Page 9 of In Doubt

“No way.”

“I think it would be kind of romantic, trekking through the desert, camping under the stars.”

“For someone who’s sworn off men you are a hopeless romantic, Giorgie.”

“I haven’t sworn off men forever. Just for now. Just until I’m ready.”

“So you don’t hate men, then?”

“No,” I laugh. “Why do you say that?”

“Erm,” she lifts an eyebrow at me. “You don’t hate Jake Grantham? Because you’ve told me often enough that you do.”

“That’s one man.” I lift my phone to capture a shot of a sail boat, its sails billowing, floating out on the river. “And hate is a very strong word.” I groan. “Just because he is an alpha and I am an omega everyone seems to assume we should already be happily married or something.”

“No, everyone finds this rivalry thing you have going on a bit … weird.”

“It’s not weird. We’re competing for a place in the professor’s research team.”

“Yeah, but you’re a little obsessed with it.”

“Of course, I am. You know how much this spot means to me. It could make my name, my career in archeology. I’m not giving that up without a fight.”

“That’s exactly what I’m talking about. I get the competing thing, but the fighting …”

This isn’t the first time Sia and I have had this conversation. She thinks our rivalry is fueled by sexual tension and I should just screw the dude and get the whole thing out of my system. But I’d rather eat camel shit than sleep with Jake Grantham. I’m not being used and abused again.

Sex hasn’t always worked out well for me – Sia knows that – and I am perfectly happy as I am. With my family, with my friends, with my studies, with pursuing my dream career.

There is plenty of time for sex and finding my alpha, perhaps finding a whole pack of alphas, later. When I can give it my full attention. When I can be careful about finding a man who won’t use me.

“Oh, come on, Giorgie. The first thing you did when we boarded this coach was scour all the rows of seats looking for him and then theorised for the next ten minutes about where he could be.”

My cheeks heat a little. Maybe that is true, but it’s not because I’m interestedinthe alpha, but what he is up to. I know there’s every possibility he can win this spot away from me. And what grates me the most, is he probably doesn’t even want it. This is all sport for him. A chance to play and beat the little omega.

In fact, Carl overheard him bragging about just that, about the fact he has his trust fund and doesn’t need to do an underpaid PhD but would like the opportunity to put me in my place all the same.

I wouldn’t be surprised if he beelines straight to the dig site to start hobnobbing with all the great and good in the archeology world ahead of me. He’ll probably make several great connections before I’ve even shown my face.

It’s late afternoon by the time the coach pulls up outside our hotel, that dazzling sun, turning hazy as it sinks towards the horizon. The hotel looks basic, a square sort of building with a swept yard out front. My assumption is proved correct as we stroll inside the foyer. A fan revolves slowly on the ceiling shifting warm air and a few tired, wicker chairs stand scattered across the place. We drop our bags on the floor and accept a cold drink that tastes of bitter lemon from an elderly man as Professor Weaver checks us all in.

When she’s done, she turns to face us, peering through her tortoise-shell glasses to read a piece of typed out paper.

“Right,” she says. “We have four dormitories–”

Terse whispering breaks out among the group.

“Dormitory?” someone asks sceptically.

“Yes, dormitories. It was on your itinerary. Where did you think you’d be sleeping, Anderson? A luxury suite?”

I think of Jake, his friends and their luxury villa. I bet he’s never roughed it in his life.

“So there’s four girls’ dormitories and four boys’.” She starts to read out the names and I’m relieved to find I’m sharing with Sia and two girls I get along with.

“Go get some rest tonight,” Professor Weaver says when she’s finished with the names and has shut down any complaints. “We have an early start tomorrow. 5am down here in the foyer.” Everyone groans. “You’ll thank me tomorrow when we aren’t working through the heat of the day,” she tells us, then turns back to the man behind the desk.

The hotel doesn’t seem to own a lift so we lug our bags up the stairs and into room 15. Another fan rotates above two sets of metal bunk beds and one worn wardrobe.