Chapter 21
WREN
Me:
Currently playing pool (very poorly) with your team.
If you ever need any intel on your players, now’s your opportunity. I *think* I’ve infiltrated the inner sanctum.
The guys are lining up their next shot, but I’m stealthily focusing my attention on my phone, sending a quick text to Theo while everyone else’s eyes are on the table.
Look, it’s not that I feel guilty for being here, but more that I’m caught in some sort of strange urge to want to tell him what my night is looking like.
I’m not cheating on the guy or anything—god, we barely know each other, other than having an obsession with his scent and besides the blatant fact we aren’t a thing, either—but my heart squeezes at the thought of him finding out secondhand that I’ve spent tonight socializing with his players.
I think I’d shrivel with shame if he learned I was here thanks to rumors flying around the team…
or maybe it’s just all my scent match fuckery leaping up and grabbing me by the shoulders, giving me a shake to remind me he’s always going to be a presence in my life, whether we can act on that fact or not.
Also, there’s the not-so-insignificant matter that the entire reason I’m here is because of Connor’s invite, and I’d hate for Theo to think I’m out here throwing myself at any old Alpha who looks my way. Gross. That couldn’t be farther from the truth.
So, I decide to give him a heads-up about this cozy little hangout. That much I don’t want to entangle myself in a weird lie-by-omission about.
This entire thing would be so much less complicated if I could just tell him I might have a teeny tiny soft spot for his enormous star fullback.
A man with ocean-deep eyes that ever so often flit my way, but only when he’s absolutely certain no one is looking.
With hair hanging messily across his forehead as he leans over the pool cue, and that gold chain dangling below his Adam’s apple, inviting me to all sorts of wicked thoughts about hooking my finger through it and tugging his mouth toward mine.
Sigh.
Yeah. All of those sorts of feelings.
The kind of foolish crush I absolutely cannot be developing.
While it’s a relief to know Theo won’t be concerned with me wanting a pack dynamic. He’s happy to share. All the check boxes are neatly stacked in his favor as a protective Alpha scent match of my dreams.
Yet, how the hell am I even daydreaming about this? How am I even letting my brain drift on tides of thinking about him, and them, and pack scenarios as if the rules magically don’t apply to me anymore?
All these silly little notions are the kinds of fanciful ideas I can’t possibly be lost in thinking about. I’m out here behaving like it’s already a foregone conclusion that we’ll be forming a pack together. When I need to push them out of my mind.
At the faintest sniff of a hint that I’m gonna continue to keep putting distance between us, my body pouts and whines with distaste.
That’s the stupidest idea ever.
Layering everything with an extra-thick frosting made of confused Omega is the stony silence from Atlas, the whole time my brother has been MIA.
Of course, it’s impossible to read him or interact with him.
So I don’t bother wasting my breath. I take my aim and do an exceedingly poor effort of attempting to land a ball in a pocket.
The only time I venture too close to the table is when it comes round to being my turn, and in between, I securely nestle between Nikita and Gabbie for safe harbor from his muscly, tattooed brand of silence.
I’m totally using them as human shields against the charm of a Scottish accent and strong hands caressing his giant… stick.
“I think you’d better start digging deep in those pockets, Renfro,” Maddox groans. “Our battleship is about to be sunk.”
Atlas coolly leans across the table, lining up the eight ball. His focus is dialed, muscles at ease, there’s no hint of nerves or anything to indicate he feels the pressure of sending that ball home to the pocket for a winning shot.
With his sleeves pushed back up his forearms, there’s little to do but note every corded muscle on display.
All that brown skin lined with ink in a mix of a blackout style and a modern geometric Polynesian pattern disappears beneath the fabric.
That soft material of his top clings just the perfect amount to his muscles, hugging every slope of bicep and bulge of shoulders and delts.
But it’s not done to be showy. Some guys want to wear the tightest Lycra, a skin-suit suctioned to their muscles, but not a guy like Atlas.
He’s impossibly cut yet doesn’t flaunt his body.
I begrudgingly have to admit he’s hot. The guy looks good, especially with that stupid cap flipped backward, and I’m only an Omega at the mercy of her basest instincts, after all.
