Chapter 20
WREN
I’m officially a mess.
After Connor swooped in as unexpectedly as he did earlier, and my weekend of all things relating to Theo, I can hardly think straight.
I’ve got Alphas on the brain, and in the sights of my pussy.
It was all too easy to manipulate getting an invite from Finch to tag along.
I might have mentioned that we were planning to head to the student bar with the worst reputation in Willow Falls, The Woozy Barrel.
As soon as I mentioned that me and the girls were thinking about having a night out and where we’d be, he pulled the protective big brother card.
All gruff and insistent in a “can’t have three Omegas alone in a shithole like that” way, and hey presto, here we are now walking through the doors to what looks like a giant flagstone ranch homestead.
Long Horn is actually a steakhouse, one of the Wolves’ major sponsors, where the T-bones are big enough to leave even the biggest rugby player in a food coma.
Walking in the door behind Nikita, I tug on my skirt that suddenly feels a few inches too short.
The butterflies swarming my belly have intensified their flapping and flustering the whole way over here.
Of course, I don’t have Connor’s phone number to text him and let him know I had decided to come.
And I’m more than a little giddy at what it means for our strange little connection that we seem to have that I agreed to come in the first place.
So am I purposely wearing an outfit to get his attention? Most definitely.
Aftershocks of my phone call with Theo still linger front and center in my mind’s eye.
That man occupies premium real estate, rent-free.
We’ve been texting on and off ever since the photo and orgasm incident.
Nothing too intense or crossing more lines, he’s backed right off since that day.
No doubt, Theo Brennan, Wolves team owner, has got a lot on his plate, and certainly, we both know that any continued risky texts or outright phone sex is a very, very bad notion to entertain.
My cheeks heat at just how terribly wonderful that idea was.
Coming around the corner is enough to make my jaw drop.
I’ve been around Finch’s rugby teams plenty of times, but it never gets any less confronting to see so many enormous men all packed into a room.
If this place was empty, it would feel cavernous, but considering they all take up the space of at least two people each, the room seems to shrink faster than if I’d gobbled up a piece of cake labeled, “Eat me.”
“Holy thighs and biceps, Batman.” Nikita fans herself. “Those muscles are bigger than my head.”
A big cheer rises up from one of the pool tables in the farthest corner as someone sinks a difficult shot.
Long Horn is set up like a sports bar on this side of the place, with the Western-themed steakhouse seating located through a set of swinging saloon doors at the other end of the room.
At least half a dozen pool tables are scattered around, with big-screen TVs live-streaming ice hockey.
It looks like most of the team is here, at least twenty of the guys out of the wider squad, and they’re split up around the different tables, with sticks at the ready. They must be playing as teams.
“Ohhhhh shit,” a deep voice calls out.
“It’s a Murphy junior sighting.” Maddox points his cue our way.
I’m sideswiped by Gus, who drops a heavy arm around my shoulder and acts like a bouncer.
With one hand to his ear, pretending like he’s speaking into a radio headset, he guides us across the room to the bar.
“Hot sister incoming. Alert the fire marshal.” Spreading his arm out like we’ve got to forge through a scrum of reporters, he playfully shoves at a couple of the guys to get them to move.
“Coming through, out of the way, people.”
As we reach the row of barstools, practically the entire room is thumping tables and enthusiastically joining in a chant of Mur-phy! Mur-phy!
I’m equally laughing and mortified at the scene he’s just caused. “Stop it, you are all ridiculous.”
I don’t dare look to try and catch Connor’s eye, wherever he might be hiding.
Gus is an absolute sweetheart. He might look like the fiercest of creatures, with his big beard and ham-sized fists, ready to take down men with a single swipe of his forearm around their knees.
But he’s a giant teddy bear. And ever so polite, too.
It’s nothing more than playful banter as he flourishes a bow to all three of us before taking our hands and kissing the backs of them one by one, like we’re three queens and he’s presenting himself at court.
