Fireworks with the Pack (Omegaverse Holiday Quickies #5)

Chapter 1

“What in the hell…”

I’m not usually one to talk to myself, but as I slow to a stop at the back of the line of trucks and trailers, I’m bewildered enough to make an exception.

This little boat ramp at the top of Lake Mixam sees maybe five or six launches on a busy day.

It’s slow enough there isn’t even an attendant.

Just a little box on a pole asking non-residents to slip in three bucks to help maintain the ramp.

So seeing a backup of at least five rigs deep at once? Unheard of.

I throw my old Ford into park and push open the door. The metal groans in protest. Hopping out, I stalk up along the line of vehicles, passing several irritated faces along the way.

“Zoe! You gonna figure out what the hell the hold up is?” Tommy Thompson hollers out the window as I go by. Instead of stopping, I just throw up a hand indicating I got this and keep moving. When I reach the ramp, it’s immediately clear what the problem is.

Tourists.

We don’t get ‘em often, but when we do they usually fall into one of two categories: rural folk looking for a change of scenery, or men who think having a big truck makes them experts at everything.

These fools are in the latter group.

My hands settle on my hips as I watch for a while.

May as well get a little entertainment out of the whole thing.

The matte black Ford Raptor pulls forward, tires skidding on the wet pavement.

Shifting into reverse, the driver sticks his head out the window to look behind him while he attempts to get a straight shot at the ramp.

His buddy is at the bottom, pointing his finger this way and that, making hand signals that would probably make more sense to a Navy Seal than guiding a vehicle. He looks like he’s swatting at the June flies that plague us this time of year. Who knows, maybe he is.

A third guy stands on the little dock biting his thumbnail, eyes shifting back and forth between the disaster unfolding in front of him and the ever-growing line of cars.

The driver finally gets the trailer mostly straight down the ramp, but then he backs up so far his exhaust goes underwater. When he doesn’t pull up some, I decide I have to step in.

Heaving a big sigh and shaking my head, I jog over to the hot mess express. Approaching the driver’s side door, I’m momentarily struck by how handsome the idiot is.

A sharp jaw dappled in blonde stubble, tight with stress. Messy hair giving the illusion he’s been running his fingers through it, or that he’s just been fucked. Broad shoulders that are testing the seam quality of his grey t-shirt.

I shake my head and scold myself for getting distracted by a pretty face. Bad, Zoe.

Steeling myself, I rap my knuckles twice on the metal of his door. The truck jerks as he slams on his brake and whips his head toward me. Before he can say anything, I wave my hand in a come here motion.

“Get out.”

Ol’ boy stares at me like he’s never heard the English language before. “Wh-what?”

“C’mon, get out.” I motion my hand again. “You’re about to drown your pavement princess and piss off a whole lotta town folk.”

The man, an alpha by the looks of it, just blinks at me like an owl. I heave an exaggerated sigh.

“Listen, man. We all wanna get out on the water, it’s the holiday weekend.

You’re clearly new to this whole boating thing, and I’m not blaming you for having a hard time backin’ up the trailer.

But if you take much longer, you’re gonna have a bunch of irritated people on your ass.

” I step back and wave my hand again. “So please, get out and let me help you before you cause an angry mob.”

“Just listen to her Deacon!” the man on the dock hollers. He’s a cute redhead, prolly afraid he’s gonna burn to a crisp if he stands out in the sun much longer.

The alpha in the truck opens the door and gets out, moving like he’s in a trance.

When he steps aside, I waste no time stepping on the running board and hopping in.

“Thank you,” I quip sarcastically. I can’t help myself.

At least he didn’t try to argue with me because I’m a woman.

Been there, done that, have the postcards.

My ass lands in the plush leather bucket seat and I quickly adjust my settings.

When I have the seat and mirrors how I want them, I pull the door shut and am instantly surrounded by a heavenly blend of citrus and agave.

Cadillac Margaritas with my best friends during the dog days of summer.

The tang of citrus tamed by the smooth agave sweetness.

My traitorous core clenches and slick soaks my bathing suit bottoms, and a stark realization slams into me like a freight train.

Oh fuck. Scent match.