Page 43 of Citius

“Why do you… No, I don’t think so.”

“Keep trying to rope him into the pack. Always refuses, of course, but toward the end of college—before the Olympics, I think—it was because of this girl. Turned us down, saying he wanted to see where things went with her. Always wondered what happened.” Joaquin ate a mouthful of coleslaw. “So mysterious, that Miss Montreal.”

Blood pounded in my ears. How fucking dare he mention Montreal. To me.

Joaquin pondered me as he chewed. “Ring a bell?”

“No.”

“Too bad,” he drawled as he held my gaze. “Screwed him right up. Hasn’t been serious about a woman since.”

“I sincerely doubt that.” I bit out my words, on the verge of losing control of my temper.

Joaquin’s head tilted to one side, taking another bite as he pondered my response. “Guess you two weren’t all that close, then.”

Of course not. I was the irrational one, the one with a scrambled brain, prone to anger, who couldn’t maintain personal relationships. It was my fault our relationship failed to launch. Not that Wyatt was without blame, but he’d never been one for confrontation.

“They keep alpha and omega athletes pretty segregated.” After slinging my bag over my shoulder, I picked up the remaining takeover container. “I’ll take Alijah’s lunch to the breakroom.”

“You’re a peach.” Joaquin offered his most charming smile, which verged on predatory, and nudged the container of cobbler even closer. “So don’t leave your tasty brethren behind.”

“For Alijah,” I said and snagged it, flashing a pointed look over the rims of my sunglasses. “I’m full.”

“Whatever you say, doc,” he said, saluting my departure with a forkfulof brisket. “Same time next week?”

“Not interested in being a third wheel.”

“It’s just lunch.”

“Whatever you say, Joaquin.”

The raspy rumble of his laugh dogged my footsteps as I made a tactical—albeit hasty—retreat.

Thirteen

Morgan

Cal was waiting for me in the lobby of Designation Services on Friday afternoon, standing just beyond the security checkpoint with a fresh cup of coffee in hand. Smiling at me like my presence was the highlight of his day.

“Hey, Morgan. Can’t wait to see what you’ve come up with.”

My enthusiasm was lacking. I could have used another week to finesse the content of my presentation. The near-constant migraine ensured some typos slipped through, and more than one idea wasn’t fully cooked. I’d taken a double dose of meds to prepare for this meeting.

As we headed into the elevator, Cal took a few sips of coffee—each accompanied by a slow, deep inhalation. He was trying to pick up my scent again. There was nothing to find, even after lowering my suppressant dosage.

When he leaned forward, arm brushing my shoulder as he hit the button for his office’s floor, I took the opportunity to jab him in the ribs with my elbow.

Cal choked on a surprised verbal hiccup and raised a brow at me.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I said softly, despite my voice dripping with derision. “Are we not taking personal liberties?”

Pressing his lips together, Cal failed to suppress a grin. “Noted, Dr. Van Daal.”

While the rest of Designation Services was as sterile as its in-house laboratory, Cal’s office was an anomaly. The decor fell just short of a sports pub, walls cluttered with team pictures, pennants, newspaperclippings, and other football paraphernalia.

A large portrait of Cal in a navy and white uniform took pride of place—captured mid-motion, football cradled in his massive arm, one cleat barely touching the turf as he ran, hungry eyes fixed downfield. Taken right before his nose got shattered at a bowl game.

Omegas could help themselves to a basket full of rolled-up fleece blankets and throw pillows, all bearing the University of Northport logo, of course.A hand grip dynamometer hung from a discreet hook under the front lip of his desk just in case an alpha needed to redirect their energy during a meeting.He’d placed fidget toys and baskets of various goodies around the room—samples of scent-canceling wipes and sprays, condoms, and candy.

---