Page 71 of Altius
“I hope I’m an acceptable substitute,” Owen said, holding the door to the hallway for me.
“Of course.”
I led the way toward the front entrance, waiting to continue our conversation until we were almost out of the building.
We’d both learned from our earlier mistake.
“Make any headway with university administration?”
“Somewhat.” Owen held the door for me again. We stepped into the frigid wind whipping off the river. “At the very least,they’re taking Tabitha seriously. But I don’t think they’ll let us do anything until after the holidays.”
“Classes resume the second week of January.” Something I knew for sure, having just consulted the calendar multiple times while selecting my interview slot. “Which is after most of the playoff games will be done. How convenient.”
“Does Northport have a chance at the title?”
“That’s a Cal question. All I know is that they’re lucky. Conference champions automatically go to the quarterfinals, which gives Northport a few weeks to rest and recover. Maybe the defensive line won’t be made of Swiss cheese by the end of the month.”
“What about Garvey?” Owen asked, reaching in front of me, long fingers resting on the passenger door handle. His gray eyes were even colder than the encroaching winter.
Running my teeth over my bottom lip, I thought it over.
As much as I hated the idea of causing problems, Garvey was a menace. If he was willing to bother me in a secure area after being suspended and demoted, what might he do to an omega player like Landon or one of the other lower-ranked staff members?
“That was strike two.” I held Owen’s probing gaze. “If he crosses me again… I’m going to pursue legal options.”
Owen nodded and opened the door for me. “And the recording?”
“I’ll send a copy to Cal and Dr. McEwen, just in case.”
“Good.” He shut the door firmly, and we were soon underway—only to wind up sitting in traffic on the bridge.
Owen leaned against the window, staring at the emergency responders clearing a collision by the exit ramp as if they were subject to his mental compulsions.
“I never expected you to apologize,” I said, keeping my tone light, running my thumb along the seatbelt. “And I certainly never expected you to grovel via scientific research. However…”
I paused, unnerved by the sharp turn of his head. Owen’s direct attention burned my cheek.
“I must admit,” I continued, “it’s a very effective method. So much so, I might refuse to accept apologies that don’t include reference sections in the future.”
Owen’s crisp laugh, delightful as the first crunch of fresh snow underfoot, sent a pleased tingle through me.
We were okay. Which meant my heat was going to be okay.
For the first time in my life, my heat was going to be an experience I enjoyed—maybe not to the point of ecstasy, but there would be ample pleasure—in the company of men I liked.
And, in one or two special cases, even loved.
Seventeen
Cal
“Istill don’t understand how you can accept this lack of specificity.” Owen tapped his finger against the list of stipulations in Morgan’s heat dossier, which he’d printed out and placed in a binder with dozens of meticulously organized reference tabs.
I was reclining on my sofa with a beer, watching the Tritons, Northport’s professional football team, miss yet another field goal. They needed a new kicker yesterday, if not three seasons ago.
The announcers jeered as I stifled a groan, but Owen didn’t so much as glance at the screen.
“How much less slick does she produce than the average omega because of her anosmia?” His frown deepened. “Are we talking milliliters, ounces, pints?”
