Page 14 of The Alpha Under My Bed

I let out a sharp laugh. “Clearly, it is. I mean,what else could it be?”

He leaned against the counter, resting his forearms against the surface. “Maybe they just weren’t good enough for you.”

I rolled my eyes. “Oh, yeah? And what am I supposed to do when my suppressants stop working?”

He tilted his head, like he was considering something. “You think an alpha is the only one who can take care of you?”

My stomach did a weird little flip. I ignored it. “Well, yeah. That’s kind of how it works.”

His lips curled—slow, knowing. “Not every alpha is good enough for you, Ellie.”

I scoffed, shaking my head. “Apparently none of them are.”

“That’s their loss.”

His voice was easy, teasing—the same steady, laid-back tone I’d heard a thousand times before. But underneath it, beneath the warmth and familiarity, there was something else. A quiet edge, a weight I couldn’t quite name.

Something that made me pause.

Something that made that weird little flip in my stomach a lot harder to ignore.

I laughed, shaking my head. “You’re ridiculous.”

Mal just smiled, reaching for his beer. “I’m just saying.”

I exhaled, leaning my head against the back of the couch.

Maybe he was right.

Maybe my compatibility results didn’t mean shit. Maybe all this time, I’d been looking in the wrong places, searching for something that didn’t even exist.

Maybe…

I glanced at Mal from the corner of my eye.

Maybe I’d been looking past something that had been there all along.

I pushed the thought away before it could take root, forcing another laugh as I closed my eyes.

“I swear to God, Mal. If Idoend up alone, you better take care of me.”

His response was almost too quiet to hear.

“Always.”

The next few days feltdifferent.

Not because anything had changed—not really.

Mal was still Mal.

He still showed up at my place after work, still made himself at home, still cleaned up the messes I didn’t realize I’d left behind. He still made sure I ate, still stole my blankets when we watched movies, still reached for things on high shelves just totease me—like I was helpless. He still gave me shit for drinking those ridiculous floral teas, still rolled his eyes when I forgot to lock my door, still carried my bags without asking, even though I told him I could do it myself.

Everything was the same.

But I wasn’t.

I felt it in the way my body responded when he got close—the slow, curling warmth low in my stomach when he leaned over me to grab something, the way my pulse jumped when his hand brushed the small of my back.

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