Chapter 44
THEO
Wren will be able to hear the commotion before she sees us.
Renfro has come back with me at the end of the day after his afternoon training session, and the little shit hasn’t been able to resist stirring up trouble the entire way home.
Even as we walk in the door, he’s still insisting on letting his competitive side come out to play.
“Would have been a pleasure to acquaint your ribs with my shoulder if we’d ever played against each other,” I mutter. I’m not sure if Renfro can hear me properly, but he turns and walks backward once we’re inside.
I’m treated to a particularly wide grin and belly laugh. “Call me when you’re ready to bench press with the big boys, Brennan.”
I shake my head and carry through the house, seeking out our girl.
She’s propped on the couch, studying, and even though she’s concentrating hard on the book in her lap, I don’t miss the way her teeth catch her bottom lip, disguising a smile.
It’s nothing but friendly banter between us, even if some days I do still worry that Wren will wake up and realize I’m a hell of a lot older than her, and the likes of Renfro, but I love seeing her enjoy hearing us giving each other hell.
For as much as the two of us will verbally spar, it’s always in a friendly way, and we genuinely do have a lot in common.
It’s been days of alpha bliss with our Omega and getting to snuggle up together at night. We’ve kept it strictly to cuddles only. Which meant one very firm rule… no sex.
Renfro looked like he was gonna burst into tears when I laid down the law, but it’s for Wren’s own good.
After such an intense few rounds of scent matching and knotting and discovering just how compatible we are… it seemed like we were gonna all lose our heads, and the last thing I wanted was for Wren to end up hurt—either physically or emotionally.
Also, there was the team to consider. The last thing I need as the team owner is to have my star fullback running on fumes, unloading his balls every five seconds.
Which was a definite risk if I was gonna leave the two of them alone together for any length of time.
So I gave him the ultimatum and drew a line that meant Renfro wouldn’t be up all night, every night.
The guy needs to rest and recover… properly.
Fortunately for my sanity, Wren was actually on my side with the decision.
She came in clutch when Scotland was finding any excuse under the sun to wriggle out of committing to the house rule.
It was only threats of her going back to sleep in her own bed or returning to the house she shares with her girlfriends that had him reluctantly agreeing to play along.
Our heavy footsteps echo off the walls as we both come into the living room to find Wren in her favored study spot, surrounded by a pile of soft blankets and a plate of crumbs from snacks that have long since been demolished.
Renfro’s smug expression is still firmly in place, and when he walks in, his whole freshly showered with wet hair and smelling particularly delicious thing makes Wren’s eyes bounce all over him.
Fuck. It makes my stomach do a swoop, wondering if I’d taken the time to shower and stride in looking fresh off the training pitch, would she give me the same kind of heated appraisal?
“There she is.” Scotland flops down on top of our girl, smothering her tiny body, and sucking in several big inhales of scent from her neck.
The squeal that comes out of Wren is partly because the giant idiot sends her notebook and pens flying, and partly because I think she is actually genuine in her excitement to have us back after being gone all day.
“Fuck, Bambi. You smell too good for words.” He nudges her jaw with his nose.
“Hey, big guy,” she hums while threading her delicate fingers through his messy hair, combing out the wet strands. When he finds her mouth with his, he sinks into a slow but hungry kiss that makes Wren’s toes curl. Mine too.
Renfro groans and then flops to one side, sprawled over her body with long limbs and shoulders taking up most of the couch, and rests his head on her stomach so that she can continue playing with his hair.
Two thoughts hit me at the same time. First, damn, do they look perfect together, and second, that looks really fucking enticing.
I immediately want to shove him aside in order to have her hands on me like that.
The big Scottish Alpha might be tough as nails, totally fearless on the rugby pitch, but he turns into a melted puddle whenever she strokes his hair.
He practically starts purring just from her fingers sifting through his hair as she smiles, and he makes a little huffing sigh of contentment that shouldn’t even be possible for someone his size. Lucky bastard.
“... Theo Brennan, leader of the Willow Falls Wolves…” The sound of my name cuts short his moment of bliss. We all glance across the room at what Wren’s currently watching on the TV.
As soon as he takes in the sight of the big screen, he freezes. As do I.
