Happily Ever Alpha: Until Nox (Kindle Worlds) (Hyde Series Book 3)

by Layla Frost

  The door clicked closed behind him, and I burst out laughing.

  He’s got jokes.

  CHAPTER TWO

  STOP AND SMELL THE ROSÉ

  GUS

  I BETTER GET THIS OVER WITH…

  After Killian left, I’d sat in silence for a while, trying to figure out my next step. Even though I’d wanted to sleep away the three weeks, I’d pulled my laptop from my bag and searched for apartments. When that’d proved fruitless, I’d gotten to work on school assignments that couldn’t wait, pausing a few times to take Nolan out.

  I still wasn’t sure how I felt about other dogs, but I did know I liked him. And not because he gave me an excuse to procrastinate.

  Okay, not just because of that.

  The sun was setting by the time I finished, and my stomach was growling. Before I could eat, though, I knew I had to do something. Grimacing, I touched my phone a few times.

  “Who’s the hottie?” Rosie asked by way of greeting on the second ring.

  “Killian.”

  “Yeah, I saw that on his ID. Killian Nox. That can’t be his real name, but I don’t care. Tell me he’s as big and bad as he looks.”

  I thought about the way he’d had my back. “Bigger and badder.”

  “Awesome,” she whispered. “So, who is he?”

  “I’m staying at his place.”

  “Wait, what? What happened with Blake? Not that I care, but I’m curious. And how did you go from staying with Blake to Mr. Bigger and Badder in the span of a morning?”

  “Blake cheated on me.”

  “He did what?” she screamed. “I’ll kill ‘im. No, wait. You hook up with Mr. B and B, and I’ll write Blake a thank you note… and then I’ll push him down an elevator shaft. What the hell happened?”

  With a huff, I flopped down onto the ridiculously comfy couch and kicked my shoes off before pulling my feet under me. Once I was settled, Nolan jumped up and pushed against my side in a show of silent support.

  Or because he was hoping I’d scratch behind his ears.

  But I was going with him being a hero like his owner.

  I launched in, not leaving any detail out as I told Rosie what’d happened. Halfway through, my gaze landed on the very well-stocked bar Killian had mentioned. I opened a bottle of wine, bypassing the glass in favor of chugging it.

  Mmm, he’s got good taste, too.

  By the time my story was finished, the bottle of wine was finished, too.

  “What a clichéd moron,” Rosie hissed.

  “Yeah, that’s what I said.”

  “What kind of idiot sleeps with someone at their own place the night before their girlfriend is supposed to move in?”

  “I brought that up, too. Well, minus the girlfriend part.” I was turning the corner from tipsy to drunk, but my thoughts were surprisingly clear. “I never even called him my boyfriend. I think that means he technically didn’t cheat on me.”

  “You guys were seeing each other for two months.”

  “I know, and I still thought of it like that. Not dating. Not in a relationship. Just seeing each other.” I dropped my head back and frowned. “Poor Killian pitied me and let me stay here because I’d been raving like a lunatic, but Blake didn’t even technically cheat on me.”

  “First of all, you’re wrong. But, let’s say you’re right and you weren’t exclusive. He still slept with someone the night before you were moving in. That makes him an asshat.”

  “Can’t argue with that flawless logic.”

  “Exactly. Which is why Marco and I are heading over to get you. You can stay in our guest room for as long as you want.”

  I snorted. “You guys have only lived on your own a few weeks. There’s no way I’m crashing that lovefest.”

  “It’ll be fine.”

  Rosie and I had roomed together starting my freshman and her sophomore year. After she’d graduated, we’d gotten an apartment together while I’d finished my bachelors and moved on to my masters in my quest to become a forensic accountant.

  Along the way, she’d began dating Marco, who was the future Mr. Rosie Hanson, even if not officially. They were going to get married and have a load of babies, and the first step toward all that was them moving in together.

  Which meant, as often happens when one person is the third wheel, our functioning tricycle had been split into a bike and a unicycle.

