Chapter 159: Confidence Rollercoaster
New, silky shorts cling to my Nicole v2.0 ass in a way that makes me feel like I’ve stepped into someone else’s life. Someone hotter. More confident. The crop top barely contains my glamour-enhanced chest, and I can’t stop staring at my reflection. I spin in front of the mirror, watching the way my now-blonde hair catches the light.
Penelope had a bag of clothes delivered not even thirty minutes after texting her. Bless her. Logan spent that entire thirty minutes purposely not looking at me, and it has me just a smidgen irritated.
The magic humming beneath my skin feels almost intoxicating—like I’ve had just enough champagne to silence my usual insecurities. I fluff my hair, admiring how it falls in perfect waves. No frizz. No effort. Just glossy perfection.
He has to be into this. There’s no way he’s not. He’s just being stubborn.
I flatten my palms against my new stomach. Not a single imperfection. Not even a freckle. The girl staring back at me looks airbrushed in a way that should bother me, but right now? I just want to see that same hunger in Logan’s eyes that I saw in the elevator. I want to watch him lose control for me—for this perfect body.
With a final glance at my reflection, I saunter into the living room. Logan’s sprawled on the couch, his attention fixated on his phone. He tenses when my footsteps approach, his shoulders going rigid, but he doesn’t look up.
I walk into the room slowly, watching him with narrowed eyes. He continues scrolling, thumb flicking across the screen with deliberate focus. He doesn’t acknowledge me, doesn’t comment, doesn’t even react to my presence.
I circle the couch, trailing my fingertips along the back of it. "You haven’t said a thing, you know. About how I look."
Nothing. Not even a grunt of acknowledgment.
"Not even going to glance at me?" I continue, letting my new voice purr a little.
"Trying not to," he mutters, still refusing to meet my eyes.
Fine. If the alpha won’t pounce... I will.
I round the couch and climb onto his lap without warning, my knees bracketing his thighs. My hands grip his shoulders. His entire body stiffens beneath me, but he doesn’t push me away.
His eyes stay fixed on his phone even as it sits useless in his hand. I reach down, grab his wrists, and place his hands on my hips. A challenge. A taunt.
"Seriously? I’m on your lap and you’re pretending I’m invisible?" I squeeze his shoulders, leaning closer.
Logan’s eyes remain firmly shut, his lips pressed into a tight line. "This isn’t you."
"But it is me. Now." I wiggle slightly on his lap, feeling a rush of power when his fingers involuntarily tighten on my hips.
He’s into this.
Right?
"No. It’s not you." His voice comes out deeper, rougher.
I lean in, my lips hovering just a breath away from his. He must sense my closeness because at the last second, he jerks his head to the side. My lips brush against his jaw instead of their intended target.
I freeze, a wave of offense washing through me. "You won’t even kiss me?"
I don’t know what I expected—him to give in? To get so overwhelmed by my hot new self he just forgot all his weird alpha hang-ups and kissed me back like a man possessed?
Well, yes, actually.
What the hell.
He groans, his eyes still firmly shut. "You smell wrong. My wolf’s... upset about it."
I hate how much that hurts. It shouldn’t. It’s not really my body. But it kind of feels like he just wrinkled his nose at my soul.
I scoff, playing it off like his rejection is ridiculous, but the sting is real. It hits a nerve I didn’t even know was exposed. If he really cared about me, wouldn’t he want me no matter how I look? Or smell?
"You know..." I say, my voice taking on a saccharine edge as frustration creeps in. "The way you’re acting makes it seem like you don’t want me to feel like my body is somehow inferior to this one."
Logan’s entire body tenses beneath me, his eyes still shut tight.
"Which means you think this body is better than mine. Don’t you?" My tone is deadpan sweet, the verbal equivalent of a knife slipped between his jerky, kiss-rejecting ribs.
His eyes fly open—comically wide with panic and bright, bright green. "No! Not at all. I don’t think that—Nicole, your body is—was—is—you."
He fumbles so badly I almost laugh. Almost.
I raise an eyebrow, amused despite myself. A little hurt. A little vicious. But mostly amused at how thoroughly I’ve rattled him. The confidence this new body has given me is strange and real, and it makes me wonder how insecure I was before while never noticing it.
Or maybe it’s just like... role-playing. Where it’s okay to do things you wouldn’t normally do, because it’s role-play.
I’ve never understood much about it, but maybe it’s time to do some sex education?
"You don’t need to look like this to be wanted," he says, suddenly earnest. "You never did. And I don’t want you to think that you do."
Aha. So my body is inferior to this one. I narrow my eyes.
Something in me has softened a little from his earnest attempt. A little. But not entirely. It isn’t like I’ve never been a little self-conscious about my tummy or how much sexier Scott’s side piece was compared to her. "I didn’t before... but now?"
I push off his lap, ready to walk away. He looks stunned, sitting there with his hands hovering in the air where my hips used to be.
There’s a lot of conflicting emotions inside me. Happy he doesn’t want this body. Angry he doesn’t want it. Irritated he thinks it’s better than mine. Gloating that my new body’s so freaking snazzy. If I’m this crazy in my own head, I guess it makes sense for him to be, too...
But the petty, he-won’t-let-me-kiss-him side of me has me saying, "Thanks for the insight, Alpha."
I don’t even know if I mean it.
This body isn’t mine. Not really. So why does his rejection cut like this? He’s being sweet. Devoted. Wonderful. And it’s pissing me off for no good reason.
It feels like I’m losing—no matter what game I’m playing.
A growl rumbles through the room. Before I can turn away, his hands clamp down on my hips, yanking me back onto his lap with enough force to knock the breath from my lungs. His grip is bruising, and I can feel him hardening beneath me.
"So if I touch you, I’m wrong—and if I don’t, I’m still the bad guy?" he grits out, his breath hot against my ear.
"Actually, I think I’m saying you should just fuck me like you mean it and stop overthinking, Logan."
He groans, his forehead dropping to my shoulder. "You know it’s not about sex, Nicole."
His fingers keep flexing against my hips.
I shift deliberately in his lap, the thrill of victory humming in my veins. He still wants me.
I hadn’t doubted it earlier. Then I did. And now I don’t again. My newfound confidence returns with a vengeance, despite our little rollercoaster detour, and sass threads through my words as I drawl, "I think this will all be solved if you’d just fuck me in my new skin and get over yourself, Alpha."
His dick gets even harder against me. He grinds me down on top of him and says, "Say that again," in a low rumble that vibrates through my core.
"Fuck me and get over yourself?"
"No..."
"Ohh..." My grin is slow and wicked. I say sweetly, "Alpha?"
Something in Logan snaps. One moment I’m on his lap, the next I’m thrown over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, my new blonde hair hanging down as he strides toward the bedroom.
I laugh, slapping at his back. "We could have just done it on the couch!"
"The restraints are in the bedroom," he growls.
I freeze mid-laugh. "Restraints?"