CHAPTER TWELVE
Reese
Monday afternoon practice shouldn't feel this good after a full day of classes, but here we are, flying through our final piece like we've been training for months instead of weeks.
"And... let it run," I call through the cox box.
Eight oars drop to the water in perfect unison, the boat gliding forward on momentum alone. The late afternoon sun breaks through clouds that have been threatening rain all day, painting the lake gold.
"Holy shit," Zane pants from five-seat. "Did we just—"
"Break this morning's record?" Tyler finishes, checking his SpeedCoach. "Yeah. By another two seconds. That's... statistically improbable."
"Improbable but not impossible," Gray says from stroke, turning to look at me with something like wonder in his eyes.
Coach Torres makes notes from the launch, her expression unreadable behind sunglasses. She's been quieter this afternoon, less critical. Which either means we're doing better or she's gathering ammunition.
"Let's take it home," I say, trying to keep the giddiness out of my voice. "Easy pressure, rate eighteen."
The paddle back to the dock is smooth, relaxed. I can hear Beckett and Bo talking about their Sports Marketing exam tomorrow, Jackson grunting responses to something Eli's saying about their Biomechanics lab. Normal college shit, except we're doing it while moving a boat like we share one brain.
After we rack the boat, Torres approaches. "Callahan, a word?"
The guys tense immediately, that protective clusterfuck thing they do without realizing, but I wave them off.
"I'll catch up."
Gray lingers longest, only moving when Bo physically drags him toward the team room.
"Your crew is performing well," Torres says once we're alone.
"Thank you."
"Too well." She removes her sunglasses, fixing me with a sharp stare. "In my experience, rapid improvement like this comes from one of two things: performance enhancing drugs or designation dynamics."
My blood runs cold. "We're not doping."
"No, I don't think you are." She steps closer. "Which leaves option two."
"I don't—"
"I'm not here to ruin your season, Callahan. I'm here to keep it from ruining itself. Whatever is happening between you and those Alphas needs to stay off the university's radar. Understood?"
It's not a threat. It's a warning. Maybe even helpful advice.
"Understood."
She nods and walks away, leaving me standing by the water trying to process what just happened.
"Reese!" Zane calls from the parking lot. "You coming? Tyler's buying coffee to celebrate!"
"I'm not buying for everyone," Tyler protests. "I said I'd buy Reese's coffee because she got us to drop six seconds in one day."
"Same thing," Beckett says. "Where she goes, we follow."
They're all changed already, boat clothes replaced with jeans and hoodies bearing various Sable Ridge logos. Cameron's even there, hands in his pockets, quiet but present.
"The Study Grind?" I suggest, naming the 24-hour coffee shop where most of campus practically lives during finals.
"Perfect. I need caffeine for my Econ paper," Eli says.
"You need caffeine like Tyler needs more anxiety," Jackson mutters, which for him is practically a comedy routine.
We end up taking two cars - Gray's Range Rover and Bo's truck. I get basically lifted into the truck by Bo before I can choose, with Zane and Tyler piling in after me.
"Kidnapping," I inform them. "This is kidnapping."
"Aggressive carpooling," Bo corrects, pulling out of the lot.
The Study Grind is packed with the usual Monday evening crowd - stressed freshmen, grad students who look like they haven't slept in days, and at least three couples clearly on first dates.
We commandeer the big corner booth that's usually reserved for study groups, ignoring the glares from a group of pre-med students.
"Eight Alphas and an Omega walk into a coffee shop," Beckett starts.
"I'm going to throw this at you," I warn, holding up a sugar packet.
"Violence is never the answer, Callahan," he says primly.
"It's barely violence. It's like... aggressive feedback."
"Everything's aggressive with you two today," Tyler observes, pouring an obscene amount of sugar into his coffee. "Bo's aggressive carpooling, Reese's aggressive feedback."
"Your coffee is aggressive," I point out. "That's going to give you a heart attack."
"My resting heart rate is 42. I'll be fine." He takes a sip and doesn't even wince. "Besides, I need the energy. I finally figured out why our power application was so uneven before."
"Because we were fighting each other?" Gray suggests dryly.
"Well, yes, but specifically—" Tyler pulls out his phone, showing us a graph that looks like an EKG had a baby with a physics equation. "See how the force curves were inversely correlated? We were literally canceling each other out. But now look at today's data."
