Chapter 7
parker
The field is still buzzing with leftover energy when we finally call it a day.
Practice ran long, but nobody’s complaining.
We’re all sticky with sweat and grass stains, cleats clacking as we head toward the picnic tables behind the dugout where someone, probably Theo, set up a couple of coolers and a ridiculous spread of snacks.
Harlow’s already perched on Theo’s lap like she belongs there, one arm looped around his neck while he feeds her a strawberry.
She’s mated, glowing, and completely unashamed about it.
Her scent mingles with Theo’s smoky bourbon in the sweetest way.
I try not to stare, but my chest does that stupid little twist anyway.
Arlo drops onto the bench beside me, slinging a heavy arm around my shoulders. “You see that relay in the seventh, baby? You and Jamal looked like you were reading each other’s minds out there.”
I lean into him before I can stop myself. “That’s because Jamal actually listens when I yell at him. Unlike some pitchers I know.”
Fox settles on my other side, close enough that his scent wraps around me like a hug. His hand finds the back of my neck, thumb stroking once, his version of hello. “You’re just mad I called that curveball perfect.”
“I’m mad you looked smug as hell about it,” I shoot back, but I’m grinning.
The whole team is here, sprawled across the tables, laughing and shoving each other. Harlow catches my eye and winks. “Parker, you’re blushing again. Arlo and Fox been teasing you on the field or what?”
“Always,” I say, rolling my eyes. “It’s their favorite hobby.”
Arlo’s grin turns wicked. “Only because you make the cutest noises when we do it right.”
Fox doesn’t say anything, but his fingers tighten gently on my neck, and I feel the low rumble in his chest. The team howls with laughter as Jamal nearly chokes on his Gatorade. They have absolutely no idea the sounds I make when they do it right.
Harlow leans forward, Theo’s arms still wrapped around her waist. “Y’all are ridiculous. But cute. Real cute.”
Theo kisses her temple and murmurs something that makes her laugh softly.
The easy way they touch, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, hits me harder than it should.
I want that. I want to sit on one of my Alphas’ laps after practice, steal kisses without worrying who’s watching, and let my scent mix with theirs so everyone knows exactly who I belong to.
But we’re not that.
We’re casual. Nights and stolen moments and “just fun.” Nothing more. I watch them wash off my scent every morning in the shower, and even though I know they’ll be coating themselves in my scent and slick that evening... It’s not the same.
My stomach twists. Arlo must feel me tense because he squeezes my shoulder. “Hey. You good?”
Before I can answer, the conversation shifts and someone brings up the dare from last summer.
Jamal points at me and Fox. “Still can’t believe you two actually did it. Matching tattoos because Arlo said you wouldn’t.”
I laugh, grateful for the distraction. It was after a brutal double-header last July.
We were all drunk on cheap beer and victory, sprawled in Arlo’s apartment.
Arlo had been teasing us for weeks about how Fox and I were “basically married already” and too scared to admit it.
He bet us twenty bucks and bragging rights that we wouldn’t get matching tattoos.
Fox had looked at me, raised one eyebrow, and said, “You in, Ellis?”
I’d been buzzing with adrenaline, and the way they were both looking at me. “Hell yes.”
We ended up at a late-night shop. Fox got a small, stylized baseball stitch on his left pec.
I got the exact same one on my right hip, hidden under my uniform most days, but always there.
Arlo had laughed his ass off the whole time, but the second we walked out of that shop, he’d looked at both of us like we hung the moon.
Back at the picnic tables, Arlo’s voice pulls me out of the memory. “Best money I ever spent,” he declares, loud enough for everyone to hear. “Now every time Parker slides into second, I get to remember she’s got my favorite dare permanently on her body.”
Fox’s hand slides from my neck down my spine, stopping just above the waistband of my shorts where the tattoo sits. “Mine too,” he says quietly, only for me.
My heart does a stupid little flip. Harlow grins at me across the table, Theo’s chin resting on her shoulder. “You two are so gone for each other it’s disgusting. Well, actually all three of you. When are you making that shit official?”
I force a laugh and shrug like it’s nothing. “It’s just fun.”
The words taste wrong the second they leave my mouth. Because I don’t just want the nights anymore. I want the casual touches in front of the team. I want Arlo to kiss me in the middle of the dugout without turning it into a joke. I want to stop pretending this is temporary.
I want more.
Fox’s hand finds my thigh under the table, squeezing once. His voice is low, just for me. “You sure you’re okay, baby?”
I look up at him, at the soft edge in his usually intense eyes, and feel that longing swell in my chest until it’s almost painful. I smile anyway. “I’m perfect.”
He studies me for a second longer, thumb stroking slow circles on my leg, but he doesn’t push. Arlo leans in on my other side, pressing a quick, playful kiss to my temple before returning his attention to something Theo says.
And for a moment, surrounded by the team’s laughter and the warm evening air, I let myself pretend that maybe, this could be more than casual.
Harlow shoots me a knowing glance across the tables but I just shake my head. Both Alphas currently touching me told me this was all in fun but my body wants more. I want more. And I already know the moment this ends, it’s going to be my heart breaking first.