Chapter Thirteen
“Are you comfortable doing that?” Trick asks.
I smirk at Mason, and Trick slaps him in on the cheek with the punch glove.
“Focus, man,” Trick chides.
Mason stretches out his jaw, but they return to the rhythm they’d set up.
For several minutes, I work on stretching out sore, overtaxed muscles. My face warms with the slight exertion and Mason gets tagged again.
“You’re never gonna stay on the team if you don’t get it together. You survived your first two games, but the crowd gets bigger each time.”
Mason rolls his eyes but never slips in the rhythm.
“I’m dead serious. You can’t be looking at any pair of tits that walks by the glass.”
I narrow my eyes at the back of Trick’s head. He can’t know I’ve directed my ire at him, but his shoulders hunch all the same.
“My tits are the best in the arena, so if he can focus with mine, he’s golden.”
They bump fists and grin at me, then go back to it.
Circling the room, I pretend like they aren’t even there as I strut around them.
There are a lot of things I’m not good at. I’m not the smartest or the strongest. I’ve never been the girl others come to for advice.
But I’m scrappy as fuck and proud of it.
As I walk the room, I stretch my arms overhead and unbraid my hair. It’s still slightly damp from last night’s shower, but it’ll do.
I fluff up my hair and whistle casually while I walk.
Trick’s eyes go to me, and Mason slaps him on the cheek instead of sending a punch.
“Very funny,” Trick says.
“Focus, man,” Mason teases.
When I reach the water bottles again, I snatch one and toss it into the air.
Mason remains fixated on the gloves. The boys murmur to each other, but I can’t hear it from here.
So I twist the bottle open and take a long, luxurious gulp of the water. A few more deep pulls and the bottle’s already half gone.
Still nothing.
Fucking fine.
Sighing, I toy with my hem and then pluck my tank top overhead. I’ve got a sports bra on; I planned to come in here and reasoned that I could pretend I wanted to work out if things went south, but it means that I’m fully covered even shirtless.
Mason willfully refuses to look my way, even when I lower the center zipper between my breasts by two inches.
I’ll come back to you.
When I make it behind Mason, Trick’s eyes constantly track me.
Mason sneaks in a pot shot to his stomach, and Trick finally relents. He steps back with a placating arm out.
“Alright, alright. Point taken,” he says with a grunt.
“See, bunny? No one is immune to you—not even the almighty Patrick Wyatt.”
For some reason, that irks me. Trick’s been the perfect gentleman.
Well, except for fucking me into oblivion when I needed it, and then again in the living room.
But, those two exceptions aside, Trick’s kept things friendly but not heated.
A painful chink in my armor cracks at the realization that I’m simply his convenience.
I’m the omega who needs to be satisfied.
I’m the woman messing around with his beta on their couch.
He’s never come to me for me. It’s fair. I know it is. I’m not here to actually be his girlfriend or omega. There is no reason to expect him to want me.
But I want him to.
That gritty impulsivity that’s been gnawing at my bones the last few weeks takes a vicious bite.
I straddle a weight bench and lean back with both arms on the bar still sitting in its racks.
The players take the ice.
“I don’t know about that, Mase. He seems perfectly comfortable ignoring me and letting you captivate my time at night.”
The puck is dropped.
Mason opens his mouth to respond, but I cut him off before he can speak.
“Not a complaint, only an observation. I don’t want anyone in my bed who isn’t one hundred percent dedicated to it.”
Success in the face-off.
“I’ve rocked your world twice,” Trick replies.
An attempt to steal by the opposing team.
“The first time I was in a bad way because of this one”—I shake my thumb at Mason—“and Vin had a solid hour of playtime before you even arrived. I’m not an obligation to meet, even if we’re pretending or playing around.”
I fly across the ice toward the attacking zone with the puck.
Trick’s jaw flexes, and he stands to his full imposing height. In two long strides, he’s looming over me with both hands on the barbell behind me.
The defending players form up.
“Don’t mistake my kindness for insincerity,” he says.