The new graph shows perfect synchronization, eight lines moving as one.
"It's beautiful," I say without thinking.
"Right?" Tyler lights up. "The mathematical harmony is just—"
"Nerd," Zane coughs into his hand.
"Says the guy who spent twenty minutes yesterday explaining bread proofing temperatures," Tyler shoots back.
"That's different. That's practical."
"Math is practical!"
"When have you ever used calculus in real life?"
"Literally constantly. I used it this morning to calculate our optimal pace splits based on the current."
"And somehow the coffee still tastes like a robot made it," Cameron says quietly, making everyone turn to stare.
"Did Cameron just roast Tyler's coffee?" Beckett asks in delighted shock..
"I think he did," Eli confirms.
Cameron shrugs, the tiniest smile playing at his lips.
My phone buzzes. Quinton: Looking forward to tomorrow. The library study room 3B at 3?
I type back a quick confirmation, trying to ignore the way Gray's jaw tightens when he sees me texting.
"Who's that?" Zane asks, not quite casually.
"Project partner. We meet tomorrow."
"Quinton," Gray says flatly.
The mood at the table shifts slightly.
"He's harmless," I say.
"No," Jackson says unexpectedly. "He's not."
Everyone looks at him.
"Jackson?" Eli prompts gently.
Jackson just shakes his head, retreating back into silence.
"Anyway," Beckett says, clearly trying to salvage the mood. "Movie night? I still vote for something with explosions."
"Horror," Cameron insists. "You already agreed."
"I agreed under duress."
"You agreed because you lost rock-paper-scissors," Tyler corrects.
"Tyler throws rock 73% of the time. It's statistically predictable," I point out.
Tyler gasps dramatically. "You've been analyzing my patterns?"
"Everyone analyzes your patterns. You're incredibly predictable."
"I am not!"
"You get the same coffee order every time, sit in the same spot, wear the same style shirt in three colors—"
"That's called efficiency!"
"That's called boring," Zane teases.
"Says the guy who stress-bakes the same three recipes."
"I have a wider repertoire!"
"Name one thing you've baked that wasn't cookies, brownies, or bread."
"I made a cake once!"
"Box mix doesn't count."
Gray leans over to whisper in my ear, “I’m just shocked that Zane knows the word repertoire.”
I stifle a laugh as they continue to bicker, something warm settling in my chest. This feels so normal. So collegiate. Just friends arguing about movies and coffee and baking.
Except for the way Gray's thigh presses against mine in the booth. The way Zane's hand rests on my shoulder. The way every single one of them turns toward me like I'm their center of gravity.
"We should head back," Eli says eventually. "It's getting late and we have that team meeting with Coach first thing in the morning."
"What do you think that's about?" Bo asks.
"Either we're in trouble or he's impressed," Gray says. "With Bennett, could go either way."
We pile back into the cars, and I notice I smell like them now - all their scents layered on my clothes and skin. My suppressants are definitely having to work overtime with all the alpha pheromones I’m being soaked with. I should be panicking and making every attempt to get back to my dorm.
Instead, I feel safe. And I don’t want to leave.
Back at the house, everyone scatters. Cameron steps out onto the deck and pulls out a pack of cigarettes he likes to pretend we don’t know about.
Tyler sets up at the dining table with his laptop and approximately three hundred color-coded note cards.
The others disappear to their rooms to change or grab snacks for movie night.
I should go back to my dorm. Get fresh suppressants. Put distance between us.
Instead, I find myself in the small study off the main hallway, looking for my Biomechanics textbook so I can study for the coming midterms.
"Biomechanics of Human Movement, third edition?"
I turn to find Beckett holding my textbook, reading the cover with exaggerated interest. "Sounds riveting. Real page-turner."
"It's actually pretty interesting."
"I'm sure." He flips through it. "Oh look, diagrams of joints. My favorite kind of bedtime reading."
"Can I have it back?"
"Depends. What's it worth to you?" He holds it just out of reach, grinning.
"Beckett, we're not five."
"No, if we were five, I'd be pulling your pigtails." He pauses. "Actually, that still sounds kind of fun."
I roll my eyes but can't help smiling. "You're ridiculous."