  To be fair, I’d been the one who’d teamed up with Marco and convinced Rosie to move in with him as the end of our lease had approached. Clearly and concisely, I’d presented my case… of wine. We’d drunkenly Uber-ed over to the affordable apartment I’d secured, and alternated between celebrating and mourning the end of an era.

  Unfortunately, the week before my move in date, the building had failed inspection and been condemned. The same old school charm that’d swayed me to pick it had also been its downfall.

  I’d been able to finagle a little extra time in my apartment, but the super could only do so much. I wasn’t able to afford it on my own, and they’d needed it rented permanently.

  Since it was already July, any and all affordable apartments had already been snatched up by college students. The summer students, like myself, never left to begin with.

  Basically, I’d been totally boned.

  That’s where Blake had come in. He’d been my knight in shining armor by offering to let me stay with him. Since we still hadn’t slept together, he’d prefaced it by saying I could sleep in his guest room if I’d feel more comfortable.

  With no other options, I’d gratefully agreed to the temporary living arrangement, but had also said separate rooms wouldn’t be necessary. I’d figured the only way my meaning could’ve been more obvious was if I’d written it on my naked body in edible paints.

  I hadn’t taken into account that my knight in shining armor was a douche in tinfoil with his head jammed up his own ass.

  Shaking my head despite the fact Rosie couldn’t see me, I sighed. “You and Marco would totally drop everything and rearrange your life to help me out. I know it. I appreciate it. But I’m not gonna let you. You guys just got your own place. You don’t need me lurking around.” I got up and scanned the remaining alcohol before settling on a second bottle of wine.

  Stop and smell the rosé.

  “Besides,” I continued, “it’s not like I’m slumming it in a sleazy motel or my car. This freakin’ apartment is insane. And I have it to myself for three weeks. Well, not totally to myself. There’s a dog, but he’s cool.”

  Nolan, genius that he was, perked his ears up when I talked about him. I rewarded his intelligence with a belly rub.

  “Are you sure?” Rosie asked, her concern evident.

  “Yeah, he’s snuggling on me and everything.”

  “Not about the dog. That you’re fine staying in a stranger’s apartment.”

  “Yeah, I really am. It’s like a super fancy hotel without the exorbitant minibar charges for the rosé.”

  “Huh. It’s basically an Airbnb.”

  “Exactly! I was freaked at first, but people stay in strangers’ houses all the time. Hell, we get into other people’s cars now. And talk to strangers on the internet. All the rules are being broken.”

  She laughed. “How many bottles of wine have you had?”

  “All. All the bottles.”

  “You sure you’re okay?”

  At that moment, I realized something crazy.

  I was okay.

  Blake had screwed me over, and I was pissed at how inconsiderate he’d been. My stress level was at an eleven because of the apartment hunt.

  But I wasn’t heartbroken.

  I wasn’t even upset.

  And I really should’ve been. I’d been about to move in with the man, temporary or not. Our breakup should’ve broken my heart. Gutted me. I should’ve been wailing about our lost future.

  Instead, my focus was on my living arrangements and maybe, slightly, being a little bit petty.

  “I’m fine,�
� I answered honestly. “But if I turn up missing, assemble Penelope Garcia, Benson and Finn Tutuola, the Winchesters, and Jake Peralta. Show them the ID I sent you and send them after me.”

  “Don’t joke about that,” she reprimanded. “Even if you do have your fictional dream team scarily planned.”

  “Have to be thorough. Anyway, how’s the house set-up coming along?”

  Rosie filled me in on the disaster that was their fixer-upper before grilling me again about my emotional stability. Since I was drunk by that point, she could trust my assertion that I wasn’t sinking into Sylvia Plath levels of despair. Drunk me was incapable of lies. Once she was sure I was okay, we clicked off.

  With a sigh, I tossed my phone down and looked at the bottle of wine. “We’re going on a field trip.”

  Carrying it down the hallway, I pushed the first door on the right open but didn’t see my boxes. There was a desk and a computer, but not much else. Next to that was a small half-bath.