His boyfriend, Jackson, comes up behind him and rolls his eyes. “That’s one way to schmooze up to Murph. Play knight in shining armor for his baby sister.”
“Loved it. No notes. We’ll hire you for all our grand entrances.
” Nikita grins, elbowing Gabbie in an effort to get her to agree, which won’t be the case anytime this year.
Gabbie quite literally looks like she wants the ground to swallow her up.
Our sweet little bookworm isn’t one for being in the spotlight.
“Well, I will say if you give up the rugby thing, you’ll make one hell of a bodyguard.” I laugh and go up on my tiptoes to give him a peck on the cheek.
That has him grabbing me by the shoulders to plant a smooch on my forehead, muttering fuck yes, thank you, before letting out a whoop while spinning to face the room.
“And now you motherfuckers all owe me fifty bucks each.” He points around at all his teammates and yells at the top of his lungs, “Told you I’d be the first one to get a kiss from a Murphy tonight. Drop those dollar-dollar bills, boys.”
The room echoes with boos and groans from twenty giant men all reaching for their wallets.
“I shouldn’t allow him out of the house.
” Jackson scrubs a hand over his mouth and mutters.
“At least buy these beautiful ladies a drink with your fortune, babe.” He gently punches him in the arm.
Jackson is a Beta and isn’t a player, but he’s one of the forward-specialist trainers.
They both transferred here to the Wolves as a couple on a package deal.
Seeing them together is enough to tug at my heartstrings, knowing that their relationship is openly embraced, but if Jackson designated as an Omega, like us, it would be an entirely different situation.
It fucking sucks.
We each get ourselves something to drink—Gus picks up the tab—and Nikita prods me in the back until I start moving.
“Go find Scotland,” she hisses in my ear. “We didn’t put all this effort into your outfit for you to be a wallflower.”
“Alright. Alright. You know you can remove the revolver from between my shoulder blades,” I reply through gritted teeth, maintaining a smile.
“Can’t stop, won’t stop, ’til you’re sitting on his lap.”
“Christ…” Tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, we reach Finch’s corner of the room. Where, of course, he’s playing against both Connor and Atlas.
Wonderful.
Kill me now.
“Hey.” I put on my bravest smile in the face of my brother, his best friend I do my best to avoid making eye contact with, and the man I’d really quite like to find a quiet corner alone with.
But that’s not gonna be happening, so hopefully this outfit will serve its purpose of tormenting him to the point he doesn’t try to put us all in this situation ever again.
Hopefully, it’ll give him something to remember me by.
“Guys, you remember my friends, Nikita… and Gabbie.”
Finch skulls the rest of his soda, hastily downing at least half a pint in gulp after gulp.
Weird, but whatever.
He simply wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, then pulls his phone out. “Yeah. Hey.” Looking at the screen, rather than us, he sets his glass down. “Gotta take this.” And with that, he disappears.
Maddox stands there looking perplexed. “Uhhh… now what? We just lost half our opposition. Palamo and Murph were teamed up.”
Standing at the opposite end of the table is Connor, looking unbelievably handsome in a mossy-green button-down and ripped jeans.
He’s got a pool cue nestled between his knees as he rests his ass on a barstool.
While I know he’s not openly staring at me, I feel every second of his attention all over.
Goosebumps pepper my skin under the subtle sweep of his focus.
Off to the side of the table is Atlas, a broody look plastered on his face like it’s his default factory setting. He stands staunchly with arms folded, and the tattooed grump has the audacity to be wearing a backward cap.
Doesn’t he know that’s just unfair? It’s very inconvenient for the fact that I’m supposed to be concentrating on how rude and unapproachable he is, when he’s got that hat turned around in a way that makes my stomach swoop.
Nikita makes a gleeful noise. Plucking the glass out of my hand, she gives me a not-so-subtle shove in my back.
“Problem solved, substitute’s bench is at your service.
” As I turn around to silently mouth what the fuck at her, she gives me a sly wink.
“We’ll just swap one Murphy out for another, won’t we, boys? ”