Page 17 of Altius
His head snapped up, blue eyes overflowing with the most heartrending sense of dreadful hope. Regretful of our mutual suffering, yet maybe the cure was at hand. Maybe, maybe…
If only it were that simple.
“Did you get diagnosed, too?”
“No. At least not yet. Chantal doesn’t have enough data.”
“Wasn’t a problem for me. They took readings every time I got a shot.” His hand inched closer to my thigh. “I’m not inas much pain as you are, but everything she mentioned—not sleeping, not eating, shitty blood pressure—it’d all been coming on slowly… And then there you were.”
He tried to dismiss my share of the blame with a shrug, but it didn’t work.
“The plane ride from Chicago?” I asked with a jolt of alarm.
If his symptoms started almost immediately, then why wasn’t I worse?
“Felt off when I woke up the next day.” He sank lower against the wall. “Almost like I had the flu, and more than a little squirrelly. Restless. The first pheromone bomb happened when I recognized Jacobi’s loft.” Wyatt knocked our elbows together with a soft laugh. “His posts are a lot more informative than yours.”
“Yes, something I’ve objected to at length.”
“Let me guess.” Mischief brought out his dimples and infused color into his cheeks, a momentary reprieve from his now customary pallor. “It’s his account, and he’ll post all the pretty pictures of all the pretty faces at his pretty little parties that he wants?”
“That,” I said with a blink of surprise, “is disturbingly accurate.”
“Everyone on the alpha team—guys and girls—knew about his rotating crush of the month. Wore it like a fucking badge of honor or something. But his taste… I mean, Reggie Showalter?”
Oh, the filthy things I knew about Reggie.
He attended Wakeland State at the same time as Jacobi and me. The man might have the facial structure of a rhinoceros and the legs of a rooster, but he was a god on still rings. And, according to Jacobi, he was a great listener with a big dick and an even bigger knot, both of which he knew how to use.
Plus, he gave spectacular head.
“What can I say?” Trying to keep a straight face, I adjusted my glasses. “Jacobi’s an equal opportunity lookist. If you don’t have a pretty face, then…”
“What do you—oh. Ugh, no.” Wyatt spat out the words, waving his hands in defeat. “I don’t—god, I haven’t even eaten yet.”
“That’s your fault. You can’t be squeamish when it comes to properly functioning omegas, Wyatt. Our designation’s not that picky. Especially if someone doesn’t have mate potential.”
“And what’s your criteria for that?” he asked, trying to keep his tone light despite the nervous shake of his left calf. “For mate potential.”
“Hm.” I gave him a flat stare. “Guess you’re not all that interested in calling a truce, are you?”
Wyatt looked toward the ceiling, neck tendons flexing as he forced his frustrated wishes back into his gullet—just like I’d anticipated. He knew how to pick his battles, especially when his opponent was emotionally armored to the last shred of sympathy.
“You’re not cleared to drive yet, and more than a few people will take issue with you working out again so soon. Not me.”
His head eased in my direction, unveiling a self-assured smile that almost disarmed me. Confidence looked good on him.
“I know you. That youdolisten to your body. And our schedules are similar.” Wyatt eased back, allowing me to focus on his words rather than his handsome face. “So, for the next few weeks, I’ll join you here in the mornings and drive you to campus. Saves Kelsey the hassle of getting up early.”
“What’s in it for you,” I asked, deploying my trusty shield of sarcasm, “the pleasure of my company?”
“Obviously,” he said.
And he meant it. Unsettling me anew.
“Being near each other is good for us.” Wyatt took a deep breath, balled fists digging for comfort at the bottoms of his pockets. He forced himself to make eye contact again as he choked out, “Because we’re scent matches.”
“I know.”