  I backtracked and opened the only door on the left. A massive dark wood bed took up half of the spacious room. There was a nightstand on each side, both topped with small lamps, but the one on the left also had a stack of books. The room had the same gray walls and exposed beam ceiling as the living room. His bed was made, the comforter a gorgeous steel blue that looked so fluffy, I wanted to wrap myself in it.

  Although he’d said to make myself at home, and had brought the majority of my belongings into his room, I still hesitated to touch his bed. It felt too intimate.

  I’ll sleep on the couch. It’s not like it’s a hardship.

  I grabbed one of my bags off the floor to look for my phone charger. Instead, my fingers encountered satin and lace. Clutching it, I pulled the skimpy nightie out.

  Staring down at the fabric, my cheeks heated with embarrassment.

  I almost slept with a walking cliché. I should have better taste than that. A more accurate douche-radar. An instinct to steer clear of turtle-dicked fuckfaces.

  How could I have been willing to fuck him?

  Fuck him.

  “Yeah, fuck ‘im,” I muttered, setting the bottle on the table. I pulled my clothes off—nearly tripping in the process—then put on the nightie and matching panties. Not leaving behind my travel companion, I snagged my wine and headed for the bathroom, hoping for a decent mirror. My wish was granted when I found a full-length one on the back of the door.

  With a critical, drunken eye, I studied myself, starting from the bottom up. My feet didn’t look like I’d been out kicking bricks, but my legs were nothing to write home about. In my opinion, my pussy was pretty bomb. My ass had always been in my ‘pros’ category, too. It was round and curvy, with that nice, distinct bam where the ass met the thighs. Nope, no pancake butt for this girl. My stomach was flattish, my breasts were full, and my face was… faceish. It was cute and face-y. People always complimented my blue eyes since they had cool flecks of gold. My hair was long and thick. Plus, the blonde was my own, and it was a good blonde. Lots of dimension.

  In the azure nightie, the lace lined slit made my legs look longer than they were. The cut was flattering, emphasizing my hips and breasts. Had my hair been down instead of piled on my head, it would’ve been a total sex kitten look.

  Only I wasn’t in sex kitten mode.

  There’d be no sexing, other than with myself. Efficient and fun as that was, I wasn’t in a lusty mood.

  I was in a wallow-in-self-pity mood.

  Tears filled my eyes as I took a swig of wine. Staring in the mirror, I couldn’t stop the comparisons to Blake’s hookup.

  And it was stupid. Logically, I knew I was being illogical, but it didn’t matter.

  It didn’t matter that I genuinely wasn’t upset about the breakup. There was still the pain—no, the insult—of being cheated on. Of someone not finding you worth the wait. The effort.

  It was as if I’d been entered into a competition without my knowledge. Even though I had no interest in competing, it still fucking hurt to lose because I was left feeling less than.

  And Blake was a massive prick for putting me in that position.

  “Get it together.” I pointed my finger and the bottle at myself in the mirror. “You’re not even sad about him. You’re a winner, dammit. A winner.”

  Still, tears slid down my cheeks as I choked back of sob of drunken self-pity and frustration.

  Turning toward the sink to splash water on my face, I got my first real look at the bathroom.

  Dark blue, aqua, and gray, it was spectacular. Blake had told me every apartment in the building had upgraded bathrooms, but Killian’s was luxurious.

  Other than the walk-in shower and a small portion of the counter, the rest of the space didn’t seem used. No extra stockpile of toothbrushes. No girly scrubs, lavender shampoos, or any sign of anyone but him having stepped foot in the room. Which was stupid since there was a massive bath tub just begging to be used.

  It’s even bigger than Blake’s.

  And I bet that’s not the only thing...

  Shaking my head at my inappropriate and bitter thoughts, I moved closer to see a small control panel on the side of the tub. Impulsively, I turned on the water and let it fill a bit before pressing some buttons. Multiple jets began launching the water around. I poked at another large button and low-volume hard rock began playing through hidden speakers.