My winger gets smashed into the boards.
“Oh, does that make you a ‘nice guy’? I’m not interested in nice guys. In my experience, they’re mediocre lays and steal my silverware.”
They tussle on the ice.
“That was very specific.”
Mason chuckles out of sight.
The puck is recovered.
“Based on a true story,” I inform him. “I don’t want nice. I want someone who knows what he wants and goes for it.”
A slapshot at the goal.
If my purpose was to convince them to loosen up around me before the event, then I have failed spectacularly. All three of us are more angsty than we’ve ever been.
The die is cast, though. I said what I said. I’m trapped here underneath Trick.
He tilts his head at me, his eyes narrowing.
The goalie lunges . . .
Trick backs away and I assume he’s retreating, but he drops onto the weight bench and grabs my sports bra dead center. He yanks on the elastic and I slingshot forward.
. . . and lets the puck pass him.
The big alpha catches me in his arms, my legs askew and my arms flailing. Fingers sink into my loose hair and he lavishes a demanding kiss on me.
Trick Wyatt is frantic and insistent. His lips press against mine and direct the kiss like a commanding dance partner. He projects exactly what he wants and then takes it.
And what he wants is me.
Goal for the home team!
Right now anyway.
He wraps his arms around my body and forces me to straddle thick thighs. The move shifts us to the far end of the bench, and it tips from the cantilevered weight.
Mason’s there to help catch us, but my whoremones win and I fist his shirt too. I tempt him into the kiss while Trick sucks and licks at my neck and shoulder.
The bench lifts half an inch again and crashes down, so Mason straddles the space behind me. I have no idea if the whole thing will collapse from our collective weight, but I certainly hope the fuck not.
I never want this to end.
Being sandwiched between Trick Wyatt and Mason LaMille is the dream to end all dreams. Trick’s dominant in a reassuring way that draws me to him, while Mason’s so eager and enthusiastic that the contrast is delightfully stark.
“Fuck, Izzy,” Mason says behind me, his voice guttural. Trick’s rolling his hips beneath me, but Mason sinks a hand between my legs to play with me over my leggings.
I moan into Trick’s mouth while Mason runs teeth over my bare skin.
The pressure builds. It’s an unpleasant reminder that this can’t go any further.
The boys have a long day ahead. I switched shifts so I could have the morning to get ready for this big fundraiser.
We don’t have time for a sex marathon, no matter how much the three of us seem to want it.
“We have to stop,” I force out.
Mason groans behind me. “I’m starting to think you do this on purpose.”
“I didn’t come in here to tease us all.”
“Why did you come in?” Trick asks.
“We haven’t practiced in a while and the fundraiser’s this afternoon.”
“Practice.”
He visibly straightens at that. At Trick’s nod, Mason stands and lifts me up with him.
The three of us stand awkwardly in the gym. My hair’s a mess and I reek of their sweat, but I kind of like it.
“We don’t need to practice,” is all Trick can say. He glares at the floor and I can feel Mason’s eyes on my back.
“Right. Sorry.” I say the word, but it comes out clipped. “I’m going to go.”
“Wait, Izzy—” is all Mason gets out before the door closes behind me.
* * *
Trick
Across the room, Izzy laughs at some joke Vin told. She flips her hair and leans into his body. He’s got her gripped tightly at his side, and she molds herself against him with a bent knee.
Mason’s standing beside them and engaging with them both in easy conversation.
The matte black slacks and cream blouse I left in her closet weeks ago fit her perfectly. She hasn’t said a word about how I figured out her sizes or why I put them in there, but she also hasn’t lit them on fire.
Yet.
It just seemed empty in there. She arrived with so little, and I wanted her to feel equipped if we came to an event like this one.
The woman on my beta’s arm has never worn what I bought her—until today.
This fundraiser is one of the many events held by the Cannons Central Charity Foundation. The foundation brings a few of us in to sell our time and attention for a multitude of worthy causes.
