Page 13 of My Unhinged Alphas
Not anxiety. Not exactly.
Possibility.
I have no idea that in twelve hours, that word will mean something completely different.
* * *
I almost don’t go. That should probably mean something.
But at 6:42 p.m., I’m standing outside my apartment building in dark jeans and a nice blouse, trying to convince myself that this is normal behavior for a person with a functioning social life.
Headlights sweep across the street, and a dark sedan pulls up to the curb.
Not flashy. Not obnoxious. Just quietly expensive.
The driver’s door opens.
Ethan steps out. He looks exactly like his pictures. Maybe better. Dark jacket, crisp shirt, the kind of watch that suggests he doesn’t check price tags.
He smiles when he sees me. “Lena.”
His voice is smooth. Familiar from the short voice memo he sent earlier.
“You exist,” I reply lightly. “Good start.”
He laughs, a little softer than I expect. “I promise. Very real.” He steps closer and extends his hand like we’re at some formal event. “Ethan Caldwell.”
Caldwell. Something in my brain flickers.
I swear—swear—I saw a different last name on his profile earlier. Car—something. Carter? Carmichael?
Maybe I misread it. Maybe I imagined it. It was a long shift.
“Lena Brooks,” I say, shaking his hand.
His grip is warm. Controlled.
He opens the passenger door for me.
Points for effort.
“Where are we going?” I ask as I settle into the seat. The interior smells like leather and something subtle and expensive.
“Somewhere by the harbor,” he says as he closes the door. “You’ll like it.”
By the harbor. That’s vague.
He slides into the driver’s seat and starts the car. There’s a slight tension in the way he adjusts the mirror. A stiffness in his shoulders.
“Nervous?” I ask.
He glances at me and smiles again, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes this time. “First impressions matter.”
“So you’re trying to impress me?”
“I am.”
That earns him a point.
