Most alpha athletes were pushy with their status. Like, to assert dominance over the opponent, or whatever—which meant any gymnasian, soccer field, tennis court brimmed with the warring scent of pheromones. Bubbling with aggression and desperation and pride.

But Tashi Duncan? She didn't even have to try. It was like her cool, effortless perfection exuded from her pores and intoxicated everyone in her wake. It was a muted undertone, like a simple, silent declaration ofYes, I am better than you, that even the most virile, manliest dude didn't dare challenge. (Lest they look like a try-hard. Or she crush them underfoot with her brand-deal Nike shoes.)

Tashi Duncan was like, the alphaest of alphas. If that was even a thing. She also happened to be your roommate.

Here lies, PROBLEM ONE: You are an omega.

Ivys hadn't had a particularly progressive history in accepting omegas. So, you lied, on paper. Usually, you took an egregious mix of suppressants, scent blockers and maskers that would keel a grown-man over. Unbeknownst to school admin; you walk around as a beta. Or (to the stuffy-nosed), a particularly mild alpha.

Thus, PROBLEM TWO: You missed your meds. By a day. And your (unprescribed) amalgamation of pills was a delicate tightrope to walk, so now you were here; curled up in your blankets in the throes of misery; your worst—first—heat in the past five years.

And, oh, fuck— the door was opening.

"Oh, Jesus Christ," Tashi gaped, pupils immediately blowing wide at the sight of you. Unbidden, her pheromones flooded into the tiny space, inducing another wracking, painful ache of need through your body.

Tashi was frozen at the doorway, hand trembling on the doorknob. Your head is reduced to nothing but need need need alpha alpha alpha and this is all so incredibly irresponsible of you, but the heat is unbearable and Tashi is right there—