When He's an Alpha (The Olympus Pride 2)

She raised her hands. “I’m just calling the situation as I see it. But hey, if you want to convince yourself that Damian is a mere mortal, feel free to do so. I won’t live in denial, Tate. Not even for you. His destiny is to bring forth the apocalypse and destroy us all. And I’m not gonna keep quiet about it.”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed. I guess it’s a good thing Damian loves you despite that.”

“He’s incapable of love. He feels only hatred and a thirst to kill.”

Tate shook his head, at a loss. “If you say so.”

“I do. Now go wind down, relax, and shake off everything that has you so angry.”

There was really only one thing that would relax him right now. Only one thing that would help ease the restlessness plaguing him. But he wouldn’t do it. Wouldn’t seek Havana out. But even as he told himself that, he headed right for her building.

CHAPTER TEN

Havana yanked open the door of the industrial washing machine and crouched beside it. The laundromat facilities located in the basement of her complex were pretty decent. She most appreciated the ceiling fan—it could get seriously stuffy and hot in a room full of dryers. The basement was brightly lit to compensate for the small windows, despite shifters seeing well in the dark. Her devil, however, didn’t like it down there. Didn’t like the too-strong smells of detergent, softener, bleach, and hot metal.

She’d gotten home from the rec center an hour ago and, leaving Bailey and Aspen to catch up on the newest episode of a show they were addicted to, had headed to the basement.

It was empty of people, but there was plenty of noise. The whirring of the ceiling fans, the glugging and slurping of the washing machines, the clacking of zippers against the metal drum of the dryers.

Having transferred her clothes from the laundry basket into the machine, Havana added detergent powder and fabric softener. She’d just finished inserting quarters into the slot when she heard the squeak of hinges behind her. Havana switched on the machine and then glanced over her shoulder. She tensed.

Tate.

He looked as goddamn tempting as always, especially in that navy tee that stretched tight across his taut chest and showed off the badass tattoos on his arms. Her body instantly went into meltdown, and that all-too-familiar sexual chemistry flickered to life.

Oh, help.

Knowing there could only be one reason he’d sought her out, she turned to fully face him. “You have news about the jaguars or Gideon?”

“No, not yet.” He took another fluid step into the room. “I went to your apartment. You weren’t there. Camden said he saw you head to the elevator with a laundry basket, so I figured I’d find you here. How’ve you been?”

Havana hesitated, taken aback by the everyday question he’d casually thrown at her … like they engaged in regular chit-chat all the time. “Good.”

He gave a slow nod. “Glad to hear it.”

Glad to hear it? She rinsed the granules of detergent from her fingers in the stainless-steel sink, dried her hands with paper towels, and then tossed the now-wet towels into the trash. “If you don’t have intel to pass on, why are you here?”

His brow flicked up. “I need a reason to come see you?”

“Well, yeah, since we’re not sleeping together anymore.”

“That doesn’t mean we can’t be friends.”

Havana did a slow blink. “Friends?” He had to be kidding.

“Why not?”

No, he wasn’t kidding, she realized. She cocked her head, wondering if he understood what a kick in the teeth for her it was to hear him offer her friendship. “You want that? Really?”

“What I really want is to fuck you so hard and long you scream until your throat’s raw, but you already know that.” Tate cursed softly and raised his hands. “I’m not here to try to convince you to back down. I just … I wanted to see you. Is that so bad?”

Her heart squeezed. “It’s not bad, but you still shouldn’t be here.” Really, she hadn’t expected to see him for a while. She’d thought he’d be absolutely intent on giving her space purely out of fear that he’d otherwise give her mixed signals.

He had to know he’d make it harder for her to move on if he showed up whenever he felt like it. Did that not matter to him at all?

“Come have coffee with me.”

Her brow creased. “What?”

“The café doesn’t shut for another hour. We can grab a drink. Sit. Talk.”

“Talk about what?”

He shrugged. “General things.”

“You’re not serious.”

“It’s just coffee, Havana.”

“Just coffee,” she echoed, an edge to her voice. “You say that like it’s nothing. Harmless, even. Yet, you never took me for coffee before. Never took me anywhere other than to your house. So it’s not quite ‘nothing’ in your book, or we’d have done it at least once in the past.”