Page 25 of His Problem Alpha
That was before I begged him to fuck me. Before I found out what his mouth tastes like. Before I discovered that the brooding alpha who drives me insane is also capable of holding me like I'm something precious.
"He's... the same," I manage, the lie sticking in my throat. "You know. Loud music. Passive-aggressive notes. The usual."
Kole's eyes narrow. As a fellow omega, he's always been too perceptive for my comfort. "Are you sure you're okay, Dev? You seem... different. Your scent over the camera is all tangled up."
"My scent?" I laugh too loudly. "It's a video call, Kole. You can't smell me through the phone."
"Not literally, but I can see it in your face. Something's off." He leans closer to the screen. "Did something happen with your roommate?"
My heart pounds so hard I'm sure they can hear it. "Nothing happened. Everything's fine. I've just been busy with work." I glance at my nonexistent watch. "Speaking of which, I should probably get back to it. Big deadline coming up."
"Devon—" Kole starts, but I cut him off.
"I'll call you guys this weekend, okay? Give Noah a kiss for me!"
I end the call before they can push further, then drop my phone like it's burned me. My hands are shaking. I can't do this. I can't keep pretending nothing's changed when everything has.
For a week, Alex and I have perfected the art of never being in the same room. I hear his door creak, count to thirty after the front door closes, then emerge from my room like I'm in some ridiculous spy movie. He works late at the studio on campus, coming home long after I've gone to bed. When we do cross paths, it's with averted eyes and mumbled acknowledgments.
It's fucking exhausting.
I pace my room, too keyed up to work but too trapped to leave. The walls feel like they're closing in, saturated with memories I can't escape. Every corner of this apartment holds some echo of what happened. The hallway where I collapsed. The kitchen where he carried me, his arms strong and sure. My bedroom, where for three days he made me feel things I didn't know I could feel.
I need air. I grab my jacket and keys, determined to escape for a few hours. Maybe a change of scenery will help me focus on work instead of obsessing over my roommate's hands.
When I open my door, I nearly collide with him.
Alex freezes, his eyes widening slightly before his expression shutters closed. He's wearing a faded band t-shirt that stretches across his shoulders, jeans that hang low on his hips, and the leather jacket I've always secretly thought makes him look like a moody film student's wet dream. His hair is a mess, like he's been running his hands through it. I hate that I notice these things. I hate that I want to be the one messing up his hair.
"Sorry," he mutters, stepping back. "Didn't know you were home."
"I live here," I snap, the words sharper than I intended. "Where else would I be?"
He shrugs, not meeting my eyes. "You've been working at that coffee shop a lot."
The fact that he's noticed my absence makes something twist in my chest. I push past him, desperate to escape before I say something stupid, likeI miss youorWhy won't you look at me?
"I'm heading out," I say unnecessarily. "Don't wait up."
But as I reach the front door, I notice something in the middle of the living room floor—an expensive-looking piece of audio equipment, right in the path where I usually walk. It's so deliberately placed, so obviously meant to provoke, that something in me snaps.
I turn slowly, my hands clenching into fists. "What the fuck is that?"
Alex, who's made it to the kitchen, glances over his shoulder. "My new mixing board. Just got it today."
"And it needs to be in the middle of the living room because...?"
He shrugs, turning away to pour coffee into a mug. "I'm still setting up my workspace. It'll be gone later."
It's such a blatant lie, such an obvious power move. All the hurt and frustration from the past week suddenly boils over into pure rage. I don't think. I just storm into the kitchen, shaking with fury.
"Are we really going to do this?" I demand, my voice shaking. "Pretend that last weekend didn't happen?"
Alex turns, his face a carefully constructed mask of indifference. But I see it—the slight tightening around his eyes, the tension in his jaw. He's not as unaffected as he wants me to believe.
"It was biology, Devon," he says flatly. "An emergency. It's over."
His dismissal guts me like a knife. "Then why can't you look at me?" I press, my voice getting louder. "Why does this apartment feel like a tomb?"
