I Hated Him First

Too Close

The third weekend hit differently the second I walked through the door.

I felt it immediately.

Nothing looked different. Mom still smiled the same way. David still moved through the house like he owned every inch of it. His scent still filled the air. But something underneath had changed. The tension was tighter. Sharper. Like a wire pulled too hard.

I noticed him more.

And it pissed me off.

Saturday morning, I came downstairs and stopped dead in the kitchen doorway.

He was making coffee. Black long-sleeved shirt, sleeves shoved up to his elbows. The muscles in his forearms flexed as he poured water into the machine. My eyes locked on them before I could stop myself.

He looked up.

Our eyes met.

The silence stretched. The coffee machine bubbled between us.

“Morning,” he said. His voice was rough from sleep. Deeper than usual. It scraped down my spine.

“Morning,” I muttered, forcing my legs to move. I opened the fridge like I needed something important, even though I just grabbed the first bottle of water I saw.

I could feel him staring at me.

When I turned around, he was leaning against the counter, arms crossed, watching me openly.

“You sleep okay?” he asked.

“Fine.”

He didn’t look away. His eyes drifted down for half a second... over my messy hair, my oversized hoodie.. then back up to my face. Something dark moved in his expression. Something I refused to acknowledge.

I got out of that kitchen as fast as I could.

Later that afternoon, Mom asked for help carrying boxes upstairs. David offered immediately. Of course he did. The three of us ended up in the narrow hallway outside the storage room. The space was too small. When Mom stepped inside, it left just me and him.

Too close.

His scent hit me harder in that tight space. Warm. Heavy. Pure Alpha. It made my pulse jump against my throat.

He noticed.

I saw it in the way his eyes narrowed.

“You can go downstairs,” he said quietly. “I’ll finish helping your mother.”

I should have left.

I stayed.

Mom called for the smaller box. We both reached for it at the same time.

Our hands collided.

Neither of us pulled away.

His hand was warm. Big. Rough in a way that made my skin tingle. For one dangerous second, his fingers shifted against mine... slow, deliberate, like he was testing the contact.

Then he took the box and stepped back.

“I’ve got it,” he said, voice lower than before.

I didn’t trust myself to speak. I just turned and walked away, heart hammering.

That night, I couldn’t stop replaying it.

The heat of his skin.

The way his eyes darkened.

The way my body reacted before my brain could scream at me to stop.

I hated him for it.

I hated myself more.

Around midnight, I went downstairs for water, praying the house would be empty.

It wasn’t.

Soft light spilled from the living room. David sat on the couch with a book, glasses on, looking more relaxed than I had ever seen him. The second I appeared, he looked up.

Our eyes locked across the room.

The air turned heavy.

“You should sleep,” he said, voice quiet.

“So should you.”

A faint almost-smile touched his mouth, then disappeared.

I walked to the kitchen, poured water, and tried not to look at him. But I felt his eyes on me the entire time. When I finally turned around, he was still watching.

This time, neither of us looked away quickly.

My heart slammed against my ribs. That pull the one I had been fighting for weeks.. tightened hard in my chest. It felt dangerous. Addictive. Terrifying.

I broke first.

“Goodnight, David,” I said, and my voice came out softer than I wanted.

There was a pause.

Then his voice, low and rough:

“Goodnight, Lucy.”

I walked upstairs with the glass shaking slightly in my hand.

In my room, I sat on the bed and pressed my palm hard against my chest, trying to calm the wild beating under my skin. I told myself it meant nothing. Just proximity. Just instincts. Just an Omega reacting to a powerful Alpha.

But deep down, I already knew the truth.

Hate wasn’t the only thing I felt anymore.

And that terrified me more than anything else.