The Alpha's Twenty Dollar Mate

Iris My hands trembled as I added another stroke to Blake Stone's jawline in my sketchbook. Smiling like a wolf in love. Well thats what i am. The weak omega, hidden behind the bleachers, drooling over my crush. Here, I had the perfect view of him when he practice. The sound of bouncing ball, and the shouts of players dulled. My focus was on one and only Blake, capturing the Blake's perfect body. The captian of the basketball ball, and soon to be Alpha. "Just one more detail," I whispered to myself, smudging the graphite to get the shadow under his cheekbone just right. My sketchbook was filled with drawings of him—some from memory, others from stolen moments like this. I knew it was wrong. I had a mate, even if though Marcus barely acknowledged me as his mate, sometimes maybe he even forgot I existence. Marcus Chen. My supposed fated mate. The thought made my chest ache. He'd never once looked at me the way Blake was smiling at his teammates right now. Never mind that I was too nerdy, too quiet, too... everything that a future pack beta's mate shouldn't be. A loud whoop from the court snapped me from my thoughts. Blake had just scored a three-pointer, his perfect form exactly like the one I'd sketched last week. He high-fived his teammates, his gray eyes bright with triumph. "You're pathetic, Iris," I muttered, adding another sketch to my 'Blake Collection.' But I couldn't help it. Ever since freshman orientation, when I'd first seen him stride across campus like he owned it – his father is the Alpha. So, technically, he did, I'd been drawn in by him, well who isn't? Even after discovering Marcus was my mate, that pull toward Blake never went away. The sound of approaching footsteps made me freeze. No one ever came behind the bleachers during practice. This was my spot, my safe place to— "Heads up!" The warning came too late. An orange blur hurtled toward my face. I yelped, dropping my sketchbook as I threw my hands up. The basketball hit the bleachers above me with a loud clang. "Oh s**t, are you okay?" That voice. I dreamt of it several times, no actually I recognised it from all the times he give speeches during school orientation. Blake. I gulped and slowly, I lowered my hands to confirm my ears. And Blake Stone stood a few feet away me, his eyes furrowed as if he was concerned. Concerned about me? His gray eyes widened immediately when he saw my face. Did he know who I was? The weak omega nerd? My heart hammered loudly against my chest. "Iris? Iris Morgan, right?" He asked taking another step, his scent intoxicating scent was stronger since were inch apart. The smell of pine mixed with something wild, "What are you doing back here?" "I—I..." I stammered, hating the way my voice came out as a squeak. But then I saw the sketchbook. Damn it! I knelt immediately trying to grab my scattered supplies, praying yo the Goddess he hadn't seen any of my drawings. Of him. "Just... studying." I managed to say. Blake's raise an eyebrows not agreeing with me, "Behind the bleachers?" He asked and bent down to help me. "Urgh... it's quiet here, you know" I let a dry chuckle, "Usually." He was closer to the sketchbook, and he I him reaching out to pick it, panic shot through me. "No!" I almost yelled trying my best to grabbed it, but he was faster. Damn it! Blake was suspicious because I tried to stop him. He eyed the sketchbook in his hands, standing up. Please don't open it. Please don't open it... And he flipped it open. I wanted to die. Right there. Just sink through the floor and disappear forever. But what surprised me was instead his to be disgust or mock me, his face softened. I was confused why? What is he thinking? But I couldn't read his mind. "These are really good," he mumbled, turning another page. "Woah, you've got some serious talent." I couldn't move, waiting for the part where i get hurt. Where he to laugh at me, or call me a stalker, or make a scene. But none of that happened. "Is this what you've been doing behind teh bleachers? Drawing?" He asked, looking at me with curiousity, making my heart skip a beat. "Sometimes, I guess," I admitted. "The lighting is good here, and the movement... it's good practice for figure drawing." Blake nodded, still looking through my sketches. "You've really captured this more than a camera." He uttered checking a page. And I gulped knowing exactly which drawing it was. I've spent hours sketching it. Trying hard to get his smile correct. "Especially this one." I wished the ground would swallow me whole. But Blake didn’t say more he just handed me back the sketchbook. That smile never leaving his face. It make my knees weak. "You know, if you want to draw, you don't have to hide back here to do it. I'm having a party at my place tomorrow night. You should come." I blinked. "What?" "A party. At my house. Well, the Alpha Mansion actually, but they're away at a pack alliance meeting." He uttered, racking a hand through his hair, and I itched to capture the gesture on paper. "And yeah, you can bring your sketchbook if you want. Better lighting than behind the bleachers." Was Blake Stone actually inviting me to one of his famous parties? The ones where only the elite of Mooncliff University's pack members got invited? "I... I don't know if that's a good idea." I stammered, not knowing how to react. Marcus would hate that. He already hate me, and going to Blake's party would definitely cross a line. "Come on," Blake uttered, coming closer. "But I really love to see more of your art–" Love? Is a strong word. "And maybe you could get to know each other better, you'll get to show me how you manically catch a moment with just a pencil?" He smiled, hopeful, for my answer. And I was pulled seeing him smile at me like that. Hoping I didn't reject him. My mouth moved on its own, "Okay." I answered before I could think twice. "Yeah?" His whole face lit up. "Great! Here..." He pulled out his phone. "Give me your number, and I'll text you the address." In a daze, I recited my number. This couldn't be real. Blake Stone was putting his number in my phone, smiling at me like I was someone worth noticing. "See you tomorrow night, Artist," he said with a wink before jogging back to practice. I clutched my sketchbook to my chest, heart racing. What had I just agreed to?