Wren’s cheeks turn pink rapidly, and I have to scrub a heavy palm over my mouth when I clock what’s going on. All that teasing from Renfro earlier melts away faster than a popsicle on a stretch of baking hot asphalt.
It’s a feature focused entirely on me.
Wren must’ve had it on in the background while she’s been studying, and judging by the guilty look on her face, it’s not exactly a coincidence that we’ve walked in while this just so happens to be playing.
I’m fucking crowing on the inside and have to school my features.
Well, I don’t exactly try very hard. It’s gonna be fun as hell to let this drag out.
“I figured I really needed to learn a little more about your playing days,” Wren squeaks. She’s enchanting, far too precious for words when embarrassed.
Oh, this is quite the experience for her, alright.
I raise an eyebrow, swiveling my attention between her mortified expression and the big screen.
Yep, it’s not even just a brief filler segment; I recognize the replay.
A full-length feature showing off my rugby achievements over the course of my career.
Renfro smothers his face with a cushion, sounding like he’s in pain.
Our girl’s mouth hangs open, her blue eyes going wide as saucers when she sees that it’s clicked over to a part of the show—one I remember distinctly thanks to how they packaged it, because at the time it aired, I got endless shit from the guys—where the reporter focuses on some of my off-field sponsor photoshoots and promotional highlights.
There’s an awful lot of bare chest and oiled-up muscles going on.
My lips quirk. “Interesting choice of background viewing.”
Connor tips his head back, and a desperate groan comes out of him. “Fuck my entire life.”
I shouldn’t torment him, but who am I kidding? If it were the other way around, the guy would be unbearably smug. The sound of a Scottish man in pain coming from my couch is gonna make my entire year at this rate. No need to be jealous of his youth or prowess on the field.
As my gaze flicks between Renfro, Wren’s wide-eyed shock, and then slowly back to the TV screen, I can’t help what I know will be a tiny glint of satisfaction from playing across my features when I focus back on the two of them.
Although I do an excellent job of keeping my expression neutral, if I do say so myself.
“Everything okay over there, Renfro? You look a little pale.”
“Shut your smug face. I didn’t miss that look of triumph. Never seen your eyes fucking sparkling before, Brennan.” The man currently smothering Wren with his bulk throws his hands up. “I’m sorry, alright.”
That makes the corner of my lips twitch. “What’s that?”
“You win,” he grumbles.
My eyes pinball between the two of them, and Wren chooses that moment to extract herself and gets up off the couch, smoothing her hair before twisting the strands over one shoulder. She warily watches us both, caught somewhere between her own embarrassment and probably wondering what’s going on.
Renfro drags a strong hand through his hair, making those roguish curls stick up. He curses softly under his breath, gets to his feet wearily, then drags our girl against his front.
“I’m very confused by what is happening right now.” Her words are muffled against the front of his training hoodie.
“Enjoy yourself, Bambi.” He bends to kiss her, but it’s just a quick brush of their lips before he mumbles in an apologetic voice. “Fucking Brennan being a rugby god. Just spare a tiny moment to remember I exist. Try to think about me a little bit tonight, yeah?”
With that, Scotland lets her go and sulks off in the direction of his bedroom.
That leaves Wren standing in the middle of the living room, swaying a little.
She’s well aware that I’ve just snapped her watching me…
and fuck, if that doesn’t light a fire in my veins.
Right now, I might be the team owner and business guy, in my dress shirt and slacks, but displayed in high definition on a one hundred-inch broadcast is the other version of me. The rugby player in my prime.
“I am under no illusion that my cheeks are on fire right now. Surely, I’m beet red from head to toe.” Wren buries her face in her hands, peeking at me from between her fingers.
That she is.
She’s also extremely turned on.
There’s absolutely no denying her scent flooding the living room.
Keeping my expression schooled into an unreadable and somewhat serious look, I decide to cross the room and settle on the couch.
Biting her bottom lip, Wren moves closer and stands between my knees. “What’s that all about?” Her eyes search mine before briefly flicking in the direction of Renfro’s sudden disappearance.
I waste no time. My big hands are on her, dragging Wren onto my lap. She gives a tiny squeal in response, and I turn her around so that she keeps facing the TV screen.
“Scotland just learned a valuable lesson in pack dynamics.” My voice dips into a low rasp.