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Since that night with Jasmine, I replayed the moment like some love-struck fool hit by Cupid's bow. Her giving me the bandana and staying by my side until I was better set my chest on fire. She invaded my every thought, creeping into my heart. I longed to be by her again. But was it really me who wanted to or Imami?
So, I followed her. Not on some stalker-type shit—I just had to know she was okay every second. While keeping tabs on Jasmine, I learned a few things. She's in the art department, which branches into photography. That put us relatively close since my major was in visual arts, with a minor in sculpture.
I carried a new bandana I bought for her in my bag, waiting for the right chance to give it to her, but the chance never came. Either I chickened out, or her friend was always with her. Even when she came to the gym for her photography assignment, she never came close to me—she stayed glued to Maribel. And I always watched Jasmine, hoping she'd look my way. When she didn't, I was disappointed.
She played it cool, pretending she didn't see me standing by the gym doors when she walked by with her friend, laughing at some dad joke she'd told.
"You gotta talk to her, Dom," Treyvon said, walking up to me and wiping his face with a towel.
"I don't gotta do shit."
Treyvon put me in a headlock. He stank of sweat, and I gagged. "She's your mate."
"I don't give a damn. She's not, and she never will be."
Deny, deny, deny. That was all I could do. Denying was easier than confronting Imani's emotions.
By noon, we were in a lecture. I wasn't paying attention, instead scribbling Jasmine's name in purple ink in my notebook, drawing hearts around it like some middle schooler with a crush.
Shit. I ripped the page out and shoved it into my bag. Treyvon was next to me, head down, sleeping soundly. He always did this after the gym. It was good we sat in the back where the professor couldn't see. At the end of class, I woke him up. He had drooled all over his papers. Sleepy-eyed, he stuffed everything into his bag.
"How's Imani?" Treyvon asked, yawning as he stretched. His yellow Nike jacket rose a bit, showing his navel.
"She's okay."
"Just okay?"
"Treyvon."
"The beta's job is to make sure the alpha is functioning properly. You haven't shifted in days. I'm worried. Damian's worried too."
Damian was Treyvon's wolf, gray with stormy gray eyes to match. Of course, he'd notice I hadn't shifted in days. With Imani behind a wall, we weren't mentally connected. My wolf was emotional about our mate. As we stepped into the hallway, I gripped my bag strap tightly. "I just need time."
