Chapter 4 Lottie
My head throbbed. My pulse felt slightly out of sync. I blinked hard, trying to clear the haze.
Finally, I spotted Sandy in a corner, talking to a different girl now. She looked comfortable. Happy.
I made my way over and touched her arm again.
“I’m leaving,” I said, raising my voice just enough. “Just wanted to let you know so you don’t worry.”
She turned to me, brows lifting slightly. “Everything alright?”
I nodded. “Yeah. This just isn’t really my scene. And I think I’ve had enough.”
She shrugged, easygoing as ever. “Okay. See you in class?”
I managed a small smile. “Yeah. See you tomorrow.”
Then I turned and pushed my way back through the crowd, out the front door this time.
The moment I stepped outside, I inhaled deeply.
Clean, cold air filled my lungs — sharp, refreshing, mercifully empty. No pheromones. No heat. No noise. Just the quiet night and the steady sound of my own breathing.
For the first time all evening, I feel like myself again.
I really don’t know how I let Sandy talk me into that party.
Then again, she’s convincing — in this earnest, adorable way that makes it hard to say no. She doesn’t push. She just looks at you like the experience might be fun, and somehow you want to believe her.
I shake the thought from my head as I walk away from the frat house, gravel crunching under my boots. My breath fogs in front of me, and with every step I feel the noise and pheromone-thick atmosphere peeling off my skin.
Sandy has been… distracting.
But in a good, surprising way.
Before I met her, I felt like I was drifting through life like a piece of wood lost at sea — directionless, numb, just floating wherever the current decided to take me. Now it’s like I’ve washed up somewhere warmer. Brighter. I can feel the sun again. The breeze.
Even if tonight that breeze is freezing and cutting straight through my jacket.
Still — she’s opening my eyes to a whole new world.
And I think I needed that more than I realized.
By the time I reach my dorm hall, my fingers are stiff and aching from the cold. I take the stairs two at a time, craving warmth. When I unlock my door and slip inside, shutting it with a quiet click, the silence wraps around me like a blanket.
No music. No chatter. No scent but my own.
I flop onto my bed and exhale deeply, tension draining from my shoulders. Finally able to breathe without the haze of pheromones clogging my senses.
Tomorrow I meet the new professor.
And at the end of class, they’ll announce who gets the TA position.
My stomach twists just thinking about it.
I doubt I’ll get much sleep tonight.
I push myself up and strip on the way to the bathroom, turning the shower knob as hot as it’ll go. Steam fills the small space quickly, curling against the ceiling. I step under the spray and let the water pound against my shoulders, my back, the back of my neck.
The scent of the party clings to me — cheap beer, sweat, that faint chemical sweetness of pheromones.
I scrub until my skin tingles. Until I feel clean.
Until I feel like myself again.
When I’m done, I towel off and walk back into my room, warmth lingering in my muscles. I pause in front of the mirror, studying myself with detached curiosity.
Six-foot-four. Slim but strong. Strong shoulders, strong arms, strong legs that I work out to maintain. My breasts are a modest C-cup, and my hips curve just enough.
I’m just… me. An alpha in every visible way.
I hold my own gaze for a moment longer, trying to see myself the way someone else might.
Intimidating. Unapproachable. Controlled.
Then I pull on soft pajama pants and an oversized T-shirt and crawl into bed.
10:45 p.m.
Still early.
My first class tomorrow isn’t until ten. Neuroengineering — the one I’m hoping to TA for — is my third of the day. The new professor starts tomorrow, the one everyone’s been buzzing about.
A highly praised R&D engineer.
The prodigy who invented a machine capable of storing memories and replaying them in video format — all before turning thirty.
Being taught by someone like that is an honor.
Being their TA?
That would be life-changing.
I close my eyes and steady my breathing, willing my mind to quiet. I need sleep if I want to show up sharp. Composed. Worth noticing.
Eventually, sleep takes me.
Gray morning light filters through my window, soft and cold. I rub my eyes and squint at the clock.
It's 7:45 a.m. Enough time to get ready and get breakfast.
I stretch, muscles loosening, then swing my legs over the side of the bed. Time to get this show on the road.
Hopefully… TA, here I come.
I bundle myself up against the cold — scarf wrapped tight, gloves snug, the thickest coat I own zipped to my chin — and step outside. The air bites immediately, crisp and unforgiving. It shocks me fully awake.
At the cafeteria, I load up a plate with something warm and retreat to a quiet corner. Back to the wall. Eyes on the room. My comfort zone.
The first two classes pass without incident. Routine. Monotonous. Easy to slip through like background noise.
But as I walk toward the Sciences building for neuroengineering, my pulse begins to climb.
This is the one that matters.
The one that could change everything.
When I step inside, the room is already nearly full. Students cluster in groups, buzzing with anticipation. Laughter. Speculation. The electric energy of curiosity.
I slip into an empty seat in the middle row — close enough to see, far enough not to be the center of attention. I set up my laptop, fingers tapping lightly against the keys as I wait.
The room hums.
Low chatter. Shifting bodies. The rustle of notebooks.
And pheromones. Always pheromones.
My suppressants dull most of it to a manageable thrum. Usually, I can only identify the familiar ones — my mom’s warm apple-pie sweetness, my father’s grounding ocean-and-sunshine calm.
But today—something cuts through.
A scent pushes past the chemical wall of my suppressants like it has claws.
Grapefruit dipped in honey.
Bright. Tart. Sweet. Intoxicating.
It hits me so suddenly I inhale without thinking, deeper than I should — like my lungs are greedy for it. Like something inside me recognizes it before my brain does.
I want more. I want to breathe it in until it coats my tongue. I want to taste it.
My heart stutters violently against my ribs.
The scent grows stronger, threading through the air like it’s searching.
For me.
I lift my head slowly, pulse roaring in my ears, almost afraid of what I’ll see.
And then he walks in.
The most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.
Short compared to me, but composed in a way that makes height irrelevant. He’s wearing a professor’s sweater layered over a fitted button-down, dark slacks tailored to perfection. Effortless. Intentional.
His brown hair carries golden highlights that catch the light when he moves, slightly tousled as if he’d run a hand through it on the way here. His jawline is sharp enough to cut glass, but there’s softness in his cheeks that keeps him from looking severe.
His eyes sweep the room — focused. Analytical. Unreadable.
But it’s the scent.
His scent.
It wraps around me like a hand closing gently — possessively — around the back of my neck.
My breath catches.
And in that instant — before he even speaks, before I know his name, before I know anything at all — I know.
That my life is about to change.