Between the spring gala, the golf tournament, and other auctioned tickets like Cook with a Cannon, we donate tens of millions of dollars to a variety of causes. Tickets to this particular event were $5,000 apiece and benefit a cancer research institute.
Earlier, patients from the children’s cancer ward received skating lessons from the team. They mingle with the players and our families. It was adorable watching these little kids skim along the ice with smiles on their faces. Best day of their lives and the only reason I volunteer for these events.
And, of course, it helped when Brad fell on his face the first time he stepped on the ice. Seems someone put clear tape on his blades.
I’d be annoyed at Vin, but this is a closed event and it was fucking hilarious.
Most of the people who can afford tickets to these come to every event. It’s a room full of expensive people in expensive clothes wanting a brush with what they view as greatness.
As long as the checks clear, I don’t particularly care. I can make small talk and take pictures as much as the foundation needs me to.
I’ve admittedly been doing a shit job of it today, stewing over here in the corner.
Izzy’s eyes catch on mine watching the three of them. The smile fades, but Vin nuzzles her neck and she affixes it once more.
Clearing my throat, I sip my whiskey and scan the room. I should find my agent and talk with the sponsors he has in mind for next year. Most of my deals are multiyear contracts, but being part of a pack opens different doors for us all.
It would be better if we were all settled.
Doesn’t help I’m a fucking idiot who doesn’t know how to manage either Izzy or Mason.
I wasn’t rejecting her this morning, but I know she’s sensitive to that kind of thing. Had I been thinking at all, and not too focused on her body against mine, I’d have heard how it came out.
We don’t need to practice.
I’m such a fucking idiot.
I’d meant that being with her was natural. We don’t need to practice when it comes so easy.
And yet, all I’d been able to do was stare with an empty head while she literally ran away from me.
Mason’s admittedly easier to deal with. He fits in with us. Dominant enough to be trustworthy as another alpha but not so egotistical he can’t handle my authority. If anything, he doesn’t seem to want to be a pack alpha.
He defers to me fine. Listens well enough. Vocal without being controlling.
And he’s good with Vin. The kinship there is still growing but it has so much potential.
If we’re losing Izzy, at least we seem to be keeping Mason. I’d worried he’d leave when she did.
“Beauty is hard to contain,” Brad says beside me. The high-top table groans when leans his big frame against it, then jettisons an empty Champagne flute.
The comment raises my hackles.
“The best way to let a wildflower grow is to give it plenty of water and space,” I reply.
He smirks. “I think we both know that certain wildflowers aren’t allowed to remain free. It’d be a shame if someone picked her early.”
My teeth grind so hard my jaw aches. He doesn’t typically attend these events, and it’s clear he’s only come to this one for Izzy.
“Are you threatening her, captain?”
“Not at all, only commenting on the state of the world. Have you ever known a wildflower to make it to 28 without being picked?”
Have I known another omega that went unpaired into her late 20s?
No. Of course not.
The Admin begins matching omegas on their 20th birthdays. Most are bonded by 23.
The Admin is always watching their charges, always inserting itself, always forcing the parties’ hands.
I sip on my drink instead of answering him.
“That’s alright, old man,” he says. “We both know the answer. We both also know that her choices are limited.”
“Is there a point to this conversation?”
Brad grins this wide, toothy smile. It’s that same charming affectation he puts on for the cameras that’s so convincing to everyone else but is a warning in my eyes.
“I’d like to discuss the future with you.”
“The future.”
“Yes.”
“My future involves playing on the Cannons until my knee finally gives out and building my pack.”
“The future of your pack is part of this conversation.”
Sucking in a breath, I place my lowball glass on the table and turn to face the wall behind us so no one will see my reaction.
I lean in so only he hears my words in his ear.
“If you threaten my pack—utter even a single syllable in malice—I will ensure you never walk again.”
My scowl is probably ugly and twisted, but I deliver my next words with a dismissive sniff.
“I wouldn’t kill you. No, it’d be much more entertaining to watch you suffer and wither without the spotlight.”
