Page 115 of Altius
“I’m doing this for us,” Cal whispered. “If Roddy’s out of the picture for good, if I don’t need to worry about Spencer’s future, then… Then we…”
Placing my hands on his chest, I looked up into his pleading hazel eyes and nodded. “Then it’s one less thing to worry about…when the time comes.”
Cal swallowed hard. He didn’t want to lose his grandfather, but he’d lived in deference to his outdated notions for far too long.
“Yes,” he promised, the words slow and heavy. “When the time comes, will you—”
“Oh my god!” Alijah reached back, snagging my elbow. He pointed a shaking finger at the video board. “I think Tyler just caught the ball.”
“What?” I ducked beneath Cal’s arm, staring at the replay in disbelief.
A nose tackle was one of the last players you’d expect to make an interception.
“Tyler Hartsen continues to have the game of his life!” the announcer crowed. “Two quarterback sacks and now an interception. For someone who just recovered from a hand injury, it’s unbelievable!”
Yes, I thought as I watched Cal’s departing back. Unbelievable.
If Tyler had waited another second, I might have experienced a second romantic milestone during a critical Narwhals game.
Being scent-marked by Wyatt—and proposed to by Cal.
***
The last place I expected to spend New Year’s Eve was at Arlotti’s, ye olde steakhouse downtown, still as unfashionable as ever, ensconced in a private room in the far back.
“Here’s your drink,” the server said, placing a virgin mango daiquiri before me—Joaquin’s doing. I’d been content with water.
Owen and I occupied opposite ends of the table, with the mated pair to one side and Cal and Wyatt squabbling about who got to sit next to me on the other. Wyatt won tonight, leaving Cal closer to Owen.
“Before we commence with the festivities,” Owen said without preamble, catching us all off guard, “Tabitha wants to know what you’ve decided about the consulting position offers.”
I glanced at Cal.
He was trying his best to maintain his usual casual confidence, but he didn’t have the energy. Two days of calming down shareholders and emotionally supporting Spencer had taken a toll on him. Therefore, his pleading gaze was less than subtle.
We had an excellent partnership in every way, and he wanted it to continue after my fellowship ended in July.
If I only thought about the overly generous proposed hourly compensation rate, it was a no-brainer.
Yet when it came to Owen, I had my doubts.
He wanted to keep me close—but why?
My ability to interpret his scientific intentions into plain language was a valuable skill. It allowed reluctant executives to believe in his ambitious ideas. But I antagonized him. Challenged him.
What if I pushed him too far? What if we were at each other’s throats for the next two years, with nothing to show for it at the end?
He could ruin me with a flick of one long, finely-honed finger at any moment. Owen was too dominant, too crafty, too alpha.
Yet he continued to indulge my stubbornness, just like during my heat… When he went down on me for what must have been hours, with such single-minded dedication that he broke my fever with foreplay. Something that should have been next to impossible.
He confused me. Maddeningly brilliant and attractive in ways I wasn’t prepared for. His steadiness and foresight. Those solid quads. How devoted he was to the concept of a pack, even if he had no idea how to lead one.
And he’d turned my half-baked pitch about purr therapy into a real project and made sure I received credit for the idea.
But I couldn’t trust the mercurial flashes of warmth in his gaze.
What if he wasn’t like the others—who had or were developing feelings for me—and this was all a long-term ploy to ensure the success of PheroPass and the vibration therapy unit?
