Chapter 18
arlo
The car wash lot is pure, beautiful chaos, and I’m having the time of my fucking life.
Soap suds are flying everywhere like someone set off a foam party.
Hoses are spraying in every direction. Half the baseball team is shirtless and soaked, the other half is fully clothed and already regretting every life choice that led them here.
Football players have shown up in force, along with pretty much every Omega on campus who heard there was free entertainment and a good cause.
Milo, Avery, Kit, and Harlow are all here, plus Iris and Quentin, who are currently arguing over who gets to hold the hose like it’s a competition.
Parker is in the middle of it all, looking like a goddamn dream, having changed into tiny black shorts and one of my old Knotlocke tees that’s already wet and clinging to every curve.
She’s manning a bucket of soap, laughing as she lathers up a car while Fox and I keep finding excuses to brush against her every time we walk by.
My cock has been half-hard since we got here, and it’s only getting worse. But every time I look over to Parker to see if she’s ready to go, she just shakes her head.
The need to drag her back to that nest and fuck and knot her is taking over rational thought but the one thing I won’t do is steal her choices. So, I focus on the donation board.
The numbers are climbing fast. We started the afternoon at around eight grand from the auction.
Now, it’s pushing ten, and every time a new car pulls in the team goes feral, cheering, catcalling, and making ridiculous bets about who can wash it fastest. The air smells like wet concrete, cheap soap, and a dozen different Omega scents all mixed together in the best way.
Milo spots me and waves dramatically, Quentin standing stiffly behind him. “Arlo! Come wash my brother’s car so I can watch you bend over!”
Quentin elbows him. “You’re disgusting and you already have an Alpha you can watch bend over.” His eyes dart to Iris, their Alpha currently doing just that as she throws a smile back at them.
“I’m supportive,” Milo corrects with a grin.
I laugh and jog over, grabbing a sponge. Parker glances my way, cheeks already pink from the sun and the way Fox keeps “accidentally” brushing soap suds across her ass every time he walks past.
Fox catches my eye across the lot and gives me a small nod. He’s been watching her like a hawk too.
The donation board ticks up again; someone just dropped another five hundred. We’re at eleven-eight. So much closer to the twenty and yet, really, really fucking far.
Then an anonymous donation hits.
A staff member runs up to the board with a wide grin and slaps a new number on it: +1,000.
The whole lot erupts. We’re suddenly at twelve-eight.
The team goes wild, cheering and high-fiving.
Parker’s eyes are wide, hope and disbelief mixing on her face as she looks over at me.
It’s still not enough, but hopefully the administration will let us stay open.
Coach Ramirez shows up ten minutes later.
He walks into the lot wearing jeans and a Knotlocke polo, eyes red-rimmed like he’s been crying. The entire team goes quiet as he steps up to the donation board. He stares at the numbers for a long moment, then turns to face us.
“I had to leave for a family emergency yesterday,” he says, voice thick. “But I heard what you kids did. The auction. This car wash. All of it.” His voice cracks. “I’m so damn proud of you.”
One of the younger players pipes up, voice hesitant. “We probably won’t clear twenty grand, Coach, but—”
Coach laughs, and wipes at his eyes. “If it were only twenty grand, I would’ve covered it myself. But it’s closer to fifty.”
The lot goes dead silent for half a second, then everyone groans in unison.
“Fifty?!” Jamal yells. “You said twenty!”
Coach shrugs, grinning through the tears. “I’ve been fighting the administration and the bank for months. The twenty was what I had left to cover after the grants and alumni donations came in. You kids just helped close the biggest gap we’ve ever had.”
The cheering starts again, louder this time. But before it can get too loud, a new voice cuts through the noise.
“Make it an even fifteen.”
Everyone turns.
A guy in a sharp black business suit is walking toward the donation board like he owns the place.
Short cropped hair, sharp jaw, and enough bling to blind someone, earrings all the way up both ears, a hoop through his lip, one in his nose, and another through his brow.
He’s grinning like he knows exactly how much chaos he’s about to cause and he can’t be any taller than Parker.
Maybe even shorter.
And fuck, he’s an Omega.
He pulls out a check, signs it with a flourish, and hands it to Harlow.
Harlow’s eyes go wide. “Holy shit. Fifteen thousand? Wait, Blair Reyes?” Recognition blooms in her eyes but I have no idea who this small ass Omega is. What I do know is that he’s wearing more money on him than he just signed the check for.
Blair shrugs, sassy as hell. “They’re starting a new wrestling program here, but it’s near the end of the semester, so they didn’t want to take me on.
I told them I’d make a sizeable donation if they let me in.
All my courses would transfer and I can keep up with the school work.
Plus, I’m taking some summer classes.” He turns and nods toward the dean, who’s standing at the edge of the lot looking positively pissed.
“Of course, the dean thought it would be for another building or some bullshit.”
The dean’s face goes red. “I thought—”
Blair cuts him off with a feral grin. “Of course not. I like helping my fellow athletes. Besides, I’ve been told I’m too mean.” He winks. “Figured the baseball team could use a little mean on their side.”
The entire lot loses it. Harlow is staring at the check like it’s going to disappear if she blinks.
I’m still trying to figure out how this Omega supposedly has all this money.
Scratch that, he wrestles? The longer I stare at Blair, though, the more I see that beneath the fancy fabrics is a whole ass terror waiting to get out.
I’m not sure I ever want to be on a mat with him.
“New uniforms,” Harlow whispers. “Travel budget. We’re actually going to make it.”
Everyone starts whooping and cheering, slapping each other on the back, spraying each other with hoses in celebration. Parker’s eyes are shining with tears as she steps forward.
“Thank you,” she says to Blair, throwing out a hand to shake.
Blair just grins wider as he takes it. “Don’t thank me yet. I expect front-row seats for the rest of the season.”
Parker laughs, but the sound cuts off suddenly. She doubles over with a soft whine, hand flying to her stomach. I smell it instantly, her scent thickening dramatically, slick flooding so hard it soaks through the pad she’s wearing and starts to darken the front of her shorts.
“Parker?” Harlow asks, concerned.
Fox is already moving. He scoops her up mid-sentence, one arm under her knees, the other around her back, and starts carrying her toward the apartment without a word. I fall in step beside him, heart racing with a mix of worry and heat.
We’re barely ten steps away when Parker buries her face in Fox’s neck and whimpers, “Heat… it’s hitting harder than I thought. Fuck, that’s so embarrassing. I was literally holding that Omega’s hand.”
That drags a laugh out of me, immediately cut short when Parker throws me a glare, her eyes glazed over, my woman barely able to keep her head up.
“Fox gets to knot me first now.”
Of course. Even when she’s delirious with heat, she’s still bratty as fuck. I love it.