Page 60 of Citius

It was tempting to interpret her words as a dismissive insult, but I recognized them for what they were—solid career advice if you were willing to squint.

The University of Northport might not be the best option for me in the long run. A position like my current role would be amazing—in theory. But the sports medicine staff was a boys’ club dominated by alphas like Dr. McEwen. I’d likely be relegated to lower-profile sports, a token omega hire competing against men with more experience for the prime assignments.

Even if they accepted my need for medical accommodations, I suspected it would come at a cost, literally—lower pay, limited opportunities, and constant scrutiny.

“I’ll email you the position description,” said Dr. Flemming, his mustache bristling with every glance at Dr. Sethi. “Give it some thought.”

“I will.”

My less jaded instincts wanted to be excited by the prospect. Maybe I could proceed with cautious optimism?

Catching Dr. Sethi’s critical gaze, I offered my version of a well-rehearsed professional smile.

“And I signed up to work the marathon a few weeks ago. Wouldn’tmiss it for anything.”

***

Nebraska put our girls out of their misery just after five. I left not long after, stepping into a gloomy afternoon, storm clouds brewing over the bay and a sharp wind throwing my hair into disarray.

Wrapping my arms around my torso, I hurried toward the parking lot, wondering if this was the last week I could go without a winter coat. It was October now, and the weather would only get worse.

The Rhine Fieldhouse was on the far east side of campus, tucked in a remote corner with other athletic facilities and waterfront dorms. It shared a massive parking lot with the indoor track and tennis buildings and the women’s gymnastics training center. Something I didn’t remember until it was too late.

Wyatt had already seen me.

He stood on the sidewalk several yards ahead, caught in an all too familiar predicament—surrounded by fawning collegiate gymnasts. Mostly omegas and betas, judging by their smaller builds, all gazing at him with hearts in their eyes.

Still a gymnastics hottie, it seemed. I was half-tempted to sneak a photo for Jacobi and Grace’s entertainment.

“Listen, as much as I’d like to, I really can’t help you.” His blue gaze flicked to me, neck shrinking back as he searched for a means to escape—from the crowd and, perhaps, the memory of our awkward parting at the airport. “I’m only working with the alpha girls.”

The crowd wasn’t deterred. Their voices overlapped in an eager rush.

“Please, can’t you watch my routine, just this once?”

Sweat glistened on his brow, dark patches staining his t-shirt, the fabric clinging to the dips and valleys of his sculpted physique. Wyatt wasn’t an amateur—he knew how to dampen his pheromones. But time and sweat dulled the effectiveness of scent-canceling sprays.

Out in the fresh air, away from the training center’s ventilation, the combination of his good looks and tantalizing scent wreaked havoc on teenage hormones.

Poor things, my inner Jacobi snickered. Pop a squat on a bag of dirt and get comfortable—you’re stuck in the garden center for at least a decade.

That had certainly been my experience.

Wyatt stepped back again, careful to avoid brushing against any of the girls. A few of the more insistent ones looked familiar, but I couldn’t recall their names or designations without checking the team rosters.

How could he still not know how to extricate himself from situations like this? Deciding to be merciful, I held up my phone.

“Coach Redmond,” I called. “Do you have a minute? I’ve got those test results you were waiting for.”

The girls scattered.

At the start of my fellowship, they’d swarmed me the same way, fawning over my accolades, begging for vault advice, and snapping selfies. That had earned them a stern warning to knock it off—at my request.

I wasn’t above asking for another warning on Wyatt’s behalf.

He jogged over, carefully dodging the stragglers, relief writ large on his handsome face.

“You’re a lifesaver.”

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