He chuckles. “You’re a good leader, Trick. Strong. Protective. You’d make a good team captain.”
“What is it that you want?”
“Izzy. I want my girl back.”
Fury overloads rational thought, but I keep it in check. Flipping a table won’t convince Izzy to stay or the Admin to approve it.
“Your girl’s right there,” I say as if the words aren’t painful. “Maybe you should take that up with her.”
“Ah, but there’s the problem. She won’t come back while she thinks she has somewhere else to go.”
“Sounds abusive.”
“I consider it pragmatic.”
“Not convincing me to let her go.”
“Ah, but you haven’t heard my offer. You hate that they made me captain. We both know this, and let’s not pretend otherwise. I’ve checked it off my bucket list, and the added work isn’t worth doing it again. What if I told you that I’d withdraw my name from the position next year? It’ll be free for you to step into the role. I’ll even keep Nelson and Wiznocki from pursuing it.”
“If we throw Izzy out.”
“I’ll announce my decision the moment she’s under my roof.”
“It’s offensive you think I’m selfish enough to turn her out for a promise of a captainship a year away.”
“I’m not withdrawing during the season. We’re winning the cup this year and I’m not giving up the opportunity, not even for her perfect pussy.”
Rage runs up my spine, and I’m glad I’m turned to the wall. My emotions play out in my expression as my poker face dissolves.
Brad only smirks at my reaction.
This man doesn’t deserve to talk to Izzy, let alone keep her.
“Speak plain, Brad. You’re seriously trying to trade the captainship for her?”
He tucks a hand in his pocket and studies my girl.
“You want what I have; I want what you have. Those are problems easily solved. Think about it. Not too long, though.”
He whistles and strolls toward Izzy, Vin, and Mason. She slides her fingers into Vin’s jacket. Her face flushes pink and Vin pivots her away before he can reach them.
Good man.
That Cameron would even think I’d so easily trade her away over a selfish desire for a title tells me everything I need to know about the man.
Izzy finishes her Champagne flute and sways a little on her feet. I’m there in less than a second.
“How many did she have?” I ask Vin.
“Only the one. You good, Iz?”
She shakes her head to clear her thoughts and fills her lungs as full as they go.
“Yeah. I’m fine.”
She is not fine.
“How much longer do we need to stay?” she asks.
“We don’t. We’re leaving.”
“I’m not drunk, if that’s what you think. I’m just tired.”
“Did something happen?”
Vin eyes her and admits, “She got into a fight with Jolie.”
“Best friends don’t fight,” Izzy says, quick to jump to her own defense. “They disagree and then get over it with ice cream and rom-coms.”
“You were very upset.”
“Disagreements are frustrating, especially when said best friend spends all her time criticizing your choices and forcing you to help her make hers about her perfect life.”
“That . . . sounds loaded,” Mason says.
Her skin glows a subtle red. I touch the back of my hand against her neck.
“You’re burning up.”
She slaps my hand away. “Ugh, I can’t afford to get sick. I’ve already traded my shift today. They’re gonna fire me if I miss more time and I’ll actually deserve it.”
“They can’t fire you for being sick.”
“They can do whatever they want. I promise I’m fine. It’ll pass.”
She rests her head on Vin’s shoulder, but both he and Mason share my same concerned look.
“I want to head back anyway,” Mason says.
I nod a thanks to him and he returns it.
She snuggles against Vin.
“Fuck, your scent is divine. Did you know I can tell when you want me by how you smell?” she says too loudly.
She peppers kisses along his neck and jaw.
Ah, hell.
There are cobwebs in the area of my brain previously reserved for pack dynamics, but under the dust, a realization comes screaming into life.
The heightened emotions.
The escalation this morning.
How she’s desperate for Vin’s touch and smell.
The heated skin.
“We need to go,” I insist.
“I told you I’m fine. Go earn your donations.”
“No, Izzy,” I say and lean into them. “She’s going into a heat.”