Chapter 50 Tray
TRAY.
MONTHS LATER…
Dixon leaned over and snagged a card from the ‘Is it a Match or a Mistake'?’ deck. He read the card silently, before reading out loud.
“You pass a table in a restaurant and smell an Alpha seated there,” he was pitching his voice low, taking on an announcer quality, “The Alpha smells like fresh cut grass and gasoline. Your body reacts. Roll the dice again.” He tossed the dice deftly towards the board’s center, patiently waiting as it stopped on seven.
The game rules stated that a one through five meant you got your follow-up card from the match stack, while a six through twelve meant you got your second card from the mistake pile.
He pinched a card from the second deck and read that too.
“So sad. Too bad. The Alpha thinks you stink. Lose one property to the bank.”
“Another property up for grabs,” Tessa, sitting on the ground like the rest of us, did a little dance. Arms raised, hands closed into loose fists, shaking like she held maracas.
“Not if I get it first,” Ryder threatened, grabbing the dice and rolling quickly. He got a two, landing on the matchmaker utility instead, which would have made every ‘match or mistake’ prompt a guaranteed match. He didn’t have enough money to buy it though.
I grabbed the dice, blowing on it suggestively and winking at Tessa.
She smirked. I had zero chance of winning this thing.
I was down to my tunic style top, which was long enough to hang over my ass and cock.
Not that I cared about dignity. I’d once joked that I wouldn’t mind joining a nudist colony.
I even proposed naked Saturdays, but the pack had outvoted me.
Tossing the die, I waited for my inevitable doom.
I wasn’t the least bit surprised when rolling an eleven took me smack dab onto someone else’s property.
Mac gave me a sympathetic look, before claiming my shirt. We weren’t playing for paper money.
“Sorry about that, Tray.” He offered. I didn’t really care. I was more than happy to be out.
“And that’s me done.” I pulled the shirt over my head and tossed it at my pack brother.
He caught it deftly and let it fall atop his modest pile of winnings.
I stretched a little, then plopped back down on the soft area rug, rolling to my side and cocking my upper body up, supported against one crooked arm.
Now I just got to enjoy the show, a favorite past time.
I shivered, not only from the slight chill now kissing my nude figure, but from the sight of my hot as hell pack looking half-dressed and delicious.
Well, Ryder was half-dressed. Dixon was sadly not.
Mac’s muscled arms were visible, which was such a damn turn on.
And, hilariously, Tessa looked like that kid in this one Christmas movie so overdressed by his mom that he couldn’t put his arms down; they kept popping up forcing him into a T shape.
What film was that… the only thing rocketing through my brain was something about shooting an eye out.
It was Tessa’s roll next, and I’ll be damned if she didn’t land on Dixon’s forfeited property.
After another victory dance, she paid the bank and snapped it up.
Tessa pulled at the collar of the two shirts, sweatshirt, and hoodie she wore.
A bead of sweat was forming on her forehead; she swiped it away quickly, almost annoyed that she was overheating even though it was her own dang fault.
The woman was a board game shark. Mac went next, sadly not losing any clothing but winning the single, MJ-style glove Ryder wore on one hand.
“Dix, you’re up,” she quipped, rocking forward on her knees and leaning over the board to snag the dice from my side where it had traveled after Mac’s roll.
Her ass pushed into the air as her lower body arched lower, and she paused there for a moment, letting us all bask in the view.
Even with her curves lumpy and disguised by the layers, she was still fucking hot.
She sat back up, throwing the dice to Dixon who caught it with ease.
It was crazy how much Tessa’s arrival had changed our pack dynamics.
Movie nights. Private cooking classes in the mansion, courtesy of Michelin Star chefs.
Mac was playing piano daily, and each time I heard him on the ivories my heart beat a little faster.
He was finally free, no longer keeping himself away from something he’d once dearly loved.
We were all now involved in Dixon’s torturous exercise program, whether we wanted to be or not.
Tessa kept saying we all had to be dedicated to our health and live as long as possible.
I’d always thought my thighs were rock solid, but that first morning after leg day taught me differently.
Felt like I’d spent a week straight on horseback without a break.
The way we operated as a band was shifting too.
Jamming out and composing music without being high as a kite or drunk off our asses.
We were no longer stumbling across half-mad lyrics scrawled on scraps of paper the next morning.
We were riffing off one another, brainstorming, and pouring songs from our sensitive, sober souls.
The strangest thing though, the wildest counterpoint to our old lives before our Omega, was that our den of iniquity was seeing more dice rolls and spilled snacks than it was kink these days.
The double humped sex bench was pushed against one wall.
The ‘perfect height’ recliner was over by the handcuff adorned padded wall and the sex swing had been pulled higher against the ceiling so we could move under it.
A new plush area rug took up the center of the room, currently sustaining orange stains from a spilled canister of cheese puffs.
Four grown-ass Alphas and an Omega were having the time of their lives in this room, and not because of the multitude of vibrators, nipple clamps, cock rings, and ball gags readily available.
I didn’t know about other packs, but our Oblivion Haze family loved nothing more than strip board game night. Tonight’s distraction of choice was a few rousing rounds of Matchopoloy.
Dixon blew on the dice before shooting. He crossed large fingers, hoping for a better roll.
He was still fully clothed for the most part, a fact that was beginning to irritate him.
I rolled and stretched, reaching towards a woven basket we kept extra blankets in and snagged a neon designer throw I’d recently grabbed from a gaudy decor shop on Melrose.
I pulled the wool monstrosity over my legs, the only part of me that was slightly chilly from the air pulsing down from the vents.
“Dammit,” Dixon growled. “I’ve got shit luck.”
“I mean, technically you’re winning, Dix.
” Mac’s voice. Casual. Rational. He was in…
third place I suppose? Less dressed than Dix and Tessa, but far more dressed than me and Ryder.
He still wore the belted, vintage tapered pants topped with a vintage vest. His pocket watch was tucked into one slender pocket, the chain looping down to hook to a belt loop.
He’d stripped the button up shirt off first, leaving the vest against his bare chest. He’d also opted to lose both crocodile Oxford shoes and plaid socks.
“You’re going to have to roll again,” Ryder mused.
“I’m not rolling again. Tessa, just pick.”
“That’s not fair,” she argued.
They were bickering over Dixon’s dice roll which had landed on the edge of the board and balanced between two numbers.
Our games could stretch for hours. Recently, Tessa had shown an interest in D he landed on Tessa’s property, and she demanded one of his socks.
“How about my shirt?” Dixon countered, waggling an eyebrow.
“Nope. I want a sock. One. Single. Sock. You’ve got very sexy feet.” She teased back.
“You’re doing this on purpose,” Dixon scowled.
“Maybe.” Tessa winked. She knew Dixon hated losing and would much rather be already naked like me.
Dixon begrudgingly handed over his black sock, she tucked it into the waist band of his sweatpants she currently wore over my joggers and her own athletic shorts.
Jesus, she was in her element. Freaking stunning, even sweating in layers of our stolen shirts and hoodies.
She was, per her claim, reigning queen of board games.
I’d happily lose to her for the rest of my life.