Sincerely, Pack Pucked (Pucking Pregnant #5)

Chapter 1

Mable

“I’m sorry, Mable, it’s so hard to get the hang of,” Kyle, our newest hire, said, frowning at the jug of milk he had just scorched.

“Take over the cleaning, I’ll make the coffee,” I instructed the tall, awkward alpha who was standing helplessly at the coffee machine. Steaming milk wasn’t an overly difficult job, but Kyle was struggling.

He was staring at the machine, his face filled with panic and confusion. “It did the wrong thing,” he muttered.

“It’s okay. Go take care of customers,” I said softly, waving him toward the register.

“Thanks, Mable, you’re the best.” He sighed in relief, happy to dash away to the register, leaving me and one other staff member at the coffee machine.

“You’re too nice to him, he’s a moron.” Luke chuckled under his breath.

“Be nice,” I chided.

Coffee shops had an abnormally high turnover rate, especially those located on university campuses. Other than me, the only employee who had been here over a year was Bethany, who had recently left to join a pack after becoming pregnant.

She was now living a perfect life with a pack that adored her, a little baby, and a stepdaughter who was as cute as a button.

If I were honest, part of me was jealous.

I was a creature of habit.

Routine was comforting, predictable.

Some may call it boring, but I call it safe.

I wasn’t exactly a social butterfly; classes and my part-time job at the café were enough for me.

I enjoyed spending time alone with my plants, and besides, I’d never had much luck when it came to meeting alphas.

The patrons of the café were usually lost in their own worlds, and when an alpha occasionally asked me out, they did so in a way that made my skin crawl.

As I started steaming a fresh batch of milk for the ruined lattes that Kyle had made, I wondered what it would be like to have a family. It had been just my mother and me growing up, and while it had been amazing and I loved her dearly, I still wanted more one day.

I wanted a pack.

Children.

A large house full of people who love each other.

My mother was a beta, and the fact that she had an omega daughter was both baffling and somewhat problematic, as she’d had no idea what to do with me.

She’d been completely on her own and had done her best to raise me.

She had worked crappy job after crappy job to save up enough money for me to go to university, though I had insisted on getting a part-time job to help mitigate some of the costs.

She had given me all the love and attention I could ask for growing up, even if we couldn’t afford the best of everything. The only place my education lacked was in how to handle life as an omega.

Sure, I’d watched informational videos, and I knew how to handle my heats and the physical issues that came with being an omega, but that was all the cold, clinical stuff.

Unfortunately, I was one of the few omegas who had an allergic reaction to suppressant medications, so I had to ride out my hellish horny phase solo.

It wasn’t fun, but I had toys to get me through it.

I knew that omegas dated packs, which was useful when it came to satisfying heats…

but I had no idea how to even go about that.

Occasionally, I ran across a pack in my day-to-day life and tried to strike up a conversation with them, but it quickly became overwhelming.

There were so many of them and only one of me.

That alone made holding a conversation difficult.

Orders started coming through, and I was actually happy to be working the coffee machine. It was the most solitary job, and that suited me just fine. Most of our customers were nice, but often I stumbled over my own words and embarrassed myself.

On the counter beside the coffee machine, my phone buzzed. Lifting it so I could read the screen, a smile spread across my face.

P

This day is dragging on forever. I just want to go home and eat.

D

You’re the one who chose to study so hard.

S

I got a chili dog for lunch, clearly, I’m the smart one.

While I wasn’t a fan of talking to packs in person… on the internet was a whole other story.

In my first semester, I had taken a communications class.

One of the assignments was to go on a silly app called ChattyPack, where people could communicate and find an online pen pal.

Packs could join or individuals. Although I physically recoiled at that idea—the entire class, really—it was a mandatory credit. So, I logged into the app.

And that’s how I found Pack Pucked.

At first, I thought talking with a pack online would be overwhelming, like it was in real life, but given that it was only a short-term assignment, I had thrown caution to the wind.

Pack Pucked consisted of four alphas. I didn’t know their names, simply their initials. P, D, S, and J.

I had signed up to the app with the name Maple—a bit on the nose, considering my scent, but it was the first thing that had sprung to mind when creating the account in the middle of class.

The first few messages I had sent them were simply to fulfil the assignment, but after a day of chatting with them on and off, I’d started enjoying it. What started as an obligation quickly became something I looked forward to.

They were easy to talk with, fun and full of energy. Yet, nothing they said or did overwhelmed me.

