Mated to the Hated Hockey Alpha

Chapter 2: Cole

I lean against the doorframe, watching Leigh come up the stairs with a smirk already sitting on her face, her eyes fluttering in what she clearly thinks is a seductive movement. It’s not. Not even close. But I don’t correct her. There’s no point.

“Took you long enough,” I mutter, my eyes moving over her body, trying—failing—to see her for what she is instead of constantly measuring her against what she isn’t.

‘She’s not who we want,’ Bash growls in my head, making my jaw tighten. ‘Go back to the bathroom. Didn’t you see the way mate looked at us? She wants us.’

My grip on the doorframe hardens slightly. Sometimes I wish I hadn’t gotten my wolf at all. That I’d ended up wolfless like a few rare unlucky cases. At least then I wouldn’t have this constant, relentless awareness clawing at the back of my mind, reminding me exactly who I can’t have, and exactly who I can’t stop thinking about. Leonora Cobbs—always there, always lingering like a thought I can’t erase no matter how hard I try.

‘We would make her feel good. Make her moan our names. She will love us. I know she will,’ Bash pleads again, lower this time, almost desperate.

I close my eyes for a second and force him back, shoving him down into the recesses of my mind where he can’t keep twisting everything I think and feel. It doesn’t stop the tension in my chest, though. That stays.

“Sorry,” Leigh purrs, pulling my attention back as she steps closer. “There were a few… complications.”

I open my eyes again, letting them settle on her properly this time. Red hair. Long, slim legs. A face that’s pretty enough if I squint at it the right way, though it never quite sharpens into anything memorable. Her eyes are a dull blue that don’t hold much depth, nothing that lingers.

“Oh, no you don’t!” Katie’s voice suddenly slices through the hallway from down the hall, making me exhale sharply through my nose. “You’re not f*****g some bimbo here while me and Nora are having a girls’ night. Na-uh, not happening.”

Leigh’s expression shifts immediately, her eyes narrowing as she turns slightly toward Katie, crossing her arms over her chest in a way that pushes her cleavage up as if that alone is supposed to win the argument. “Who are you calling a bimbo, slut?”

I don’t bother stepping in. Not because I enjoy it, but because I don’t care enough to mediate it.

Leigh is a bimbo. There’s no nicer way to put it. She’s slept with half the willing males in the entire region and acted proud of it every time like it meant something beyond attention-seeking validation. Katie, for all her attitude, has never been like that. Never chased validation. Never thrown herself at anyone who looked at her twice.

“Don’t get involved, mutt,” I rumble lowly at Katie, already turning slightly toward my room. “It’s not like I’m gonna f**k her on the coffee table.”

My voice is flat, uninterested, as I push off the doorframe and open my bedroom door. I glance over my shoulder at Leigh, raising a brow. “You comin’ or what?”

She grins immediately, like she’s won something, and follows without hesitation. Her fingers brush across my chest as she passes, lingering just a fraction too long, expecting a reaction I don’t give her. Instead, my body reacts in the opposite way—tightening, repelling, like every instinct I have is pushing her away rather than pulling her closer.

It’s not subtle.

It’s not even debatable.

I look back toward Katie one more time. She’s still standing there, arms tight across her chest, fury written all over her face like she wants to rip something apart just for existing in front of her. “Not that I care or anything,” I add, voice clipped, already halfway gone into my own headspace. “But… don’t tell Leonora, okay?”

It’s a lie. A bad one.

Because I care. More than I should. More than I want to admit.

I step inside and close the door behind me, turning the lock with more force than necessary. Not because I expect anyone to come in, but because I don’t want interruptions. Not tonight. Not when I’m already fighting too many things inside my own head.

Especially not a hazel-eyed girl accidentally walking in and undoing everything I’m trying to force myself to do.

I move toward my desk and drop into the chair, leaning back slowly as I spread my legs slightly, exhaling through my nose. My upper body is bare. I'm only wearing my low-sitting shorts, the kind that make people assume more than they should. Alpha genetics don’t just make you strong—they make you look like something people are supposed to want without effort. It’s never been a problem before.

Until now.

Leigh looks at me like she’s already decided how this is going to go. Her eyes move over me with open hunger, darker now, more confident.

“How about some music? Huh? Wouldn’t that create some ambiance?”

“Whatever,” I say, flicking my wrist toward the Bluetooth speaker in the corner, giving her free rein to put on the trashy kind of music a head cheerleader would choose.

I watch as she turns around. The miniature shorts she’s wearing ride up her ass, shaping it rather spectacularly. It’s just too bad it’s not as good as—

No, don’t think it, I scold myself, clenching my jaw as I try to focus on Leigh.

Some kind of sultry song plays through my speaker, and she leaves her phone on the dresser, grinning seductively at me as she turns back around.

“Much better,” she purrs, starting to move her hips to the beat.

A sigh slips out of me before I can stop it, my chest rising and falling as I lean further back in the chair. I lace my fingers behind my head, letting my gaze track her movements, trying—forcing myself—to engage with what’s in front of me instead of what my mind keeps dragging me toward.

