Chapter Three
Mandy
It’s taking every ounce of my concentration to ignore the smoky yet comforting campfire scent radiating from the gorgeous, grinning alpha in front of me. It doesn’t matter that the locker room is filled to the brim with alpha pheromones from the rest of his team. My focus is dialled in on him.
Axel Warner.
My scent match.
Every single fiber of my being is dragging me towards him. It’s magnetic. Raw. Undeniable.
I want to climb him like a tree.
The door swings shut behind Marilyn and Vae, leaving the two of us alone. For once, I’m lost for words. Not only does Axel smell delicious, but he also knows my work. Likes it so much, he’s got a few of my books in his locker.
An alpha who reads romance novels is exactly the kind of character I’d write. Because that’s the kind of alpha I want. Someone who’s not only interested in what I do for a living but appreciates the art of it.
It’s like I’ve fallen into the pages of one of my books and am experiencing my very own meet-cute.
I’m here for it.
Axel’s smile widens as I take a minute to pull myself together. Does he know how affected I am by him? How slick is pooling in my panties because of his scent and smile alone?
Surely not. I took Vae’s advice and wore my thickest pair of scent-blocking underwear and coated my skin in that awful spray. There’s not a chance he can tell what’s going on between my thighs.
“So,” I begin, hoping to distract myself from the ache beginning to build down there and get myself back on track. Hockey. Need to learn about hockey. That’s why I made this deal with Marilyn after all. Speaking of… “Does Marilyn pull this kind of stunt often?”
He throws his head back and barks a laugh before closing his locker and taking a step toward me.
There’s no telling how I’ll respond if he gets too close.
I have to maintain some distance between us or there’s a chance my omega nature will take over and have me doing lord knows what.
It doesn’t help that I’m already imagining the way his arms might feel wrapped around my body.
I shake my head, trying to clear the thought.
“She’s sharp. And she’s good at her job. She sees an opportunity, and she pounces on it. I bet she was concocting her plan the second she realized who you were.”
“She seemed thrilled when she made the connection,” I add, laughing out loud at the memory of how her eyes had widened and the way she’d smiled. Marilyn had put two and two together and seized her chance to capitalize on it. “Hopefully, I can live up to my end of the bargain.”
“Are you kidding? I’ve seen the following you’ve built for yourself. One post from you and the word is out there. I can see the headlines. ‘Scented Scorpions team up with local romance author’. Then they’ll see how cute we look together, and it’ll be ‘Romance on the ice.’”
My cheeks burn. He thinks we look cute together? So do I. I think he’s cute. No, more like smoking hot. And that scent. It has every cell in my body buzzing with electricity. It’s soothing and arousing all at the same time.
But is that really how I feel? I’m confident he’s my scent match. Biology is telling me we’re made for each other. Biology isn’t the be-all and end-all, though. Scent matches don’t always work out.
Overthinking. That’s what I’m doing. I need to stop it. Axel has been assigned the task of showing me around and helping me understand his sport. He doesn’t seem aware that we’re fated. That we’re mates. I should play it cool, get to know him and see if we’re suited. Stop jumping ahead of the game.
“Well,” I begin cautiously, looking around the locker room and at some of the gear the guys have left out. Surely they should take better care of it. “Romance on the ice sounds like positive PR to me.”
Axel’s grin spreads from ear to ear, revealing a straight set of pearly white teeth. Someone once told me that teeth are the first thing we notice about someone else.
Not entirely true.
The first thing I noticed about Axel was his scent. Nothing else registered until now.
Now I’m noticing his teeth, his panty-melting smile, and the straight lines of his square-set jaw. His hair is shaved short on the sides, growing a little longer on top. Enough that I watch as his hand reaches up and brushes it to the side.
His bright green eyes lock with mine as he smiles in response to my words, and I find myself getting lost in them.
The effect this alpha is having on me is ridiculous and unexpected. I want him like I’ve never wanted anyone before. It’s unsettling and a little exciting. But this arrangement is professional, and I should keep it that way.
Before he can respond, I ask, “What is your position on the team? Can you explain it to me?”
“Sure,” he says, closing the distance between us, his fingers grazing the small of my back as he leads me out of the locker room.
The contact is electric, heat spreading through my body, and I fight a shiver.
If he gets any closer, I’m going to perfume, and I’m not sure my scent blockers will be able to contain the force of it.
I should leave now. But, fuck, I really don’t want to.
“I play forward center, which means I play in the center of the ice, between the left and right forwards, or wingers as they’re sometimes called.
A center probably covers the most ice of all players.
We’re responsible for face-offs, playmaking, etc.
We need to be fast, and on top of our game so we can see what’s happening, what the best play is and when we need to backcheck and help the defence.
I share the position with Malcolm, Timber, and our captain, Julius. ”
“The guy giving you a hard time in the locker room?”
