Free Winning the Alpha by Carina Wilder
Authors: Carina Wilder
there), and she walked over to him---frolicked, more like, her immovable breasts nevertheless clinging to her chest like superglued cantaloupes.
“Noelle.” I could see a pattern already. Faux women first.
“Nikki.” Third? I was third. I didn’t know what to do; I thought I’d be standing there a lot longer, watching other women work their magic. Julia’s hand gave me a soft but aggressive shove from behind and I found myself all but jogging towards the guy who didn’t seem to be the man of my dreams. Third place. It was like I’d won a bronze medal in complacency.
There was no trinket exchanged; he simply asked if I wanted to stay and I said, “Yes.” Then he gave me a kiss on the cheek and whispered, “You won’t regret it” in my ear.
I smiled for the cameras, having no clue what he meant by that, and turned to walk back to my spot. I felt relief and nervousness at once, knowing that a whole lot of people watching television would wonder why the big girl got chosen so quickly. Ah, well. I was there to represent my kind, my ilk. To make the world aware of how attractive we could be, which meant that I should stop feeling apologetic for my size.
As I stood and watched the others undergo the selection process, I saw a figure in the doorway by the camera crews: Tristan. He was leaning, his arms crossed, shirt unbuttoned at the top after a long day. My God, he looked sexy. I nearly walked over to him and then remembered that the cameras were still rolling. He saw me looking at him and smiled, but then he shook his head and jutted his chin out to indicate Craig, as though to say, “Pay attention to the alpha.” Right. Forgot about that, too.
Diana and Julia were among the women chosen to remain. I wasn’t worried; Diana was so beautiful and Julia so feisty that I didn’t see them leaving anytime soon. But after tonight, I supposed, the real competition would begin.
When the ceremony was over, there were a few blubbering women about. I did feel for them; I knew that it was the rejection that hurt and if there’s one thing I understood, it was rejection. But I chose to let Craig and the crew deal with them while I looked around, wondering about sleep and, more importantly, about the elusive producer.
When the cameras finally stopped rolling for the night, Tristan came over to talk to me. He kept a distance between us, creating the impression of a casual conversation.
“Do you know where to go?” he asked.
“I’m sure someone will tell me. It’s not your job,” I said. “But thanks.”
“No problem. I’m sorry that you’ll be sharing a room with someone. I mean, if you have to share a room, I’d rather it be…” He stopped himself then.
“You’d rather it be…?”
He looked immediately contrite, like a monk about to whip himself for committing a sin. “Nothing. I shouldn’t have said that. Do me a favour and forget about it, would you?”
“I…sure. Okay.” I’d rather not, actually .
“I should go make sure everything’s set for tomorrow,” he said. “Sl eep well.” He put a hand up now as if he were going to touch my face, but he pulled it away, turned and walked off. I wondered if he’d ever touch me again.
We were given a map of the house with our sleeping arrangements. It seemed that they’d only been written up after C raig had made his selections, since only the remaining twelve women were listed. I was to room with Julia, which made me almost happy. Yes, of course if I had to room with someone, I’d rather it be Tristan. But I had to put the thought out of my mind for now. Probably forever.
Our bedroom was inoffensive and neutral. Like the downstairs it was basically personality-free with shades of beige and brown, rich reds and the odd piece of non-descript white porcelain posed tidily on a nightstand. The beds’ headboards were made of a quilted, shiny burgundy fabric that reminded me of things I’d seen on home decorating shows. Each room in the
“Noelle.” I could see a pattern already. Faux women first.
“Nikki.” Third? I was third. I didn’t know what to do; I thought I’d be standing there a lot longer, watching other women work their magic. Julia’s hand gave me a soft but aggressive shove from behind and I found myself all but jogging towards the guy who didn’t seem to be the man of my dreams. Third place. It was like I’d won a bronze medal in complacency.
There was no trinket exchanged; he simply asked if I wanted to stay and I said, “Yes.” Then he gave me a kiss on the cheek and whispered, “You won’t regret it” in my ear.
I smiled for the cameras, having no clue what he meant by that, and turned to walk back to my spot. I felt relief and nervousness at once, knowing that a whole lot of people watching television would wonder why the big girl got chosen so quickly. Ah, well. I was there to represent my kind, my ilk. To make the world aware of how attractive we could be, which meant that I should stop feeling apologetic for my size.
As I stood and watched the others undergo the selection process, I saw a figure in the doorway by the camera crews: Tristan. He was leaning, his arms crossed, shirt unbuttoned at the top after a long day. My God, he looked sexy. I nearly walked over to him and then remembered that the cameras were still rolling. He saw me looking at him and smiled, but then he shook his head and jutted his chin out to indicate Craig, as though to say, “Pay attention to the alpha.” Right. Forgot about that, too.
Diana and Julia were among the women chosen to remain. I wasn’t worried; Diana was so beautiful and Julia so feisty that I didn’t see them leaving anytime soon. But after tonight, I supposed, the real competition would begin.
When the ceremony was over, there were a few blubbering women about. I did feel for them; I knew that it was the rejection that hurt and if there’s one thing I understood, it was rejection. But I chose to let Craig and the crew deal with them while I looked around, wondering about sleep and, more importantly, about the elusive producer.
When the cameras finally stopped rolling for the night, Tristan came over to talk to me. He kept a distance between us, creating the impression of a casual conversation.
“Do you know where to go?” he asked.
“I’m sure someone will tell me. It’s not your job,” I said. “But thanks.”
“No problem. I’m sorry that you’ll be sharing a room with someone. I mean, if you have to share a room, I’d rather it be…” He stopped himself then.
“You’d rather it be…?”
He looked immediately contrite, like a monk about to whip himself for committing a sin. “Nothing. I shouldn’t have said that. Do me a favour and forget about it, would you?”
“I…sure. Okay.” I’d rather not, actually .
“I should go make sure everything’s set for tomorrow,” he said. “Sl eep well.” He put a hand up now as if he were going to touch my face, but he pulled it away, turned and walked off. I wondered if he’d ever touch me again.
We were given a map of the house with our sleeping arrangements. It seemed that they’d only been written up after C raig had made his selections, since only the remaining twelve women were listed. I was to room with Julia, which made me almost happy. Yes, of course if I had to room with someone, I’d rather it be Tristan. But I had to put the thought out of my mind for now. Probably forever.
Our bedroom was inoffensive and neutral. Like the downstairs it was basically personality-free with shades of beige and brown, rich reds and the odd piece of non-descript white porcelain posed tidily on a nightstand. The beds’ headboards were made of a quilted, shiny burgundy fabric that reminded me of things I’d seen on home decorating shows. Each room in the