  I was surprised, which was stupid since I didn’t know Killian beyond him being a helpful guy. Maybe it was based on his large collection of books and lack of TV, but I’d have guessed he listened to classical music. Or maybe some Celtic, since he seemed very in touch with his roots.

  I was tempted to crank the volume in hopes of annoying Blake, but I was pretty sure it’d be the above and below neighbors who’d receive the brunt of it. When I recognized the unmistakable voice of Gage, the lead singer of the X-ers, I did turn it up a little.

  Then, nightie, wine bottle, and all, I stepped into the tub and sank down into warm water. The jets relaxed my body and a good cry got the rest of my tension out.

  I stayed in long enough to hear the majority of the CD, kill the last of the wine, and have the water go tepid and my fingers go pruney. After stripping and drying off, I headed back into the bedroom.

  Nolan was curled up on the bed, his head raising when I approached.

  “I’ll just sit here for a second,” I whispered to him as I sat. “But we should probably cover up so we don’t catch our deaths.”

  Crawling under the blanket, I breathed in the manly scent and closed my eyes at the lushness. The blanket and bed were even more comfortable than they’d looked. The pillow was a crazy texture that felt like little angels were cradling my head.

  Nolan scooched close, his weight offering an odd comfort.

  “Okay, one minute, and then I need to go to the couch.”

  Nolan snuffled in his sleep, his tail flipping in a brief acknowledgment.

  A quick snuggle, and then I’ll get up.

  In a minute.

  Maybe two.

  ____________________________

  Ugh, I’ve come down with a case of wine flu.

  Hungover as shit, my head pounded and buzzed, and someone needed to turn down the sun.

  I was about to cover my head with a pillow when Nolan’s growling made me realize the buzzing was actually the doorbell.

  The pounding was all my own, a painful staccato reminder of my wine-related mistakes.

  Stumbling out of bed, I pulled on my clothes from the previous day and rushed to the front door. It took me a few tries to find the right button.

  “Hello?” I asked into the speaker.

  “Ambiance here for installation,” whoever it was replied through crackling static.

  “You have the wrong address.”

  “This isn’t 7B?”

  “No, it is, but—”

  The man sounded rushed and impatient. “The order form says it’s for some guy named Gus.”

  It was my nickname,
but… “I don’t think—”

  “Ordered by Killian Nox.”

  “Oh.” I shook my head but pressed the button to unlock the outside entrance.

  Maybe with the change up of who was staying here, he forgot to tell me he was having work done.

  I opened the door and waited for the man. However, when the elevator door slid open, it wasn’t an installer who stepped out.

  It was several of them.

  Seven, to be exact.

  And they all lugged big boxes.

  “Whoa, there’s definitely a mistake,” I said again, stepping out of the way as they streamed in.

  One of the men thrust a piece of paper at me. I recognized his voice as the one from the intercom when he asked, “This 7B, Killian Nox’s apartment?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then there’s no mistake. He paid for rush installation, so if we don’t get this done before lunch, my boss is gonna have my ass. If there’s a problem, I suggest you take it up with Mr. Nox.”

  I glared at the man before turning toward the bedroom, muttering a ‘bless your heart’ as I went.

  Grabbing my phone, I returned and gasped when I saw the men marking up the wall with measurements.

  Killian is going to flip his shit.

  I scanned the papers Killian left and dialed his number, hoping he’d answer before they started using the industrious looking power tools they were pulling out.

  “Aye?” a gruff voice asked by way of greeting.

  “Killian?”

  I thought I heard the faintest sharp intake of breath, which made me suddenly remember we were in different time zones.

  “Crap, did I wake you?” I asked. “I’m not sure what time it is there.”

  “Only five hours ahead, lass. What’s wrong?”

  “It’s Gus,” I suddenly blurted.

  “Aye, I know who it is. What’s wrong?” he repeated.

  I inhaled before rushing in a whisper, “Some installation guys are here, and the one who’s kind of an asshole said you ordered stuff done fast, and they have scary looking power tools and are writing on your walls.”

  Despite everything important I’d said—and all without taking a breath—his strange response was, “Someone’s being an asshole to you?”