Page 4 of Rejected By the Alpha

Now that he has been dealt with, back to the food.

“Oh,” I said, turning back to the glass case in front of me and chewing on the inside of my cheek. “Do you happen to have any …” When my gaze landed on the loafs, I grinned. “There it is! I’ll do a slice of banana bread, please.”

“One slice of banana bread,” the cashier said, tapping buttons on the register.

Pavel walked back into the café and peered at Mr. Drama Queen behind me for a moment before returning his gaze to me. “We have enough banana bread mix at home to last you two lifetimes, Emmie.”

I rolled my eyes. There he went, always making me look like some banana-worshipping psycho, ruining all my chances of getting with anyone new in this town. Just to be clear, not Mr. Drama Queen, who wouldn’t remove his intoxicating stare.

“Well, there is no harm in getting some more,” I hummed and leaned across the counter, holding out two fingers for the cashier, giving him some flirty banter. “Make that two slices.” I looked over at Pavel. “One for me and the other one for me.”

After handing the cashier some cash, Pavel scooped up his coffee and nodded to the door. “I gotta head out for a bit. I’ll catch you back at home. You good here?” He paused and peered at Mr. Drama Queen, who had turned away. “Or do you need⁠—”

“I’m good.”

“You sure?”

I shoved him. “God, you’re so annoying. I said I’m good. I don’t need you protecting me.”

“All right,” he said, heading to the door. “Text me when you get home then.”

Once the door shut behind Pavel, I turned back to the counter as I waited for my drink and banana bread. “Did Mr. Drama Queen need anything else?” I said, snickering to myself at how offended he was about to get.

Something about pissing off alphaholes gave me such a rush.

“What did you just call me?” he growled.

My lips curled into a smirk, and I looked at him. “You heard me.”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “I really don’t think I did.” He stepped closer to me, craning his head to look down. His jaw was clenched, his arms crossed. “Why don’t you say it again, Emmie?”

My heart pounded inside my chest, and I sucked in a sharp breath, thanking God that when women were turned on, nobody could see it or smell it because man … would I be done for right now!

“It’s Ember actually. Only people I like call me Emmie.”

“Feisty, aren’t you?”

I crossed my arms over my chest, pressing the sides of my hands against my hard nipples. How many times did I have to try to convince myself that alphaholes were the worst idea ever?!

“You have a problem with it?” I asked.

He drew his tongue across his teeth. “I do actually.”

“Good,” I said, smirking up at him.

“Good?” he repeated, clenching his jaw harder.

“Yeah, good. Because I have a problem with you too.” You’re just my fucking type.

“And what’s that, Emmie?”

I glared up at him and balled my hands into fists. God, this man …

“S-sorry, I don’t mean to interrupt,” the cashier said, readjusting his glasses. “But your order is ready, miss.”

Deciding to ignore Mr. Drama Queen because I was sure that I’d run into him again—this town seemed small enough—I twirled around to grab my drink and banana bread that he’d wrapped up in a brown sleeve.

“Thanks so much”—I peered down at his name tag—“Carl. See you tomorrow.”