All Chapters of The Alpha In My Sheets: Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

It wasn't the disaster I'd pictured in my head, but it wasn't silky smooth by any means. Because if there was one thing I'd learned tonight, it was this: Tristan Wolfe, cold CEO, menacing businessman, career-killer…was downright fucking awkward with my parents. I’d never seen him like this before. Usually, he was the most composed, in-control bastard in any room. His words were always measured, his confidence unshakable. But here? Here, he sat at my parents' dinner table, shoulders a little too straight, back a little too stiff, holding his fork like it was some kind of delicate weapon. My mom had been impressed with him at first, just because he had good table manners and was sporting a nice coat. And my dad? My dad was keeping him on the hot seat. So, Tristan," he said, stirring his drink slowly. "Tell me. How did you and Dylan meet?" I paused with a bite halfway to my mouth. Oh. Oh no. I could feel Tristan's tension beside me. He set his fork down carefully, answering with

Harvard.It took me a second, then I realized where I'd heard it, and immediately I felt queasiness.I stood on campus, with people, overlapping conversations, wind biting and nipping, pavement under feet where people rushed between classes. It felt too real, the familiar feel of the pack on the shoulder, coffee smell from the student union from afar.And then—A name.“Tristan Wolfe.”I froze.I turned toward a familiar face. "Who's that?"The way he gazed at me was quite insulting.“You don’t know who Tristan Wolfe is?”I shook my head and a shiver rose onto my spine.There was not a vocal reply, because I had been grabbed and jerked towards him.“Come on, take a look, then.”I barely had time to comprehend what I had heard when we were slashing across the quad, pushing our way between groups of students, towards the gym. The louder we got, the more raucous the sound sounded—the unmistakable boom and crash of a basketball being played.Mason shoved the doors wide open.And there he

Dinner was expensive, of course.The restaurant was the kind where they didn't list prices on the menu, because if you had to ask, you shouldn't have been there.Tristan sat across from me, utterly calm, completely…… Hot.One fist clasped his wine glass, the other dangling on the table, languid, negligent slap against the white tablecloth. His suit, black as midnight and cut to shred people, stretched over his shoulders like it had an agenda of its own to make it difficult for me.The top of his collar was open, his tie dangling loosely by one inch, like he'd been tugging on it in frustration prior to us coming. His hair, slicked-back waves and crisp edges, was just a little bit too neat, apart from that rebellious curl which had fallen across his brow. Ah, fuck, Tristan Wolfe…. The man you are.I was supposed to be having dinner, but all of a sudden I no longer wanted to eat. I grumbled at my food instead, avoiding the sauce on the plate with my fork, faking disinterest in all of hi

The words hit like a gut blow, but I didn't respond.Not because I was surprised that someone like Brooks would speak in such a way.But because of what my body failed to do.No rush of excitement. No flash of interest. Nothing.Not even a spark.And that's when it hit me—This wasn't about Brooks.This was about the person I had been thinking about prior to him walking in.The one whose skin I could still feel against me.The one whose fucking bite I'd been absent-mindedly tracing with my hands.Tristan.A bitter taste crept up my throat.I breathed slow, washing my head. "You don't waste time, do you?"Brooks grinned. "I don't play games."I arched an eyebrow. "That's rich, given the fact that you're a businessman. Your whole life is built on games.".He laughed, his grip still loose on my arm—warm, but not tight. No pressure. Just holding on. "Fair point."I drew a dry breath, trying to manage a smirk. "Hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I'm not looking for anything. Not even f

Tristan’s POVI barely got the damn door shut before I rounded on Oliver.“Seriously?”That’s all I said. One word. Because if I said more, I’d probably start breaking things.Oliver, because he was Oliver, had the fucking nerve to blink at me. Like he was confused. Like I was the unreasonable one here.Then, slow as hell, he grinned.“I did warn you,” he said, already making himself at home—in my chair. Arms spread wide like he was lounging on a throne. Legs stretched out, like he was getting comfortable.I ran a hand over my face. “Warn me? When?”Oliver hummed, inspecting his nails like this was boring him. “Oh, you know. Check your messages.”I had checked my messages. There was nothing.“You had a choice,” I gritted out.Oliver just shrugged. “Yeah. And I made the fun one.”I inhaled. Counted to three. Didn’t throw a chair at him.“Why are you here, Oliver?”Instead of answering, he stretched again—obnoxiously. Arms overhead, making a damn show of it. Yawned, even.Then, “You kno