Page 19 of Forbidden Devotion
“It is.” Sinclair had never cared about his family’s wealth, though he knew well enough not caring about money was easier when you had plenty of it.
Mitchel opened the passenger door of an old, beat-up, green SUV and motioned for Sinclair to take a seat.
He climbed into the car, Mitchel’s scent hitting him. A wave of thirst parched his throat. He ignored it.
The engine rumbled to life, and Aerosmith blared from the speakers.
Mitchel turned the volume down. “Sorry. Was driving with the windows down earlier.”
“No problem.”
Silence descended. Sinclair could’ve lived with it, but apparently, Mitchel couldn’t.
“How do you like campus?”
Oh good. Small talk. At least it was an easy question. They could probably manage to talk about Borson without arguing. “It’s beautiful.”
“It is.” Affection bloomed warm in his voice. “Just wait until winter. The snow makes it even more magical.”
What a lovely thought. And something to look forward to. “How long have you lived here?”
“Well, there were the four years I attended as a student. Then I moved back home for a couple of years. I thought I’d stay there, but when the student pack suddenly needed a new alpha, I was offered the duty. Been here ever since. Nearly ten years now. Fell in love with the grounds, didn’t want to leave.”
Sinclair did some math in his head. That would make Mitchel what? Midthirties. Not much older than himself.
He could see why Mitchel would want to stay here. The cozy cabin in the forest by the stream sprang to mind. A lovely place to live. Peaceful.
They pulled behind the enormous administration building to a smaller structure with “Borson University Post Office” carved into the stone above the doors. Mitchel parked in a side lot, hidden from view by the larger building. No wonder Sinclair hadn’t seen it.
“I didn’t know this was here.”
“Sometimes, neither does UPS.”
They exited the car, and Mitchel held one of the double doors open for him. Chivalry. He must be in the habit.
“We’ll borrow a cart to load out the packages. I’m expecting a heavy crate.”
That sparked Sinclair’s curiosity, but seeing as he’d snarked at Mitchel for asking, he stayed silent.
The clerk greeted Mitchel warmly. Mitchel asked after the man’s kids. They discussed the forecast in some detail. Sinclair rocked on his feet until they got to the point.
Sure enough, the textbooks were waiting for him, and as expected, there was no way he’d have been able to carry them across campus. Each box had to weigh fifty pounds, and there were four boxes.
Mitchel located his own shipment, and together they loaded everything onto a crate. Hazmat symbols were stamped on the sides of the mysterious box, piquing Sinclair’s interest further. He squinted to read the label, but it said nothing more than Mitchel Edgehill, c/o the university’s address. He frowned.
“Curious?” asked Mitchel, an amused expression on his face.
“No. Maybe.” He groaned. “Yes.”
Mitchel chuckled and opened the rear door.
“Six months’ supply of fertilizer for my garden and greenhouse.” Mitchel loaded Sinclair’s boxes first, then his own while Sinclair watched. “Soil needs amending. Going to plant some ground cover for over winter, so next year’s crop stands a better chance. Don’t bother to help. I got it.” He slapped the last box in and shut the door.
“Oh shit, sorry.” Sinclair shuffled to grab the cart. “I’ll take this back.” He’d been staring. Watching the play of Mitchel’s muscles under his clothes and thinking of him bent over tilling soil. Fuck.
This weird little crush needed to go away yesterday.
The clerk waved him in, took the cart, and wished him a good day. Sinclair returned the sentiment and used the moment to calm the fuck down.
