Page 13 of My Freshman Mate
I stare at him for a beat, my expression hard, my jaw tight. The contrast between his happy, domestic mood and the cold fury churning in my gut is a physical ache. He sees the change in me instantly. His smile falters, his eyes clouding with confusion and a flicker of fear.
"Wes? What is it? What's wrong?"
I walk toward him, my movements deliberate, and stop right in front of him. I reach out and cup his jaw, my thumb stroking his cheek. He's so fucking precious.
My voice is low and flat. "Nothing's wrong. But things are going to change, starting right now."
I drop my hand and turn away, my mind already on the next move.
"You're not staying in those fucking fishbowl dorms," I say, not looking at him. "We're getting your things now. You live here."
It's not a question. It's not a suggestion. It's a command. The first of many I'll give to keep him safe.
Braiden
The wordsYou live hereecho in the sudden silence, and my mind goes blank.
I stand frozen in the middle of the living room, water dripping from my hair onto my shoulders. I clutch the towel around my waist like it's the only familiar thing I have left in the world. Wes's face is hard, his jaw set in a way that makes my stomach clench. This isn't a request. It isn't even a discussion. It's a fact he's decided.
"I—what?" My voice comes out as a pathetic squeak. "But I just got my dorm assignment yesterday. My RA is probably wondering where I am. I have all my things there, my books, my—"
"We're getting your things now," Wes cuts me off, his tone leaving zero room for argument. "All of it. Today."
I blink, trying to process his words. Five minutes ago, he was promising me breakfast, his eyes warm and satisfied after what we'd just done in bed. Now he looks like he's preparing for battle.
My stomach sinks. I take a hesitant step toward him. "Did something happen? While I was in the shower?"
Something flickers across his face—a shadow, a hint of something dangerous—before his expression smooths over into a mask of pure alpha control. "Nothing for you to worry about." Which is no answer at all. He turns and heads for the kitchen, his back rigid. "Get dressed. We're leaving in ten."
I stand there, dripping and confused, a sick anxiety churning in my gut. This isn't how it's supposed to go. I had aplan. Orientation. Dorm life. Study groups. A carefully plotted path to medical school that definitely did not include moving in with an alpha I literally just met.
But my stupid omega body is already on board with the whole thing. My skin tingles at the thought of sleeping in his bed every night, waking up surrounded by his scent on the pillows, on me. The mark on my neck throbs, a constant, possessive reminder of what happened between us. What's still happening.
With a shaky sigh, I retreat to the bathroom to get dressed. My clothes from yesterday are wrinkled and smell like campus dust and nervous sweat. I pull them on anyway, wincing as the fabric brushes against tender spots on my body. Reminders of what we did last night. And this morning.
When I emerge, Wes is waiting by the door, keys in hand, expression impatient. He's changed into fresh clothes—dark jeans and a gray henley that stretches across his broad chest in a way that makes my mouth go dry. His hair is still mussed from sleep and sex. He looks devastating.
His eyes scan over me, impatient. "Ready?"
I nod anyway, clutching my empty satchel. "Don't I at least get those eggs you promised first?"
The corner of his mouth twitches, almost a smile. He opens the door, gesturing for me to go ahead of him. "After. I want to get your things before the dorms get busy."
As soon as we step outside, his hand finds the small of my back, a warm, heavy weight that guides me forward. It's sopossessive I should be annoyed, offended even. Instead, a shiver runs up my spine, and I lean into his touch without meaning to.
The walk across campus is excruciating. Every step feels like we're on display. Wes Chambers is campus royalty, the star quarterback, a golden god among mere mortals. And I'm… well, I'm the nobody freshman who somehow ended up with his claiming mark on my neck.
People stare. Of course they do.
Two girls sitting on a bench outside the library actually stop mid-conversation, their mouths hanging open as we pass. A group of guys in Westbridge hoodies nudge each other, eyebrows raised, whispers following in our wake. I catch fragments of their conversation:
"Is that Chambers?"
"Who's the omega?"
"Didn't know he was looking to settle down…"
"Lucky little bastard."
