I’m Not Gay
881 Words
The next morning, I tried to ignore the burn beneath my skin.
I wasn’t sick. Not really. Just… warm. Tingling in all the wrong places. As if someone had poured molten gold into my bloodstream and whispered, “Good luck, sweetheart.”
I needed to move. Air. Distance. Anything but another hour breathing in Devon’s goddamn scent.
The Alpha Academy campus was vast. Green stretches of combat fields. High, cold training towers. Bark-scented walkways shaded by whispering trees that had seen more blood than history books could print.
I found a quiet path behind the east wing—old, barely maintained, with moss curling around the stones. Secluded. Peaceful.
And cursed. Because of course he was there.
Devon Maddox stood shirtless in a clearing—sweat slicking down the line of his spine, back muscles flexing with each jab at the training dummy. His punches were lazy but deadly. Controlled rage wrapped in a golden sunlit glow.
He wiped his face with his shirt. Then slung it over his shoulder like he knew someone was watching.
Because he did.
He turned—glistening, smiling like sin. “Morning, Pretty Boy.”
I stiffened. “Don’t call me that.”
“I’ll stop when you stop blushing like a virgin in heat.”
I scoffed. “You’re imagining things.”
He walked toward me. Slowly. Deliberately. “Nah. I know the signs. Been around enough trainees to spot an Alpha-scented high. You’re twitchy. Flushed. Breathing like someone just choked you and you liked it.”
My jaw tightened. “I’m just hot.”
He tilted his head. “Yeah, you are.”
“Devon—”
“Relax.” He closed the distance, standing just close enough to force my neck to tilt upward. “I’m not gonna jump you. Unless you beg.”
“You’re disgusting.”
“And you’re hard to read,” he murmured, his voice lower now. “Most guys would’ve popped a b***r or punched me in the face by now.”
“I’m not gay.”
He blinked. The air paused.
“…Oh?” he asked. Calm. Amused.
“I don’t swing that way,” I added, forcing the words out like bricks in my throat. “So whatever this is—whatever you think—you’re wrong.”
He laughed. Actually laughed. The nerve.
“Cain,” he said, stepping behind me, his voice brushing against my neck like silk. “You are either the most repressed Alpha here, or…”
He dragged a finger along my arm. My skin flinched. Betrayed me.
“…you’re lying to both of us.”
I jerked away. “I said I’m not—”
“In heat?” he interrupted. “You sure about that?”
I stumbled back, heart slamming against my ribs. “I don’t—I’m not—”
“‘Cause your scent says otherwise.”
I froze.
He licked his lips. “It’s faint. But it’s changing. Getting sweeter. Richer. Almost like… honey over raw meat.”
“That’s gross,” I muttered, hiding the tremble in my fingers.
“Everything about mating is gross,” he said casually. “It’s why it’s so damn good.”
I couldn’t breathe.
He stepped even closer, staring down at me like I was prey—and he hadn’t eaten in days.
“You’re hiding something,” he whispered. “But here’s the fun part.”
I swallowed. “What?”
His eyes gleamed. “I love a challenge.”
I shoved him away again, and he let me. He didn’t even flinch. Just smiled.
“Fine,” I hissed. “You wanna know the truth?”
“Always.”
“I’m not into guys. Not you. Not anyone. This,” I said, waving at him like he was some half-naked disease, “is just a misfire. A chemical glitch.”
He grinned wider. “Misfire, huh? So your legs get weak when I stand near you by accident?”
“It’s the heat—weather heat! Not wolf heat!”
Devon chuckled darkly, dragging his thumb across his jaw like he was trying not to laugh harder. “Damn. You’re cute when you lie.”
“I’m not lying,” I barked.
“Then let me test it.”
He stepped forward again. I backed up.
“Nope. Stop. Stay there.”
“Scared, Pretty Boy?”
“No. Just allergic to assholes.”
He looked down at my chest. Too long.
Shit. I forgot the binder was damp. And the shirt I was wearing had thinned with sweat. The curve of my chest was more obvious than I liked.
His eyes flicked up, slow and suspicious.
“Cain,” he said carefully. “What size are you?”
My stomach dropped.
“I—I bulk weird,” I said too fast. “Genetics.”
He stepped even closer.
“You sure you’re not hiding more than just your preferences?”
“Shut up, Devon.”
He grinned. “You’re sweating. You wanna kiss me so bad, you’re shaking.”
“I wanna stab you.”
“Same thing, baby.”
Then he leaned in—too fast, too close—and whispered at my ear:
“You’re not a boy, are you?”
- Writer