I’m supposed to want this. She’s here. She’s willing. That’s how it’s supposed to work.

But the honey and lavender scent of Leonora is still in my nostrils. It clings there like it refuses to fade, no matter how much I try to push it away. The sight of her in those tight workout pants is still very clear in my head too—too clear. How her thighs are muscular and shapely, how they curve inward right at the top before turning into the juiciest ass I’ve ever seen in my life. And her tight crop top as well? The memory of it is still burned in.

The way her n*****s had pebbled when she looked at me in the bathroom didn’t escape me either. It hit me instantly. And it sure as hell didn’t escape Bash.

He’s hungry for her long, shiny blonde hair, for those spectacular hazel eyes, for the way her bottom lip is slightly more curved than the upper, and for how her cheeks dimple when she smiles—bright, unguarded, pure in a way that makes something inside me tighten.

‘She’s right down the hall. Let’s go to her. Claim her. Mark her. Make her ours,’ he begs in my head.

I clench my fists behind my head, my jaw tightening as arousal heats my body against my will. Bash pushes images into my mind before I can block them—her beneath me, legs spreading, cheeks flushed bright red, breath breaking as she moans my name while coming undone. Too vivid. Too easy to imagine. Too dangerous.

But I can’t. I can’t claim her. I won’t. Not after what happened with my mom. Not after what the Alpha did. That kind of thing doesn’t get forgiven. It doesn’t get erased. It just sits there, rot and memory, shaping everything after it.

I force a breath out through my nose, trying to shove Bash back down where he belongs.

“Shouldn’t you be losing your clothes?” I ask Leigh through clenched teeth, my voice rougher than intended.

She chuckles, trying to make it sound sultry, but it lands shrill in my ears instead. “You’re an eager Alpha, aren’t you?” she muses, already grabbing the hem of her shirt.

One of Bash’s growls slips out of my throat before I can stop it.

Because according to him, we’re only eager for one shewolf—and she doesn’t even have her wolf yet. According to him, there’s only one woman worth reacting to. One woman worth anything at all. And none of this—none of Leigh—fits into that equation.

“You’re right,” I say, forcing control back into my voice, shoving everything else down. “I’m eager and impatient. Get naked.”

She grins, satisfied, and pulls her shirt over her head. Her breasts practically spill out of the push-up bra underneath, lifted and exaggerated in a way that makes my jaw tighten instinctively again. My reaction isn’t desire. It’s frustration. Disconnection. Something that feels wrong because it refuses to line up with what my body is supposed to be doing right now.

Because Leonora wouldn’t wear that. She wouldn’t need to. She wouldn’t try to reshape herself into something louder or more obvious. Her body is already perfect the way it is. Small, perky, soft in all the right places, and yet strong in a way that doesn’t ask for attention—it just takes it.

“Like what you’re seeing?” Leigh asks, dragging my attention back as her hands slide over her own body, her eyes trailing down me expectantly.

But my d**k isn’t responding to her.

It’s responding to something else entirely.

To the idea of what it would feel like to touch Leonora instead. To cup her properly, to feel the weight of her in my hands, to trace the curve of her like she’s something I’m supposed to memorize. The thought alone sends a sharper, more instinctive reaction through me than anything Leigh is doing in front of me right now.

I exhale slowly through my nose, trying to rein it all in before it shows too clearly.

And then—

A knock on the door.

Everything inside me shifts immediately.

“Cole?” Leonora’s soft voice filters through the wood. “I made dinner. Burgers. I… I made a plate for you as well.”

‘Mate made food for us!’ Bash roars instantly, the sound so loud it nearly drowns everything else out.

I’m on my feet before I even consciously decide to move.

I push Leigh aside without thinking, crossing the room fast, too fast, like something in me has snapped forward and taken control. I reach the door, unlock it, and pull it open.

And there she is.

All tiny, petite, strong in a way that doesn’t match her size. Beautiful in a way that hits harder than it should. Her hair is still damp from her shower, slightly messy in a way that makes her look softer, and she’s wearing a pair of Katie’s shorts and a loose T-shirt that hangs off her frame.

She smells even better than she looks.

And I f*****g hate that I notice that first.

“You made me food?” I ask, my voice coming out rougher than I intend, eyes dropping immediately to the plate in her hands like it’s the only thing anchoring me.

“Well, yeah. I was making for me and Katie as well. So I thought… but if you don’t want—”

She doesn’t get to finish.

I take the plate from her too quickly, too sharply, Bash practically vibrating in my skull with satisfaction, a low, pleased sound rumbling through him like he’s been rewarded for something.

But before I can say anything else—before I can even figure out what I’m supposed to say—I step back and close the door.

Right in her face. The lock clicks. Silence drops in immediately after.

For a second, there’s nothing but the weight of what I just did sitting in my chest.

Then Bash’s satisfaction twists. ‘You don’t deserve her,’ he growls.

And for once I don’t argue. I can’t. Because he’s right.