Page 6 of His Problem Alpha
“Different how?” There’s a wariness in his tone, an uncertainty I’ve never heard from him before. He looks almost scared.
I shrug, aiming for casual and missing by a fucking mile. “I don’t know. Just different.”Like something I want to devour. Like something I need to claim and protect and ruin all at once.My jaw aches, a phantom pressure against my teeth.
He frowns, bringing his own wrist to his nose and inhaling. “I don’t smell anything.”
Of course he doesn’t. He’s not an alpha. He can’t detect the subtle chemical shift in his own body, the way his scent is sweetening, ripening into something that makes every predatory instinct I have roar to life.
“Whatever,” I say, grabbing a bottle of water and slamming the fridge door. “It’s probably just your fancy shampoo or something.”
Devon narrows his eyes, studying me with that too-perceptive gaze that always makes me feel like he’s peeling back my skin layer by layer. “Are you… okay? You look weird. Weirder than usual, I mean.”
“I’m fine.” I’m the opposite of fine. It’s 2 AM and I’m in my kitchen fighting the urge to bury my face in my roommate’s neck and just breathe him in until I can’t anymore. I want to press my nose right into the soft skin behind his ear, lick the sweat from his throat, find out if he tastes as good as he smells.
“Just tired,” I lie, forcing the words out. “Working on the mix I have to completely redo, thanks to you.”
I expect a sharp comeback. Instead, he looks away, and something that looks dangerously like guilt flickers across his face. “Yeah, well. Maybe don’t blast death metal during client calls next time.”
“Maybe take your calls in your room next time.”
“Maybe I would if you hadn’t stolen my desk lamp for your ‘mood lighting’ or whatever the hell you use it for.”
There it is. Back to normal. Back to hating each other. This I can handle. It grounds me, helps me push back against the unfamiliar, terrifying pull of his scent.
“I didn’t steal it. I borrowed it.” I take another deliberate step away, putting more distance between us. “I’ll give it back.”
Devon blinks, clearly surprised by the concession. “You will?”
“Yeah. Tomorrow.” I need to get out of this kitchen, away from him, away from this scent that’s making it hard to think. “I’m going back to work.”
“At 2 AM? Don’t you ever sleep?”
“Sleep is for people who don’t have deadlines.”Sleep is for people who don’t have nightmares.
I turn to leave, desperate for the safety of my room, but his voice stops me.
“Alex?”
I pause, my hand on the doorframe, not looking back. “What?”
“I’m sorry about your mix. And the drive. I shouldn’t have unplugged your stuff.”
His apology hits like a sucker punch I never saw coming. It knocks the air from my lungs, disarms me completely. It would be so much easier if he stayed angry, if he kept being the asshole I need him to be. I need him to be an asshole so I can keep hating him from a safe distance.
“It’s fine,” I say, the words sticking in my throat. “I have a backup of most of it.”
It’s a lie. A necessary one. Accepting his apology, meeting his vulnerability with my own, feels like stepping off a cliff.
“Oh. Good.” He sounds relieved, and the sound twists something uncomfortably in my chest. “Well… goodnight, I guess.”
“Night,” I mutter, and escape back to my room before I do something stupid. Like apologize back. Or worse, tell him he looks beautiful standing there, all flushed and soft with his guard down.
Back in my studio, I lock the door and press my forehead against the cool wood, trying to get my breathing under control. I’m shaken after seeing him like that, and I don’t want to think about why. His scent clings to me, a phantom presence I can’t shake off, sweet and promising and dangerous.
I need to focus. Rebuild the mix. Think about anything other than the way Devon’s skin looked damp and warm, or how his voice had softened into something that made me want to hear him say my name again.
I put my headphones on and open a new project file. But instead of recreating Professor Harrington’s score, my fingers move of their own accord, selecting samples, layering beats that have nothing to do with the assignment.
The melody that emerges is sharp and percussive, full of complex, underlying rhythms. But there’s an unexpected sweetness to it, a harmony that catches you off guard. It’s bright and challenging, with edges that could cut if you’re not careful.