That much is evident by the way I’m panting over the sight of his wrists and lower forearms like I’m a Victorian man seeing a lady’s ankle for the first time.
God, the way he snaps the pool cue, it lets out a sharp crack, and the black drops in the pocket. The kind of shot where it’s so expertly executed, the white ball barely moves a breath.
“Fuck you very much.” Connor shakes his head, tossing bills down on the felt one by one. “Want to pull my pants down around my ankles next? Have me drop to my knees?”
Rolling my lips together, I struggle not to laugh out loud. He knew tonight would be a losing streak, and he wasn’t wrong; he really does suck at pool. I think he only sank one ball the entire time I’ve been over here. It’s endearing, damn him, seeing this side where he doesn’t mind not winning.
I mean, he doesn’t exactly look over the moon about it; he’s busy grumbling at Atlas from the other end of the table, yet he’s still willing to show up and be down for a game. Some Alphas have planetary egos that could simply never cope with the threat of being perceived as weak.
Whereas Connor… well… he’s proof of just how strong it is to be willing to do something for his team, even if he doesn’t like it.
Don’t you want that in your pack? An Alpha who can play well with others?
“Time for another drink,” I announce abruptly to the girls, setting my cue on the table. “But I’m gonna head to the bathroom first. You two wait here.”
I bolt before they can offer to accompany me. This is an emergency I need to attend to without an audience. My body is a carnival of spinning gaudy lights and music. I’m churned up by the realization that I genuinely do have an interest in Connor and what he might bring to a pack.
Well, shit.
I’m officially trying to keep my head above water while well and truly in the fucking deep end now, aren’t I?
Secluding myself in the bathroom, I splash some cold water over my wrists and take a few deep breaths, looking myself straight in the eyes.
Get it the fuck together. This cannot happen.
WFU doesn’t make exceptions for Omegas. My scholarship terms are clear. So that’s that.
Grabbing a paper towel, I dry off my hands and glare at the slight flush on my cheeks. It’s not hugely noticeable, but I know exactly how twisted up I’m feeling on the inside. How typical, my inner Omega wants to willingly be a slutty slut slut for these Alphas.
Taking a deep breath, I have to will my pussy to calm the hell down. The rate I’m going, I’ll be a mess of slick and desperation by the end of the night.
Theo:
Sounds a lot more enjoyable than a late-night meeting with the West Coast.
I can tell you where I’d rather be.
Me:
The competition is pretty fierce. You’d have to make sure you don’t mind parting with your cash.
Theo:
Who says I would be losing?
My heart does a silly little flutter reading his words.
Me:
Oh, that’s right. You rugby players don’t lose your competitive streak, do you?
Theo:
Absolutely not.
Especially when there’s a beautiful Omega I might be trying to impress.
Ugh. This man. He’s got me grinning at my phone as I walk through the door into the corridor, all too easily falling under his spell.
Me:
Oh really? You’ll have to introduce me to her sometime.
I’ve hardly managed to type my reply when I stumble straight into a solid mass. The broadest of chests fills my vision, and I don’t need to look up to know the azure eyes I’ll find there. His heather scent rushes in.
Connor’s big palms wrap my shoulders to steady me, and all the swirling, dancing temptation of this man hooks in behind my ribcage at having him this close.
We might be in an isolated area, but there’s a very real risk someone—anyone from the team filling the bar—could come around the corner and see where his hands are.
And yet, as I crane my neck to meet his hooded gaze, I silently whisper the truth to myself… that I don’t want him to stop touching me at all.
“Better watch your footing, Bambi. Would hate to see you stumble.” His lips curve into the most deadly of crooked smiles as he looks down on me.
Those big paws of his stay bracketed around my shoulders, and the longer we stand here, the more I feel at risk of swooning off balance.
My stomach is nothing but a riot of flapping wings.
We’re so close, the heat radiates off him, pouring into my veins from his massive chest and enormous palms, and it’s as if the air starts damn well vibrating between us.
“Hiding back here?” he murmurs in that undeniably sexy brogue. As he says the words, there’s a keenness to his expression, an intensity in the way his gaze roams my features, and he runs his tongue ever so slowly across his bottom lip to wet it.
