Chapter 4
WREN
Oh my god. I’m about two seconds from combusting.
Connor motherfucking Renfro. Standing there looking like the rugby god he is.
Rocking a cap and sweats, like nearly all the higher-profile rugby players do when they’re out.
Trying to stay incognito. Low key. Until you’re standing there trying to stare him down, only that’s impossible when the guy is six foot four and could lift me over his head like a hand weight.
But, of course, a player like that is exactly that. A player.
He’s one of the international signings with the Wolves. My brother told me all about how excited they were to have him officially extend his contract long-term a couple of seasons ago. The club beat out mega offers from France, Japan, even Australia, to secure his signature.
The guy is practically a Scottish national treasure.
There is no way I’m going to be bamboozled by his lilting brogue, slutty little gold chain, or dropping a lass on me.
I’m sure that charming little trifecta is frequently used to attract female attention.
He’s a star, and that brings megawatt attention—something he appears eager to eat up in media interviews.
If there’s a camera and a microphone, they somehow always sniff him out.
Sideline before matches, at halftime on the way up the tunnel, and everywhere in between.
It’s no wonder he’s more often than not the marquee player who will be trotted out by the coach and management at press conferences after the final whistle blows.
Connor Renfro. Fullback with the freakish talent.
Exuding an ego the size of the British Isles.
That playboy reputation of his confirmed in black marker, with the barista’s number carefully written on the side of his cup.
Yeah, even without all the no-fraternization rules in place for Omega scholars, I don’t need to be letting my head get turned by a strapping Scottish rugby player.
Nope.
Don’t need to think about him at all.
Erased from my mind. Rubbed off the board. Etch-A-Sketched the fuck out of there with one quick shake.
Pretending not to have a clue who he was… felt… I don’t know. Powerful, somehow? Not that I care what he thinks, but there was no way I’d be willing to give him a crumb of knowledge that I’ve watched him play on the big screen what feels like a hundred times.
Walking back home, I’m minding my own business, sipping on my hot chocolate in peace, and about two feet from the shortcut to our street, when a massive black truck with tinted windows slows and pulls up to a crawl alongside me.
Oh god, what now?
The electric window rolls down, and familiar blue eyes peer out at me from the driver’s side, matched with a lopsided smirk.
“Need a ride, ma’am?”
I glare. “Who are you again?”
The truck comes to a halt. “Sorry. I’ve been slammed the past couple of days.”
“So, what, you’re just gonna pull up randomly and try to give me a heart attack?” With a huff, I prop one hand on my hip. “There’s this modern invention called texting. You should try it sometime.”
“Chill, Wrennie. We were dropping by to see you.”
We. Plural.
My mouth goes a little dry as I take in the sight of the man filling the passenger seat through the window. All two hundred and forty-ish pounds of him. Atlas Palamo, my brother’s best friend, permanent broody grump. Designation: Alpha asshole.
The guy wouldn’t know how to smile if his life depended on it and barely talks.
All I get is a slight dip of his chin and tiny narrowing of his hazel eyes, before he turns his attention back to the phone in one of those giant hands of his.
Yup. There it is. Same old rude Atlas. Clearly, nothing has changed in the past five years since he first showed up at our house one day with my brother after training.
“Get in, I’ll drive you around the block.” Finch rolls his wrist at me.
“It’s literally faster if I walk.” I point down the narrow street.
“Just get in the damn truck, would ya? We gotta get to the captain’s run,” he insists. “I was just swinging by real quick to check you were alive after day one on campus.”
Ordinarily, my favorite game is to ignore my brother when he decides to be overbearing, but it’s cold, my feet are sore, and this Omega positively detests both of those things.
“Fine.” Opening the back door with an exaggerated sigh, I slide in, having to shove two giant gym bags out of the way to make room.
“This place is feeling safe enough for you to walk around?” Finch eyes me in the rearview as he pulls back onto the sleepy street.
“Yeah, it’s a perfect spot. My scholarship is looking out for us.
” I fiddle with the lid of my cup, somehow even more intensely aware of the man I’m now sitting directly behind.
Even though I can’t see his face, I can see the crawl of inked text up the left side of his neck.
The script flourishes up from beyond the soft curve of his hoodie.
Ink that I know for a fact extends a whole lot of other places on his stupidly muscled frame.
“—this weekend?”
Shit. Totally zoned out and wasn’t listening to a word my brother said just then. Leaning forward, I give him a shove on his shoulder.
“Sorry, I couldn’t hear you above the overwhelming stench of dirty gym socks back here.”
“So dramatic, you Omegas.” He keeps his eyes on the road, but I can tell they’re rolling. Forever the big brother Alpha who loves to tease both his little sisters about how much more sensitive to smell we are on a regular basis.
“Left up here.” I point out the turn for my street.
Rummaging in the cup holder of the center console, he hands me an envelope. “Here. I was saying you’ve got sideline tickets for this weekend.”
“What if I had a hot date?”
The air inside this truck crackles in an instant. My brother practically bristles. “Then you can bring them along, and I’ll make sure to take them aside in the locker room and introduce them to a squad of forty men who would like to know his intentions with my sister.”
Giving him another thump on his shoulder, I make a scoffing noise.
“As if I’d ever introduce you to anyone I dated.
” As I say it, I can’t help but feel my cheeks heat, catching sight of the veins on the back of the other man’s hands as he scrolls silently on his phone.
“I’ll bring my roommates. Oh, wait, pull over here.
That’s me, with the blue door.” Why the hell am I so flustered today?
We almost drove straight past my place before I noticed.
“Sorry, I can’t come in, but I’ll catch up with you after the game this weekend, yeah? Stick around, those tickets will get you into the after-match function, too.”
“Are you sure? Your little sister won’t be cramping your style?” I ruffle his hair, and he tries to duck away.
“Alright, alright, get outta my ride, nuisance. Text me if you need help with getting furniture or any heavy lifting shit sorted.”
“I’m good. But thanks.” I slide out the door. Still painfully aware that his best friend has stonewalled me the whole time.
“I forgot, you’re Miss Independent.”
“That’s my middle name.”
“For a middle child, you’re weird.”
“Well, for a rugby player, you’re looking mighty squishy around the edges. Need to up your cardio and drop the peanut butter cookie addiction.”
“Bye, Wrenster.” He winds the window down again to call out, giving me the middle finger at the same time.
“Later, Finchy.” I pretend to catch it, like he’s blown me a kiss, and toss it carelessly over my shoulder with a nonchalant shrug.
When I look back at the gap in the heavily tinted window, I’m met with piercing hazel eyes. More obviously flecked with green than bronze in this afternoon’s light. He stares at me with a muscle pulsing in the side of his clean-shaven jaw.
What a prick. He’s probably cursing me for potentially making them late for training, when it’s all my brother’s doing. No amount of death glares can intimidate me; I would have happily walked on my own.
The truck pulls away from the curb, and I still feel that jumbled feeling in my stomach. Like a puzzle when you first open a box, and all the pieces are a hot mess.
Screw him for being nice to look at. Those cheekbones and tattoos are a crime to be wasted on someone who possesses the personality of a cucumber water served at a health spa.
Bland. Boring. Bitter.
He’s borderline rude the way he ignores me. Always has, and no doubt, always will.
The guy might be one of the top centers in the US league, but he’s a jerk.
Thankfully, I don’t have to be around him, other than if my brother brings him along. That’s one Alpha I’ll gladly avoid.