Page 13 of Swipe My Alpha
"Okay."
"Stop saying okay."
"What would you like me to say?"
"I don't know. Something that makes this less weird."
He's staring at me like I'm a problem he can't solve. His jaw is tight and his eyes are red-rimmed like he actually hasn't slept. Underneath the defensiveness he looks exhausted. My alpha wants to pull him inside and feed him and wrap him in a blanket and growl at anyone who comes near this door.
"Come in," I say.
He hesitates. Just for a second. Then he walks past me into the office and I close the door behind him.
The room is small. I knew it was small. It's always been small. But with both of us in here, with his scent filling every corner in about three seconds flat, it shrinks to nothing. Honey and citrus and that sweet green undertone that made me lose my mind in the hotel. It's stronger now than it was in the classroom. Concentrated. No thirty other students to dilute it. Just him, three feet away, in a room barely bigger than a bathroom.
He looks at my desk. Looks at the papers stacked on it. Looks at the bookshelf, the window, the sad little plant my mom gave me when I started the program. He's looking at everything except me.
"So," he says. "You're Rhys Calder. My TA."
"And you're Jude Park. My student."
"Your student who you knotted in a hotel room and bit without asking."
"My student who matched with me on a hookup app and told me to, and I quote, 'show me what those hands can do.'"
His mouth twitches. Almost a smile. He kills it fast. "That was before I knew you grade my papers."
"For what it's worth, your last response paper was genuinely good."
"Oh my god, don't grade-flirt with me."
"I'm not grade-flirting. It was good. Your argument about carbon pricing was—"
"Rhys." He says my name for the first time and my whole body lights up. "If you start talking about my thesis statement I'm leaving again."
"Please don't leave again."
It comes out quieter than I meant it to. Too honest. Too much. His expression shifts, the sarcasm cracking just enough to show something raw underneath. He looks at me and I look at him. The room is so small and he smells so good. I can see the bite on his neck pulsing with his heartbeat.
"I didn't plan this," I say. "I didn't know you were in my section. I didn't know you were— I just matched with someone on a stupid app and then you were there and you smelled like—"
"Like what?"
"Like everything."
He swallows hard. His pupils are blown wide, the brown nearly gone. He's gripping the strap of his backpack with white knuckles.
"This is such a bad idea," he says.
"I know."
"You're my TA."
"I know."
"There are rules."
"I know."
