Page 51 of Altius (The Scent of Victory #2)

My best friend was right. Things were changing. Quicker than I was comfortable with. Disrupting my long-standing routines and shaking the foundations of my emotional fortifications.

I just had to focus on what was in front of me—and stop Wyatt from tucking a box of raisins into my extra pair of tennis shoes.

***

Alijah slipped past the flight attendant, heading for the back of the football team’s chartered plane.

I had the last row to myself and decided to take advantage of the space during our seven-hour flight to San Diego, surrounding myself with pheromone emission printouts and other interesting pieces of data.

“Save me,” he said, draping himself across the seatback with a weary pout. “My head’s about to explode.”

Football administration assigned our seats by designation: alphas up front, betas in the middle, and omegas in the back. A perfect microcosm of our respective societal treatment.

We don’t want our darling alpha athletes to get a muscle spasm after cramming into coach, now do we?

And us omegas, we take up so much less space with our smaller bodies and dainty presences. Right?

Assholes.

But I didn’t mind. Being with the other omegas meant I was surrounded by quiet types.

On the other side of the aisle, Landon was conked out while Amir was reading what must be his third volume of manga, bopping his head to the music playing through his earbuds.

Meanwhile, betas, like poor Alijah, had been forced to act as human sound dampeners.

“Is Tyler still wound up?” I asked, clearing the seat beside me.

“Yes,” he grumbled. “And Garvey’s only making it worse.”

Checking the time on my phone, I said, “They should be serving dinner soon. Stay here until then.”

“You’re right,” Alijah nodded, moving into my row. “A full alpha is a happy alpha.”

His longer legs erased any sense of extra space. But I didn’t mind. Alijah wasn’t intruding. His warm presence was more than welcome.

“And happy alphas should conk right out.” I closed my laptop and lifted the table tray to slip it into the seatback. The new travel-sized weighted blanket from Cal was draped over my legs.

Alijah let out a breathy laugh, shoulders crowding his ears, eyes sparkling. Joaquin must be messing with their bond.

“Someone missing you?” I teased.

“Y-yeah.” Placing his elbow on the armrest between us, Alijah leaned closer. “It’s the first time we’ve spent the night apart since we got mated. He keeps…”

After a few nonsensical twists and spirals of his hands, which left me baffled, Alijah had no choice but to spit out the words, “Thinking. About— things .”

“Things you should probably keep to yourself.”

Digging his teeth into his bottom lip, Alijah glanced around, confirming no one was paying attention to us. Then he shifted even closer, melding our upper arms together, his thigh pressed against mine.

“Last night, he filled my head full of… ideas ,” Alijah whispered. “About how we could kill time. You and me, I mean.”

Without turning my head, I studied his expression from the corner of my eye. A flustered beauty is so easy to let your guard down around. But I knew better. There was a seductive devil pulling strings from the shadows.

The current situation bore all the hallmarks of a Joaquin set-up.

A casual, unassuming encounter, almost mundane in its appearance—going to lunch, opening the bathroom door, watching your sister dance—allowing him to snare you without realizing it.

Until it was too late, helplessly trapped while Joaquin spun fantasies before your eyes, intoxicating you with his rakish laugh, slipping praise down your throat along with his tongue.

How his dark eyes shone, watching as you inadvertently discovered new facets of your sexual identity.

Promising to make you feel just as good, if not better—together. Over and over.

I’d temporarily fallen into Joaquin’s clutches one too many times. My luck had held out this far. But it was only a matter of time before he got me for real.

And Alijah was the sweetest, most honey-laden trap imaginable, with a smile made of pure joy and smooth brown skin that tasted like orange marmalade.

“Do you want to know?” Alijah asked, nose just brushing my hair.

It would be foolish to indulge him. So very foolish. There was no need to listen to another word that left his kissable lips. I should force him to go back to his seat and then hide under my blanket until we reached California.

That’s what I should have done. But I didn’t.

Instead, I stupidly played along. “He wants you to touch me. Where?”

“Knee first, then—then gradually move my hand to your upper thigh.”

Alijah moved to follow through on his mate’s instructions, but I shook my head, giving a meaningful look at the approaching flight attendant.

