10. Sawyer

10

My phone starts ringing as I watch Brinlee exit the library with no promises to meet with me again. And every time, I get so tongue-tied around her, my brain twisting in a knot, and I can't think what to say. How to give her my number without being pushy. How to interpret her words and expressions.

I glance down at my insistently ringing phone. It's my parents, and I have three more missed calls from them, as well as two messages.

I debate answering. It's probably about this pack they've been pushing me to meet. A quick look at the messages confirms it.

Christ, they have even set a date and time for me to meet with the pack. Next week. It's as if all my arguments against this meeting meant nothing to them.

They probably didn't. I feel so… invisible when it comes to my parents. At least Eric seems to see me, even if he's trying to micromanage my life. Or manage it, in general.

If they demand I pay them back… if they shut down my café… I don't know what I'll do with myself. My hands are shaking. Cold sweat is running down my back.

If I go back home, I may never leave. And staying home with my parents isn't something I want to experience ever again. Not because they are violent or horrible, no. They choke me with concern and strip away all control while acting kind. I can't do it again. Madness threatens.

I lick my dry lips, considering the new phone call coming through, and my finger is already hovering over the screen, ready to swipe right and reply. Sooner or later, I will have to do it, and putting it off will only make my parents angrier.

Movement to my left catches my eye.

And then I forget all about my phone when I focus on the handsome guy standing across from me, fiddling with his wallet.

I know him from somewhere.

He's vaguely familiar and plenty handsome with his dark hair cut short to accentuate an angular face and bright brown eyes, his body elegant even while standing still in his dark T-shirt and ripped jeans, tall and slender like a dancer.

Just then, he looks up, snapping his wallet shut and shoving it into his back pocket. His gaze passes over me, moving to the information desk. He hasn't recognized me.

Of course he hasn't. He never noticed me in the first place. Just because I was engaging in stalkerish behavior, staring at Kyrian and his pack kissing at the bar…

Because now I remember where I know him from. He was with Kyrian and Archer, his pack. He's one of the bartenders at the Alpha Bet.

And I'm still staring at him and… now he's staring back at me, too, a crease between his brows.

Great job, Sawyer. He'll probably sue you for… I don't know. Harassment? Can you sue someone staring at you for harassment?

Shit… The stress of my parents calling and the thought of meeting that pack is constantly at the background of my mind, and now a new layer of stress spills over that, making my lungs labor and my breath stutter.

Fuck… I need to… sit down. Clutching my bag, I turn blindly to look for a bench, a chair, anything, before my knees give out. Now that would be fun. Faceplanting in front of a handsome stranger just because my brain is a mess.

What I don't expect is for him to follow me. "Hey. Are you all right?"

"I'm…" I wave a hand, frustrated at the lack of seats around me. "Not so… bad, I just…"

"Hey." His arm is around me a second before I realize that my legs are going from under me. "Careful."

He shuffles me sideways, and I have no clue what's going on, until he drags me onto a bench.

Ah, there was the bench. How did I miss it? I sink down on it gratefully. "Thanks."

"What's wrong? Are you going to pass out?"

"I don't think so," I whisper.

"You look like you're about to pass out." He pushes my head down between my legs. "Take deep breaths," he instructs. "Slow and deep, okay?"

"Okay." Sure. Why not? Despite my confident answer, the truth is I feel light-headed, and although my anxiety attacks haven't caused me much grief lately, I know one when it hits me.

It sucks balls.

"Sit like that for a bit," he says. "Shall I call someone for you? Your pack?"

"I don't have a pack."

A pause. "Oh, at the bar, I thought… Never mind."

"And I'm fine," I tell him, muffled as my head is somewhere between my knees even as I realize he did notice me at the bar, after all. "I promise. Sorry for the bother."

"No bother," he says. "Did you miss lunch?"

"No, and it's nothing. Just… stress."

Not a lie. Just a half-truth.

"It looked like a panic attack."

I lift my head, surprised. That's pretty close to the truth, and most people have no idea what such an attack looks like. "Just an anxiety attack, I think."

"You get those a lot?"

"No, I haven't had one in a while."

"Stressful day?"

"Of sorts." Not really. Not more than usual, and yet it feels as if I'm getting slowly buried under a rockslide.

I don't say that. But he nods as if I have.

"You should take it easy," he says. "I'll go get you a glass of water."

"No need," I start but he's already striding away, leaving me in the dust to admire his pert backside and long legs as he heads to the water cooler by the information desk.

How fucking mortifying.

I'm feeling better. His presence distracted me, making me forget what I was so stressed about. Now, watching him walk back to me I still feel that strange sense of disconnect, and I don't know if it's a result of the dizziness from the anxiety, or his sex appeal.

He has a lot of that. He's just so… male, somehow. Male and sensual, the way he walks, the way his chin dips, the way his shoulders slope, the way his T-shirt clings to his muscular torso. He's the kind of man I'd like to wring sounds out of. Raw sounds. Moans and grunts. I'd like to see that elegance shattered, to see him arch, his beautiful body glinting with sweat?—

"Here you go." He offers me the paper cup and I stare at it, uncomprehending. "Water."

Head out of the gutter, Sawyer, now!

I grab the cup, water sloshing over the rim, and gulp it down. "Thanks," I mutter, clenching my hand, crushing the cup. "You didn't have to help me."

"Are you serious? If I felt unwell, I'd hope someone would come to the rescue."

I wince. Rescue. Last thing I want is to seem or let myself feel helpless. So I make myself stand up. "I'm good now. Sorry for the bother."

"That was no bother at all."

He is very well spoken for a… for a bartender. Good God, Sawyer, prejudiced much? What does his job have to do with anything?

And yet. Working in a bar has to affect you, right?

"Don't let me keep you," I mutter.

To my surprise, he starts laughing. It's a deep laugh, deeper than his voice, and it's a warm, delicious sound.

"What?" I ask testily.

"That's what people say when they want to get rid of you, but in a polite way."

My mouth twitches. Dammit. "It's not like that. You rescued me. Now I'm fine."

"And that snark." He's still chuckling.

"You don't like omegas being snarky?" I snark some more. "Huh?"

He lifts his hands. "I love it, actually."

Well, that's… disarming. My mouth is open and I don't know what to say. I must present quite the picture, because he laughs again, and I end up grinning at him.

"Well, I have to go," he says eventually. "My study group is somewhere in here and we have a test coming up."

"Study group?"

"I'm taking a course in anthropology," he says as if that's perfectly normal. "Unless you need anything else…?"

The image of him lying on a bed, arching up, rises again unbidden to my mind, and I feel my face heat. "No, I'm really good."

"Not thinking of passing out again?"

"Nope. That was enough passing out for the day. I can now check it off my to do list. Thanks again for the help."

"No problem." But instead of turning around and leaving, he thrusts his hand out to me. "Roman. A pleasure."

"Sawyer." I shake his hand. His grip is strong and firm. "A disaster."

"What?"

"You're a pleasure, I'm a disaster," I clarify, then I hear myself and get dizzy again at my stupidity. "I mean… I was just trying to be funny. Forget it."

I told him he's a pleasure—for me? For the world? For all of us? I'm so fucked. I mean, I fucked this up. Whatever this is.

Now he's chuckling again, though a light flush rises to his cheeks. "It is funny, you're right, but you're the pleasure, not me. Okay, Sawyer, I have to run. See you around!"

Shit… He has a pack. I hope his alphas won't come beat me up for flirting with him.

Which I wasn't! Honestly. He's just so charming and handsome and…

And you fantasized about him. Twice. In the space of a few minutes.

Jesus.

Yeah, I am so fucked.