38. Tori
I’d noticed the girls during warmups, but thought nothing of them at first. A bachelorette party, most likely, coming to a hockey game for something to do when there aren’t any parades in the city. They took selfies and laughed loud enough for me to hear all the way up in the executive box, but they seemed harmless.
That is, until they start shoving their tits against the glass any time someone skates by their seats about halfway into the first period.
I’m sort of glad that I’m basically part of the furniture in the box, so none of the bigwigs George Hoover is wining and dining pay me any mind as I start my search through social media. One of the skills I’ve honed over the years is finding posts, especially ones posted from within the arena. So pulling up the group photo they took and posted before the game is child’s play. Not that it makes me feel any better.
They aren’t a bachelorette party, but rather a sorority girl reunion trip. Half of them are either married or engaged, but that’s not stopping them from trying to hit on any unfortunate guy who looks their way. The worst part about the whole thing is they aren’t technically doing anything wrong. They’re staying in their seats, and the people around them aren’t making any complaints yet. And being a thirsty puck bunny isn’t an eject-able offense.
None of that stops my newly awakened omega instincts from wanting to launch myself over the half-wall of the box and claw out their eyes for making passes at my alphas.
For the first time since before Christmas, I regret accepting Dee’s offer. If I hadn’t, I’d be able to focus on doing my job, making graphics, editing videos, posting on the team socials. But Rachel’s taken over posting, and Monroe is editing video packages. I’m not even required to attend games if I don’t want to, as I’m only here to put out fires or intervene if someone needs my help. I can’t remember the last time Dee stepped foot on the Mystic compound for a game day. Half the fun of this job for me is interacting with the guys and the public, but it seems like taking his position means I’m not going to be able to do that.
I’m still brooding as the game heads into the second period, and my jaw aches from how hard I’m clenching my teeth. I’ve stopped watching the on-ice action, too focused on the pack of bunnies and their increasingly brazen behavior. Each one of them seems to have picked a favorite, as someone grows extra shrill every time their mark gets close to them. What’s making me see red is that two of them have set their sights on Oliver and Spencer.
My instincts are running wild, vacillating between sullen and enraged. I want to stomp down there and drag them out of the building by their hair. To scream at them that they’re throwing themselves at guys who are taken. To crawl over the barriers and latch myself to my alphas and stake my claim to them in front of all 60,000 people in attendance tonight. But…I can’t, because as far as the public knows, all my guys are perfectly eligible, and I would ruin my career and theirs if I did something so reckless.
It’s a long game, or at least that's how it seems when I have to watch someone openly drooling over the men I love. My mood is made even worse knowing that, unless I want to give up everything I’ve worked for, I’ll have to do this again in the future. And how long will they wait for me, realistically, when there are going to be dozens of women willing to be seen with them publicly? They say they love me, that their feelings are rock solid. But even statues crumble if they’re made to wait.
Of course, I have no one to blame but myself for this, which feels appropriate. I’ve been so concentrated on my own well-being and protecting myself that I’d forgotten the consequences my actions have for other people. The boys can’t be comfortable with being drooled over, and I know how hockey guys talk. They can only deflect for so long before someone starts to get suspicious that allegedly single guys aren’t even interested in taking home any of the very willing women throwing themselves at their feet. And how long before some guy decides to approach me, and they have to watch me getting hit on and not being able to do anything about it?
Every survival instinct I’ve developed over the last half-dozen years is screaming at me to abandon ship. I can protect myself better when I don’t have anyone else to think about. I’ve worked too hard to get where I am, to escape the preconceived notions everyone’s had of me. I’m Jack Strauss’s daughter, a nepo baby, an omega with a bad attitude. Every moment of my life up to this point has been a fight to prove I’m not any of those things. I don’t want to be another omega accused of sleeping her way into power and have all of my accomplishments tarnished.
The only people who’ve ever seen me that way are out there on the ice. Spencer, Elijah, Logan, and Oliver don’t want me to change, and have bent over backwards to make sure I know that. The boys could have gone ahead and announced their plans to form a pack without me, keeping my name out of things entirely to save Oli from being traded. But they’re waiting for me to get on board, like they always have.
I’m still conflicted as we head into the third period, the score tight. Spencer gets the puck in the back of the net early, but it’s an uphill struggle to maintain the lead. I feel eyes on me at one point, and I glance at the bench to find Logan’s face tilted up to me. Even with the distance between us, I can see his smirk and it sends a shiver down my spine. He only breaks eye contact when Florida scores, and I let out a sigh before sitting back away from the barrier. Maybe it would be better if I stopped coming to games, for my own sanity and their benefit.
But then the sorority girls let out squeals of delight that are audible even over the dull roar of the crowd cheering on their home team. I glare down at them, hating the impulse to check social media even as I follow it. Though I’m struck dumb by the photo the ringleader uploads, and not for the reasons I would have thought.
@yesTHAT.ZKAprez: omg so #blessed to get these incredible seats with the perfect view. Oh, I guess the hockey is good too lol #futurehusbandsighted @ace_trauckas21 #loveatfirstsight
The photo is filtered and edited with stickers and emojis, but the subjects are clear. Caleb is looking directly at the camera with his lips puckered and blowing a kiss. Oli is to Caleb’s left, with Eli’s shoulder on the far left of the frame. Logan is towering behind them, looking practically edible in his midnight purple button down and... Yes, that’s definitely the tie he used on me in his office the first time we slept together. The poster tagged Oli, but he’s not even looking at her. His face is tipped up at an angle, his gold eyes bright and his lips turned up in a soft smile I recognize. It’s the expression he wears whenever I catch him staring at me.
