Bruce
"Fuck..." I grit, trying not to be mesmerized by that cutesy little Omega.
I had one wish—not to be mated.But Diego... he's here, going against my wish.
I watched my mother fall apart after the accident that took my father—her mate. She was breaking, piece by piece, losing herself completely.But I was there.I collected those pieces and held them together for her, because I still needed her. I couldn't let her disappear.
It took years for her to recover—slowly, painfully—but even now, I know that special piece she shared with my father never healed. His absence still haunts her.
"Bruce, you've been spacing out for minutes now," Mr. Sawyer snaps me back with his rough, baritone voice.
Coach Sawyer's skin tone matches mine, maybe just a shade darker. He's strict, but I'm his favorite—not that he ever lets that soften his discipline.When it comes to basketball, he doesn't tolerate bullshit.And I'm good. Damn good. But I'm not captain.Lian, my best friend, is. He's better than me. I can admit that.
Coach Sawyer walks over, tall and broad-shouldered, his muscled frame commanding.Meanwhile, I'm just standing there in the middle of the court, clutching the ball like an idiot, body weak and mind gone somewhere else entirely.
Fighting Diego's presence in my head is exhausting.His feistiness, the way he defends himself, his fucking scent—God, I hate how endearing he is.I don't want a mate.But fuck, that bond scent...
Every time I'm near him, I fight not to flare my nostrils like a feral beast. But it's impossible not to breathe him in.He smells like mesquite and sage—soothing, calming, and utterly irresistible.Sometimes, I crave pulling that medium-athletic body of his into mine, just to inhale him deeper.
He's fit. Broad shoulders. Agile. A bit shorter than me—6'1" to my 6'4"—and I love looking down at him.Admiring his symmetrical face, that perfect taper-fade haircut, those curly bangs...
"What's wrong?" Mr. Sawyer asks, concern in his voice now.He snatches the ball from my hands and throws it across the court before steering me toward the bench.
No words come.My tongue won't even roll.
"I'm fine," I finally mutter, flat and unconvincing, as he sits me down.
He hisses. "You're far from fine. Go to your locker. Hell, go to your room. Just make sure you're good by tomorrow—we've got a match coming up."He taps my shoulder and walks off.
I bury my face in my palms, and as soon as I close my eyes, Diego's face is there.That damn face.
I know he's my mate.But it's worse than that.He feels like... more.
And now, I'm breaking my vow.I said I didn't want a mate, but here I am.
With one last glance at the court—Lian barking orders like the natural leader he is—I head for the locker room.
As soon as I'm inside, I strip off my gear, heading for the showers.I need to wake this dull, aching body.But something inside me urges to go see Diego.
I remember the first day I saw him on campus.The moment he stepped foot on school grounds, my senses locked onto him.I made sure to avoid him, kept to the shadows like a coward.
I ran.I fled to my dorm.
His scent hit me like a truck.It made me question everything I thought I believed in.And then he spoke—annoyed, fearless, that name rolling off his lips: "Diego Armando."It's been echoing in my head ever since.
He's fierce.Handsome.Perfect in so many frustrating ways.And I'm falling for him—naturally, painfully, completely.
"Fuck..." I mutter under the pounding heat of the water.
I can't stop thinking about him.
Maybe seeing him—just once, just a minute—won't hurt.
I finish showering, dry off, and head to my locker, still naked since no one else is around. I punch in the code, grab my duffel bag, unzip it, and start rushing through everything like I'm late for something... like I'm chasing someone.
I force myself to slow down.Breathe.Dress.
Once I've cleaned up and I'm fresh, I head out, calm on the surface.But inside, I'm anything but calm.
Diego should be at the range, practicing archery.I heard he struggled at first, but now he's improving fast.
I've never seen him shoot.Not that I didn't want to—I always wanted to.But I've fought that urge too many times.
Now, my legs carry me on their own, long strides, heart hammering in my chest.
It feels like I'm going to meet royalty.Fuck. I even called him Princess in my head.
His boldness toward me pisses me off, because I can't get him to hate me.When he turns 18 and realizes I'm his mate, I need him to reject me.
And now... I'm going to see him.
Jaw clenched, I walk faster.
I reach the range. The door is wide open. I stroll in with both hands buried in the pockets of my black sweatpants, chin up, playing the cool card—but my eyes are scanning, searching for him.
An anxious wave ripples through me when I don't see him.
He should be here.
Everyone else is focused, bows in hand, arrows flying. But no Diego.
I flare my nostrils and inhale.
"Ahhh..." There it is. His scent. Faint.
I scan again. And then—I groan under my breath when I spot him entering through a side door.
He's smiling.Walking next to another guy.An Alpha.
Jealousy spikes like a dagger through my chest.
I start marching toward him.
Diego doesn't even notice me—too busy talking and laughing with that Alpha.
And then—bam—he walks right into me.
"Ah!" he grunts, stumbling slightly as our bodies collide.
"Where were you?" I snap.
What the fuck was he doing back there? Sure, it's a restroom—but with an Alpha?
"Again, who are you?" he retorts, that familiar sass dripping from his words.
He crinkles his nose in that ridiculously cute way and pouts—his lips, full and rosy, forming that perfect cupid's bow.I don't know whether to stare at them or get lost in his big, dark brown almond-shaped eyes.
His tan skin is glowing under the lights.I'm scanning his face shamelessly now, and I know I probably look like an idiot.But I can't stop.There's even a cute little line under his lower lip that drives me crazy.
"I was looking for you," I say, trying to calm my erratic breathing.
He drops his gaze to my feet, then slowly drags it back up to my face. He looks confused."Well... I'm here," he says, lifting his shoulders before letting them fall again.
The attitude.God, it's infuriating.But it does something to me.And I can't show it.
I'm scared.Scared of getting attached.Scared of getting hurt.
And Diego... he's dangerous in that way.I know I'll obsess over him if I let myself.
I clench my neck muscles, holding back the instinct to breathe in his scent.
His eyes lock with mine, unwavering, and he doesn't know what that stare does to me.
I want to tell him I was joking yesterday.I want to tell him he's cute.That he looks insanely sexy in that archery uniform—tight in all the right places.
He huffs and asks, "What do you want? I need to practice."
Then he gives me those puppy eyes.He doesn't even realize he's doing it.
I don't want him to leave.I want him right here, in front of me.I want to look at him. Smell him. Feel him close.
I wish he'd smile at me—really smile.But I also don't, because I know if he does, I'll fall even harder.
"Brute…" he calls, snapping me out of my thoughts with that teasing tenor voice.
I frown at him.
"Fine... Bruce. What do you need?"
"I need you in my dorm room tonight."
FuckI'm breaking my rule.I'm so fucking weak.Shit—I'm weak.