I’m no better than a kitten scruffed by the back of its neck. That tiniest of motions captures me in a trance.
“Needed some air, is all.” With a jerk of my chin toward an exit door at the end of the corridor, I somehow get words out. All while valiantly swallowing down a few other overeager confessions that want to bubble up.
You’re insanely gorgeous.
I think I like you too much for my own good.
Would you kiss me?
He hooks me with a smirk, a look of knowing flaring in those captivating eyes of his, before leaning closer.
“Sure you don’t wanna wear my number, Bambi?” His voice dips low, seductively so. “It would look perfect on you.” Each thumbstroke as Connor brushes tiny glides over my shoulders, ever so gently tugs my sanity to be under his command.
The things I want to say, and the things I have to say right now, are at odds with each other—fighting for precedence on my tongue—so I’m rendered speechless, unbearably horny, and incapable of doing anything except shake my head.
“I hear the number fifteen pairs perfectly with sky-blue eyes.” That smirk of his is sinful.
Mischief-filled and somewhat triumphant in the confirmed knowledge that I’m finding him virtually impossible to resist. Because he’s not trapping me here, in any shape or form.
Connor is being a gentleman. I’m the one choosing to stay, the one who’s allowing this.
The Omega who wants to enjoy every pulse-racing second the heat of his touch seeps through fabric and into my skin.
The undeniable truth is that I’m standing breathlessly still, and my only thought is to keep looking at his lips like a madwoman.
“Wanna know what I think, pretty lass?” This giant man stoops down, bringing his mouth close enough to my ear that all I see is his gold chain dangling and catching the light.
All I feel are his thumbs digging ever so slightly into the front of my shoulders.
All I can taste is his delicious scent of heather and moss and a sweet spring rain.
I swallow thickly. Willing my hands to behave themselves and not simply fly up to grab hold of the front of his shirt.
“I think your favorite number might just be fifteen…” His lilting chuckle is almost a whisper, except it’s gone too abruptly. A bucket of cold reality is sloshed over me as the door bangs shut and Connor conjures catlike reflexes, managing to stand with arms folded up against the wall.
Meanwhile, I’m swaying on my feet, blinking rapidly at the sight of my brother walking straight toward us.
Thank fuck his eyes are glued to his phone. But oh god, what if he had seen us together? What if he’d walked in and seen the way his big palms were cradling my shoulders to perfection?
Connor uses every ounce of his coolheaded capability on the field. Drawling as though this situation is the least interesting thing he’s ever come across. “Been outside? Walking around in the cold, Murphy?”
“Yeah.” His brows furrow into a deeper line as he looks up and takes in the sight of both of us. Me with my arms folded across my stomach, and Connor leaning ever so casually against the wall. “And what about it?” he snaps, eyes pinning me first, then his teammate.
I need to think fast. My brother doesn’t look to be in the mood for conversation.
“Renfro was looking for you to pay out his debt from the game he just got spanked in.” I tilt my head to one side. “But since you’re here, he can cough up to you directly.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see the way Connor goes to open his mouth in protest, but then realization dawns.
“You know, because you haven’t fronted up yet. Atlas just wiped the floor with you, without my brother’s help, might I add.” I shake my head and force a laugh. “So I guess it’s convenient Finch is right here… since you were looking for him and all.”
Thank god he’s quick to pick up the playbook. With a reluctant sigh, he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his wallet. For the second time.
“Here. Most expensive bloody game of pool I’ll ever lose,” Connor grumbles.
Biting my lip, I’m trying not to laugh at the fact that it really is. The poor guy has had to pay up twice now, just to cover our tracks of being spotted here in this corridor alone.
Finch seems to shake himself out of whatever funk had him walking around out in the cold. Coming up alongside Connor, he slaps him on the back. “Well, we’d better line you up for another game then, huh? Since you’re in the mood to hand your cash over.”
The two of them start walking ahead, as my brother turns back to check that I’m coming, too.
I manage to flash him a smile, following their long strides. Thank god for being able to pass that buck.
Whatever that was, it was too damn close.