Maple

I’ve got coffee, so I think I win…

I took a quick photo of the lavender latte I was enjoying while working and added it to the chat. We often sent photos, but none of our faces, only little things from our lives. Mostly, it was food. The guys were obsessed with it.

S

Maple wins! Care to share that delectable-looking coffee?

Maple

Nope, all mine.

S

No fair!

Maple

All fair!

J

What if I trade you some chocolate chip cookies?

There was no way that would actually ever happen. Despite having been pen pals for nearly two years, we had never met in person. Still, we liked to pretend sometimes.

Maple

How do you plan to get these cookies to me? Dead drop?

S

If we must. Or you could tell us where to meet you…

I sighed. S had been angling to meet for the last few months, and I had shot him down at every opportunity.

Maple

You know the answer to that.

S

I swear I’m not a serial killer!

P

Dude, that sounds like exactly what a serial killer would say.

Maple

Maybe I’m the serial killer?

S

If so, surely, you’re eager to meet us? Four sexy young alphas with hot bodies would be a buffet for a lady serial killer.

Hot bodies… I had imagined their physiques a few times. I knew that they all played sports fairly regularly, though they hadn’t discussed that in detail.

So, they were sweet, thoughtful, spoke to me just because they enjoyed talking to me, and had hot bodies? It was obviously too good to be true.

If we were having this conversation in person, I would have shied away from this topic, but the safety of my phone screen gave me strength I didn’t know I possessed—well, it was partially the phone screen, partially my friendship with these guys.

Maple

Nah, I only go for alphas with eight packs.

S

…

J

I think you broke him.

S

I HAVE AN EIGHT PACK!!

As I was about to pick up my phone and tap out a response, an image filled the screen.

It was taken in front of a floor-length mirror. It was the body of a man wearing nothing but gray sweatpants, his head cut out of the image, so the main focus was his extremely defined abs.

Holy alpha.

That was S?

His abs had abs.

D

Did you really need to show us that?

J

I think my eyes need bleach.

His pack mates didn’t sound happy with him, but there was something about the sight that stirred some deep feelings inside me.

It was the first time I had seen him without a shirt. I had seen their hands and sometimes their feet in photos when they were showing me things in their lives, but this was the most they had ever revealed.

S

What do you think, Maple Leaf?

His nickname, combined with that photo, made me tingle in places it shouldn’t. Part of me wanted to answer, but thankfully, the café got busy, and I was pulled into work.

I still hadn’t cooled down by the time my shift ended.

I tossed my apron back into my locker, slamming it a little harder than I intended. Between dealing with Kyle’s incompetence and feeling all sorts of things over the photo S had sent me, I wasn’t in the best of moods.

We were online friends, that was it. He had no right to get me all riled up by showing off his impossible abs.

Then again, maybe it was my own fault for challenging him.

As I trudged out of the shop, not bothering to say goodbye to anyone, I did my best to ignore the growing unease under my skin. It was like an itch, but it was deep.

The campus was fairly large, but I didn’t mind the almost thirty-minute walk back to my dorm. I could have lived in one of the dorms closer to the center of campus, but they were expensive.

Avalon University was a good school, and its campus was stunning, with old buildings and pretty architecture combined with modern features. All around me, students were hurrying to their classes or talking among themselves. It was bustling but not overcrowded.

It only took ten minutes to get to the part of campus where the people started to thin out until I only saw someone every few minutes.

Usually, my walk was fairly easy, but sweat was starting to bead on my brow. My footsteps felt heavy and sluggish, as if I was wading through quicksand.

Was I coming down with something?

I paused, looking around, when the first cramp hit me like a wrecking ball, viciously tearing through my abdomen and making it crystal clear what was happening.

“Shit, shit, shit!” I hissed under my breath, bent over, clutching my stomach.

I was going into heat.

How? Usually, there was a schedule and, more importantly, warning signs. This had popped up out of nowhere.

Glancing around, I was relieved to find that there was no one nearby who had noticed my predicament.

That was good. I typically sequestered myself in my dorm room so I could ride it out solo.

Going into heat in the middle of a public place was a recipe for disaster because my scent and perfume would attract every alpha within ten miles.

The smell of an omega in heat was potent.

I needed to figure out where to go, and fast.

The part of campus I was in housed a lot of larger buildings, like the football training field and the ice rink.

There was no doubt I reeked; I could smell myself. It was like a maple syrup factory had exploded, filling the air. Mentally, I scrambled to find a solution. There was no way I could continue walking home like this.

Washing off my scent was the only solution—but how?