Filed to story: The Alpha’s Pen Pal Book
Our eyes meet, and I’m once again pinned in place by his stare, by those magnetic hazel eyes of his. I couldn’t move even if I wanted to. His gaze is heavy, his expression unreadable, and I hate that I can’t figure him out, that I can’t discern what his motives are or what he’s feeling when he looks at me that way.
So I do what I always do. I smile at him and give him a small wave, then return to my snack, swinging my legs as I do.
“Hey, Nolie!” Fiona says, folding up the fabric bags. “I wasn’t sure if you’d be back before I left.”
The weighted heat of his eyes leaves me, and I’m both relieved and disappointed. I feel their absence acutely, and I’m not sure what to make of that. Even though his intentions are indiscernible, and it’s clear he finds my presence irksome, that pinning, assessing stare of his is almost comforting.
Nolan saunters through the room to his mom, giving her a hug and a kiss on the cheek. His gaze returns to me immediately, boring into and through me with the same intensity as before. It’s a searing brand on my skin, but somehow it’s also a reassuring caress, a protective, familiar gesture that settles both my lycan and me.
“You didn’t tell me you had a guest,” Fiona continues, squeezing him and then grabbing her grocery bags.
“Sorry,” Nolan says, his eyes still locked on me. “I’ve been a little… off-kilter lately.”
“Oh, you know I’m not upset,” she says, shrugging off his apology. “I’ll get out of your hair. I need to get home. Your dad and I have a date night tonight.” She wiggles her eyebrows and winks at me, a girlish giggle falling from her lips as I smile at her, and Nolan sighs in exasperation.
“I did not need that information, Mom.”
“If you think of anything you need, anything at all, you just let me know. Or write it down on the list so I see it next week,” Fiona says to me, ignoring Nolan. “Bye!”
With that, she exits the kitchen and the house with a bounce in her step, leaving Nolan and me in our usual state of impassive silence.
A silence I am coming to despise. We can’t continue like this. I will wither away into dust. And even though he’ll likely rebuke my attempt at friendliness, I make an effort anyway.
“So.
Nolie. Your mom buys you your groceries.”
He crosses his arms, and I tense under his stare, waiting. Will he pounce? Will he snap? Or will he bury it all, turn around and leave?
He does none of those. Instead, he stalks closer. Slow and steady, he moves across the floor, my lycan tracking each sure step he takes until he’s right in front of me, a whisper away from my knees. His torso shimmers in the soft, late afternoon sunlight, his muscles glistening with a hint of dewy sweat from his run, and I once again have the inappropriate urge to run my tongue over the ridges of his abdomen and the V that disappears down beneath the waistband of his gym shorts.
I swallow and clench my thighs tighter, praying to Selene that it will hide the hint of my arousal threatening to leak from me. He reaches out and plucks the bag of chips out of my hand, peering inside it.
“These are mine,” he says, taking one out and popping it into his mouth.
“Funny.” I cock my head to the side and lean forward, examining the bag in his hand. “I don’t see your name on it.”
He pauses his chewing and blinks, and I snatch the bag back and continue my munching, a triumphant smile on my lips. But he smirks as he finishes his chip, then moves closer to me, forcing my knees apart. His hips line up with mine, resting against the counter and the cabinets, and I inhale through my nose. The tips of his fingers press into the granite countertop, and he leans forward, his chest almost bumping against mine and his nose brushing my ear. Infinite goose bumps ripple outward along my skin from that microscopic point of contact, and I’m frozen in place, neck arched subtly and body practically trembling from the unexpected nearness of him, and his warm, spicy scent of cardamom wafting into my nose.
But he’s gone again before I can react further, before I can form thoughts or frame a sentence. In his hands are the second bag of chips and the permanent marker he used on my book the other night, and he’s scribbling across the front of the bag in long, hurried strokes.
I catch my breath while his focus isn’t on me, resisting the urge to fan myself or release the frustrated growl pent up in my chest. I’m not sure if he’s realized I’m attracted to him and was using it against me or if it was just a coincidence, just in my head. But either way, I will not reveal to him how flustered he’s made me. I won’t let him have that win to hold over me. Not when we have to live together for Goddess only knows how long.
“There.” He shoves the cap back on the marker and turns the bag so I can see the front. “Now my name is on it.”
It takes me far longer than I should admit to process his words and understand what he means and what I’m looking at. But then my eyes and brain register that he’s written “NOLAN” across the front in all caps, staking a claim on the extra bag of chips his mom bought during her grocery run.
His smile matches my triumphant one from moments before, and he turns around, prancing into the pantry to shelve the now labeled bag.
And I can’t help but smile bigger. He wants to label things? Fine. Two can play that game. Whatever it takes to get him to acknowledge me, to give me that brief glimpse of the real Nolan I caught when he leaned in close to me and when he thought he gained the upper hand.
He may have won this round, but the war has only just begun.
NOLAN
Some may argue that going on a run twice in a day is excessive. That I will burn myself out or give myself an injury. That this level of extreme avoidance is unhealthy for my mental state.
And they’re probably right, in all honesty. But they’re not the ones who have to live with Daisy.
I mean Cassandra.
They’re not the ones who have to see her smiles, hear her laugh, or smell the daisies she places all over the house.
When we’re in the car or at rehearsal with Haven, it’s manageable. There are others around creating a buffer, and my work requires enough focus to keep me distracted from it all.
Mostly.
But when we’re alone in my house? Just the two of us? That’s when I can’t trust myself. That’s when I know if I’m stuck with her for too long, I’ll end up doing something drastic. Something I’ll regret later.
Like grabbing her face and kissing her into oblivion.
Or lifting her up, throwing her over my shoulder, and carrying her up the stairs to my bedroom, my hand massaging and squeezing her ass every step of the way.
I’m not sure if I have the urges to do these things because I actually want to do them or if it’s because I want to see how she’ll react. Will she remain chipper and enthusiastic? Or will she snap at me? Will she finally show me her teeth?
Either way, it’s a bad idea. She’s too good for me. Too sweet, too pure, too optimistic. I’m a broken, jaded realist, and I’d only end up ruining her.
If I act on these urges, it will end in disaster. Like all my relationships. They all have a common denominator, and that common denominator is me.
So, I’m avoiding Cassandra. Her and her smiles and her laugh and her daisies.
I’m not sure I can pinpoint the exact moment my annoyance switched from being directed at those things to being directed at myself for starting to like those things.
New Book: Veiled Desires of the Alpha King Novel
Dayson was the alpha of the largest pack in North America. Powerful figures from other packs sought to offer gorgeous girls as potential mates for Dayson. He steadfastly rejected these advances, he was not a pawn to be manipulated. But eventually there came a mysterious girl he could hardly say No. Who was she?