"I prefer charming." He hops up to sit on the desk, still holding my book hostage. "So, scale of one to ten, how much are you dreading tomorrow with Quinton?"
"Why would I be dreading it?"
"Because he's sketchy as hell and everyone knows it except apparently you."
"He's been perfectly nice."
Beckett laughs. "Oh, Reese. Sweet, naive Reese. Guys like Quinton are always 'perfectly nice.' Right up until they're not."
"Guys like you?"
"Ouch." He presses a hand to his chest in mock hurt. "I'm genuinely nice. Ask anyone."
"Anyone female?"
"Especially anyone female. I have references. Glowing ones."
"I bet you do."
He studies me for a moment, then his expression shifts to something more serious. "You know what the difference is between me and Quinton?"
"What?"
"I like women. Actually like them. As people, not just conquests." He sets my book down beside him. "Quinton collects them. There's a difference."
"And you don't collect?"
"I appreciate. Enthusiastically and repeatedly, if given the chance." His grin returns for a second then falls again. "But I never pretend it's something it's not. Everyone knows exactly where they stand with me."
"And where do I stand?"
The question hangs between us. His eyes soften.
"Honestly? I have no fucking idea." He runs a hand through his hair, messing it up. "You're supposed to be off-limits. Team dynamics and all that. But then you show up and boss us around in the boat, and make Tyler actually laugh, and let Zane kiss your head at breakfast, and I just..."
"What?"
"I want to know what your laugh sounds like when you're not worried about five thousand things. I want to know if you're ticklish. I want to know what movie makes you cry every time." He shrugs. "And yeah, I want to kiss you. But mostly I just want to know you."
The honesty catches me off guard. This isn't smooth Beckett or charming Beckett. This is just... Beckett.
"I cry at the end of Rudy," I admit.
"The football movie?"
"Every single time. When they carry him off the field."
"That's adorable." He slides off the desk, moving closer but not crowding. "What else?"
"I'm ticklish behind my knees."
"Filing that information away for later." He grins. "Keep going."
"I snort when I laugh really hard."
"Now that I have to hear."
"Not happening."
"Challenge accepted." He's close enough now that I can see the gold flecks in his green eyes. "Can I tell you something?"
"Okay."
"I haven't hooked up with anyone since you joined the team."
I blink. "That's... what, three weeks?"
"Twenty-four days. Not that I'm counting."
"Why?"
He shrugs. "Didn't want to. They weren't..." He trails off.
"Weren't what?"
"You," he says simply. "They weren't you."
My breath catches. He reaches up slowly, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.
"I'm going to kiss you now," he says. "Unless you tell me not to."
"Beckett—"
"Not a no." He leans in, and—
The door flies open.
"For fuck's sake," Beckett mutters.
Gray stands in the doorway, looking exasperated rather than murderous. "Cameron's about to start the movie without us because, and I quote, 'punctuality is a virtue.'"
"Cameron has virtues?" Beckett asks.
"Also, Coach wants us at morning practice at 5:30 to officially record our times," Gray continues, ignoring him. "So maybe we should actually sleep tonight instead of..."
"Instead of what?" Beckett asks innocently.
Gray's jaw tightens. "Movie. Now. Both of you."
He leaves the door open and walks away.
Beckett looks at me. "Rain check on that kiss?"
"We'll see."
"I'll take it." He grabs my textbook and hands it to me. "Come on. Let's go watch Cameron's horror movie and pretend we're not all thinking about different ways to get you alone."
"That's not what—"
"Reese." He grins. "We're eight Alphas living with a beautiful woman who commands us like we're extensions of her will. We're all thinking about it. The only difference is I'm honest about it."
He heads for the door, then pauses. "For what it's worth? When it happens - and something will happen, with someone, because this tension is getting ridiculous - I hope you pick whoever makes you laugh. You don't laugh enough."
Then he's gone, leaving me standing there with my textbook and a lot of complicated feelings.
This is getting out of control.
But as I head to the living room where everyone's gathered for the movie, I realize something.
I don’t want to pick at all. I want all of them, equally. And that is more terrifying than overworked suppressants or suspicious administration or psycho stalkers could ever be. Because the others I can deal with, but wanting eight men - eight gorgeous, distinct, dominant men?
That’s not just off-limits. That’s a disaster of catastrophic proportions just waiting to happen.