I thought he might wince and turn away, but Alijah opted to nod in return, then sank a few inches in his seat, head drifting in my direction, eyes half-closed, as if on the verge of falling asleep, and continued.

“I’d squeeze and massage your leg. Marvel at the dense muscle. Your power. How your quads strain against the denim. Beg for you to smother me with your thighs.”

“That’s what you’re into?” I asked without turning my head, picking up the closest paper—Owen’s prototype design for a vibration therapy unit. Not exactly the dry, clinical prose I was hoping for.

Now all I could think about was how many hertz separated the hum of the plane from Cal and Wyatt’s purrs.

“But you’re not. I know.” Alijah stroked the armrest with his middle and ring fingers. “Do you remember how many times I tried to get you to sit on my face during your heat?”

“ Alijah .” My breathy hiss came out less admonishing than I intended, sounding way too sultry.

A horrific misfire.

“Shh,” he teased. “We’re in public.” His strokes morphed into tight little swirls.

Then he shivered. “Ooh, now Joaquin wants me to toy with your waistband. Just run a fingertip along the edge of the fabric, occasionally touching your stomach but never dipping inside. Until you gasp—twice—the signal for me to run my thumbnail along your zipper.”

The tip of his ring finger circled the recline button.

“You don’t wear jeans all that often, so I’d have to work for it. Scrubs only need the lightest pressure. But jeans make it so you really have to dig in.”

“Is that so?” I asked, flipping to the second page of the schematic, which outlined a customizable frequency option for up to eight partners.

“Does Joaquin ever purr for you?” The question all but slipped out.

“Sometimes. When I’m really wound up—from anxiety or…

other stuff.” Color momentarily darkened his cheeks.

“And when I’m sad. Did you know I applied for a transfer position earlier this year?

For the theatre department. I nailed all three rounds of interviews.

Thought I had it in the bag. But I didn’t.

They gave it to an alpha from outside the university system, and I cried about it every day for like two weeks.

Joaquin finally had enough. Bundled me up in a blanket and force-fed me a pint of ice cream, purring non-stop until I’d gotten it all out of my system.

” The tip of Alijah’s pinky curled around the edge of my weighted blanket.

“And on Monday morning, just as I was determined to make them regret their choice, by being fucking amazing—”

“Which you are.”

“You say that now.” Alijah’s gaze—that soft, starlit night sky—caressed my features.

“But not that Monday. You walked right past me in the lobby. Didn’t give me so much as a second glance.

I know why. You had things to do. A fellowship orientation to complete.

But rationalizing my disappointment never made me want you any less. ”

“Look,” I said, reaching over, intending to touch his arm. “That—”

Alijah grabbed my fingers, forcing a stalemate in midair.

“I want to slip my hand beneath that blanket—down, down between your legs—and make you writhe. Watch your face as you try not to care. Not to enjoy it. Being stroked. Teased. Desired.” His mouth brushed the hinge of my jaw.

“Until you get so wet it ruins the seat. And don’t say you can’t.

I know you can. I’ve made you soak your bed before, haven’t I? ”

My breath came in slow, shallow sips. I wanted to rebut, but the flight attendant was two rows ahead, handing out drinks.

Frozen, arrested by the gentle pressure of Alijah’s touch scorching my skin, all I could do was bargain. “What do you want— right now —to let me off this ride?”

“Choose.” His voice was firm. “We have a conversation to finish.”

The words were pointed and intentional. Almost rehearsed.

“Thursday or Friday?” he asked.

“Friday.”

“Lunch or dinner.”

“Dinner. After practice.”

I refused to engage in personal business until the team finished preparing for their semi-final game on Saturday.

“I’ll pick the spot,” he said. “And don’t worry, I won’t approach you at the hotel. We can meet up at the restaurant.”

Alijah placed my hand on my lap with near reverence, at complete odds with his suggestive smile.

“Pleasure doing business with you, doc .”

The traitorous little shit dared to wink at me as he stood up, apologizing to the flight attendant as he sidestepped the beverage cart, heading back to his seat with a skip in his step.

I knew it. I knew this was a set-up.

No one with a weakness for polo shirts should have that much game.