Something in my chest melts, emotions running like an egg yolk over the sharp, insecure parts of my soul. He’s not looking at anyone but me, even in a crowded stadium with a sold-out crowd around us. And as I look up to watch the last few minutes of the game, the catcalling from the front row doesn’t even phase me or the boys as they take the ice and set up for their next play. I get to my feet, absolutely captivated as they rocket up the ice, so completely in sync, not even needing to speak to execute perfect passes, their timing perfect, each cycle eating away seconds off the clock. And at the most opportune moment, they strike, and Spencer gets his third goal of the game with less than five seconds left, effectively cutting off any chance for Florida to mount a counteroffensive.
The crowd goes wild, and I can’t stop myself from joining them, clapping and whooping in place. Right away, spectators throw beads onto the ice, the boys laughing and catching the plastic necklaces as they make their way back to the bench. Caleb and Max, the d-men on the play, are soaking in the praise, Caleb going so far as to bump against the glass in front of the bunnies. But Spencer, Oli, and Eli all have their faces turned up toward me until the final buzzer sounds.
With a love-struck smile and warm cheeks, I pack up and head down to the tunnels, dodging around fans. Rachel has a few guys pulled aside for the press scrum, none of whom are my alphas, which is just fine. I round a corner toward the locker room, grinning as I see the rest of the team slowly making their way past Dennis, handing off their sticks. As if sensing me, Spencer looks up first, who nudges Oli and Eli, who shoot me smiles before they turn to get undressed.
In what has to be record time, my three alphas are out in their suits, hair still damp from their hasty showers. I want to jump them, but there are still too many people around for that. So I settle for walking beside Eli, our fingers brushing every so often, while Oli leads the way, Spencer taking up the rear as we head for the player entrance. Though I almost instantly regret it and wish we’d taken the exit on the office side of the complex.
The sorority girls are loitering among the usual crowd of fans, though thankfully security set up some metal barriers along the path from the door to the private parking garage. The usual die-hard fans are there with memorabilia and markers in hand, but they’re shoved aside by this pack of intoxicated women as the girls rush the barriers, screaming like The Beatles just stepped out of the door.
“Oh, my God! You were so amazing!” one of them slurs, reaching out her hand in an attempt to touch Eli’s shoulder.
Gently blocking her hand and pushing it away before it can make contact, he gives her a terse smile. My instincts flare, my eyes narrowing in a glare. Eli looks at me, his pinky wrapping around mine as he leans in to speak into my ear over the noise.
“You’re so cute when you’re jealous, sunshine,” he says with a laugh.
I shove him half-heartedly, only making him laugh more. Oli turns and looks at us, concern lowering his brow. But in the second he pauses to check in, a hand shoots out, closes around his wrist, and pulls with enough force to send him staggering toward the barrier, directly toward the girl I recognize as the ringleader.
“You were so good. Did you score those goals for me?” she purrs, running her hand down the lapel of his jacket.
Growling a little, Oli steps back, trying to break her hold without actually hurting her. “Don’t touch me,” he snaps, ignoring her barely intelligible question.
I see red, a growl of my own slipping out from between my barred teeth. Without stopping to consider how many cameras might be pointed at me, I stride forward, stepping in between Oli and the bunny, which forces her to drop her hand or risk having her arm broken. I pull myself up to my full height, looking down my nose at her with a sneer.
“Touch one of my players again, and you and all your friends are going on our perma-ban list,” I snap, glad my voice is steady despite how much I’m shaking in anger.
She huffs and tosses some of her perfectly blown-out curls over her shoulder as she looks me up and down. I refuse to be intimidated, even lifting my chin in defiance of her judgment. She opens her mouth, but then her eyes catch on my employee badge clipped to my bag and her face goes pale.
“Sorry,” she mumbles, almost shrinking in on herself.
I let out a grunt of dismissal, turning my back on her. Oli is closer than I expected, and there’s heat in his eyes that makes my breath catch in my throat. His hand comes out to skate across my back and rest on my hip, holding me to his side as we start walking again. Once we reach the cover of the parking garage, Oli nuzzles his nose against my hair.
“I love watching you put people in their place, princess,” he whispers, his lips ghosting the shell of my ear.
I shiver, which makes him chuckle before pulling away to turn to Spencer. “Seems like Tori doesn’t like it when other omegas look at us,” he announces.
I roll my eyes but don’t deny it, knowing how easily they’ll catch me in the lie. Spencer comes up on my other side, unwrapping my fingers from the strap of my bag and bringing them to his lips.
“Do you think she’s forgotten that she’s the only woman, omega or otherwise, who we have eyes for?” he says, looking directly at me even though he’s talking about me like I’m not there.
Eli tuts from behind us, and I feel his heat before his fingers glide into my hair, yanking backward and forcing us to stop. His grip has me arching back until I’m looking up at him upside down. But even with the distorted perspective, his wicked smirk still makes my core clench.
“Guess we’ll just have to remind her, then,” he purrs.