“Yeah. He’s not as bad as he seems, just a little lost. His pack is having a hard time, and he’s not dealing with it right.
Chasing tail instead of mending things with his packmate.
It doesn’t help that most of the team are unbonded alphas.
There’s no one to smooth our rough edges, no omegas to calm our instincts. So, we clash more than we should.”
He gestures to a door on our left, opening it wide and allowing me to walk through ahead of him.
“Do you have a pack?” I ask, aware of how inappropriate it might be to ask, given this is clearly a business transaction, but unable to stop myself.
My cheeks heat and I glance at the floor as I pass by him, holding my breath as I go.
His scent is making it hard to think straight.
I know my focus should be on hockey, but it’s not.
Right now I’m focused on whether Axel has a pack and is one of the unbonded alphas he mentioned.
“I’m sorry. You don’t have to answer that. It’s a personal question.”
“It’s fine. Most of my personal details are online. It’s hard to keep anything private in this line of work. I have one packmate. He’s on the team too, so maybe you’ve heard of him. Chase?”
I shake my head. “No. I honestly don’t know any of your team. Today is the first time I’ve set foot in a stadium. I’ve never seen a game, only your practice earlier. You’re fast on the ice.”
“I have to be. Got to control the puck and speed gives me an edge. Here’s the medical wing,” he announces, gesturing down the hall. “Treatment rooms, first aid, physio and massage all take place down here.”
He leads me to each room, giving me the opportunity to peek inside as we go.
“So, you’re a new hockey fan? What drew your interest?”
“Not the sport,” I admit, peeking into the physiotherapy room. A player seems to be in the middle of some sort of assessment with the practitioner. “It was the butts.”
“The butts?” he repeats in surprise.
I take my eyes off the pair in the physio room and turn to face Axel. He’s only a few feet from me, with a cheeky, lopsided grin on his face. His smile is contagious. I can’t help but grin back.
“Yep, the butts. Romance readers like something to swoon over. Hockey players have hockey butts.”
Axel laughs, a deep hearty sound that has me clenching my thighs together as a flare of need spreads across my lower stomach.
I’m not sure how much longer I can play it cool. Every single cell in my body is urging me toward him. It’s a battle to stay calm and collected. To try and keep my professional edge up.
Axel spins around, his back facing me as he drops into a twerk. A surprised laugh escapes me as he looks over his shoulder and winks.
“Does my butt live up to the hype?”
“Definitely,” I say as he straightens and turns to face me again.
“Come on,” he says, grabbing my hand and leading me out of the medical wing. “I’ll show you the media rooms. Then we can grab some food, and I’ll explain the game to you.”
His hand is warm in mine, comforting and familiar even though I’ve only known this alpha for like five minutes.
I should let go, tug my hand away. But I don’t want to.
I want to savor it a little longer. Maybe forever.
Scent matches are meant to be forever, so maybe this is just a taste of what’s in store for me.
God, I hope it is.
The media room is just as I imagined, and before I know it, Axel's leading me back into the locker room, his hand still firmly grasping mine.
“Is it okay for me to be here?” I ask, worried I’m encroaching on the players’ private space.
“Yeah,” he answers, looking down at me from behind his thick lashes. “No one else is around at the moment. Plus, I have a social media photo idea.”
“What is it?”
We enter the locker room; the door swings shut behind us and Axel drops my hand, making a beeline for his locker. I follow him as he pulls his jersey off its hanger.
“Arms up,” he says, and I raise my arms instantly, surprising myself. There is no bark in his words, no flexing of his dominance, but I instinctively want to please him.
Axel pulls his jersey over my head and arms, and I drop them to my sides as he straightens the hem and steps back, pulling his phone from his pocket.
It’s enormous on me, hitting just above my knees. And it smells like him. His scent surrounds me, the smoky, woodsy notes drowning me in him.
“Smile,” he says, snapping a picture. I inhale through my mouth, forcing a smile as slick pools in my panties, and I try to avoid breathing in anymore of him.
I am seconds away from perfuming and I don’t want to.
The second I perfume for him, things will change.
The dynamics between us will change. They always do.
“I’m just going to run to the bathroom and then we’ll get lunch. You good here for a minute?”
I nod, the breath burning in my lungs as he smiles and strides across the room, looking back at me over his shoulder as he leaves.
The second he is gone, I rip his jersey off over my head, tossing it back into his locker and bolt for the door. I need air. Fresh air. Something in my lungs that isn’t the smoky scent of campfire that kills my brain cells and threatens to turn me into a gooey mess of an omega.
I keep running, making my way out of the stadium as quickly as possible, somehow managing not to get lost on my way. I slow down as I reach the parking lot, taking big, gulping breaths of fresh air as I make my way to my car and climb inside.
Today was supposed to be about learning. I learned very little about hockey, though. What I did learn?
I’m lucky enough to have found my scent match, and I’ve just run away from him.
Shit.