touch it.” He paused, weight shifting to the opposite foot, increasing the distance between us. “But I do have one little complaint. Wyatt gets up way too early, like five-thirty in the morning early. Who does that? And then he makes coffee, so the smell wakes me up, and I can’t get back to sleep. Don’t get me wrong, I like the guy, but he just moved in, and I’m already a little annoyed with him.”

I didn’t even register Alijah’s distaste for my usual wake-up time. Too fixated on a single word. A name.Hisname.

Resinous bile pooled on the back of my tongue. The ghost of his scent was inescapable. “Wyatt?”

“Yeah, he’s our pack leader’s brother. Oh, I didn’t even think of that. Do you know him?”

A few production crew members squeezed through the tight space, forcing us to step aside. Alijah’s lean frame brushed against mine, pressing flush for a fleeting moment. He was taller than I’d realized—closer to five-eleven.

“Wyatt Redmond,” Alijah said. “He’s the new alpha women’s gymnastics coach.”

Ah. Taller—and capable of speaking treacherous words.

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