Page 2 of His Problem Alpha
His jaw tightens. Hit a nerve there. Good.
"Freelancing isn't a real job," he says, each word chosen with deliberate, surgical precision. "It's a hobby you're pretending pays the bills."
And there it is—the knife right between the ribs. I actually feel the sting of it, the air leaving my lungs. After almost two years, he knows exactly where to stick the knife, where I’m softest.
"Fuck you," I say, my voice tight. "At least I contribute to society instead of hiding in my room making noise nobody wants to hear."
Alex's expression hardens into granite, but before he can retaliate, I grab my laptop and keys. I need to get out of this apartment before I do something truly regrettable, like throw hisprecious speaker out the window. Or worse, notice how his eyes get even greener when he's angry.
"I'm going out," I announce, my voice shaking slightly. "Try not to burn the place down while I'm gone."
"Try not to come back," he calls after me as I slam the door hard enough to rattle the cheap frame.
---
"He's literally the worst human being I've ever met," I say, watching Lawson expertly bounce baby Noah on his knee. "And I once designed a logo for a guy who wanted to put his own face on a line of women's underwear."
Lawson and Kole's apartment is an oasis of calm, everything mine isn't—clean, peaceful, and filled with the quiet, domestic tranquility of two people who are disgustingly in love. Their living room smells like cinnamon and baby powder instead of unwashed dishes and whatever unholy, magnetic scent Alex seems to exude.
"Maybe you should look for a new place," Kole suggests from the kitchen, handing me a mug of tea that smells suspiciously weak. "You've been complaining about him since you moved in."
"I can't afford a new place." I take a sip and try not to grimace. It tastes like hot water that was merely shown a tea bag. "Do you know what the deposit on a new apartment is? Besides, I'm locked into the lease for another six months of hell."
"You could always ask your parents for help," Lawson says, then immediately raises his free hand in surrender when I shoot him a death glare. "Just a suggestion."
"I'd rather live with Satan himself, in his actual fiery condo in the depths of Hades, than call my parents for money." I sink deeper into their obscenely comfortable couch. "Besides, I'm making progress with clients. That eco-soap company was about to sign off on the final designs. Or they were, until Alex decided to hold a personal death-metal concert in our living room."
Noah makes a happy gurgling sound, and Lawson's entire face softens into a puddle of alpha-dad mush. It’s sickeningly sweet. Over a year ago, I was the one who caught these two making out on Lawson's couch, back when they were still in their 'we're just practicing for Lawson's sister's wedding and Kole's my pretend date' bullshit phase. Now they're the poster children for domestic bliss. It's a miracle and an irritation all at once.
"Maybe you should try talking to him," Kole suggests, settling onto the arm of the couch. "Like, actually talking, not just trading insults that sound suspiciously like foreplay."
I roll my eyes. "We're way past talking. This morning, I found my expensive, single-origin coffee grounds in the trash with a note from him that said 'buy better coffee next time.' The absolute audacity."
"That does sound annoying," Lawson admits, a small smile playing on his lips.
"Annoying doesn't begin to cover it. He's a walking disaster. A black hole of consideration. A psychotic roommate from hell. I hate the way he leaves his hoodies everywhere, the way he hums when he's concentrating, the sound of his middle-of-the-night hookups." I take a breath. The worst part is the silenceafter. The sound of someone else gasping his name, followed by the soft click of the door as they leave. It leaves a sour taste in my mouth, a territorial hum under my skin that I write off as sleep-deprived irritation.
Kole and Lawson exchange a look—one of those irritatingly silent couple-conversations that makes me feel like I'm the subject of a nature documentary.
"What?" I demand.
"Nothing," Kole says, a little too quickly. "It's just... you talk about him a lot."
"Because he's actively ruining my life!"
"Uh-huh." Lawson bounces Noah a little higher. "With very specific, sensory details. The sound of his voice, the way his hands look on his equipment, the exact shade of green of his—"
Heat rushes to my face. "I was complaining about how he mumbles! It's annoying!"
"Sure," Kole says, smirking into his mug. "Very annoying. And it's very annoying how your voice gets all breathy when you describe how annoying he is."
"My voice does not get breathy," I protest, my voice coming out embarrassingly breathy. "I hate him. Full stop. End of story."
"Of course you do," Lawson says, in that infuriatingly gentle tone that suggests the exact opposite.
"I do! He's the worst! He's messy and inconsiderate and arrogant and—"
"Hot?" Kole supplies, his eyes twinkling with mischief.
