Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Freddie
If someone asked me for a recap of today’s game, I’d have to make something up completely. I can’t even remember the first quarter. My connection to Simon’s soul has been temporarily severed, and my concentration is long gone.
Courtesy of the sweet little omega on the sidelines holding a camera that’s almost half her size.
I don’t even try to pretend otherwise at this point. My head turns like I’m possessed every time she shifts. It’s honestly embarrassing. If anyone were paying attention to me instead of the game, as they usually would be, I’d be exposed immediately as a fraud. Today I am a man unworthy of his suit.
Yet, my pride in my role seems minuscule when I look at her.
When one of the team’s assistants came over to inform me that Spencer had requested I direct the woman to the tunnel after the game, I nodded and gave two big thumbs up.
I can tell from my own bond with Zak and Spencer that the sweet thing standing amongst the gaggle of reports is riling them up. As a beta, I might not be able to smell the scent match, but I know my alphas, and nothing else could fracture their focus this way.
Thankfully, the team’s head coach was able to get their heads back in the game, from what I could tell, anyway. My own focus is still on the omega.
Maybe I should be nervous about trying to convince the woman to follow me into a dark tunnel and wait for our two alphas to be done throwing a ball around.
Wait.
Our alphas.
I’ve always understood the possibility that I might have to share Zak and Spencer, but the thought used to leave me feeling anxious and a little green.
That’s not what I’m feeling now. Instead, I feel excited and determined.
I can deliver our omega into their arms, where we’ll all live happily ever after.
I study our gift from the universe a little more from behind the obstructed view of my mascot head. Fate seems to have a sense of humor, considering the omega looks like she’s gotten dressed in the dark.
With her hair in a messy twist on the top of her head, she looks like she lost a fight with her pillow in her sleep. Then there’s the fact that she’s wearing a coat that looks four sizes too big, covering most of her body.
She stands clutching the giant camera, though her eyes keep darting across the field. The camera is tilted in her hands as though it's too heavy for her and…wait…what is that?
I lean forward, squinting my eyes to confirm I’m not seeing things, and groan.
Is she wearing pajama pants? For work? Does she always dress as if she could nap at any moment? And are those spaceships?
“Oh no,” I mutter under my breath. “This won’t do.”
Dragging a claw down the head of my suit, I let out a sigh. I mean, obviously, she should wear whatever she wants. If she wants to spend the rest of eternity in bunny slippers and a onesie, I’ll support her until my dying breath.
My concern is for the way the media and the fans will eat her alive. As a pack, we try to remain as private as possible, but the fact remains that we’re all public figures. Two professional athletes and Simon the Sloth.
Spencer and Zak have been followed after games by people hoping for more than an autograph. There are times when the team security blinks, and someone will sneak through to corner one of them.
Some people just want their knots and bites. Others want their bank accounts.
My lips curl at the thought. The vultures have bothered me in the past, but now I realize that those vultures could hurt my precious omega, too.
None of Simon’s fans would ever be so shallow as to poke fun at someone’s clothes, of course, but I have to worry about those lovelorn football fans.
I do have fun occasionally playing the jilted lover when I find a handsy fan trying to touch my alphas. I’ve been known to throw an arm around one of my alphas and sob hysterically to make the intruder uncomfortable.
That technique usually works, but some people aren’t deterred by a little drama.
The sound of the crowd roaring temporarily breaks me from my thoughts. Our team must have done something impressive, because of course, they did.
I do a little hip maneuver on the sidelines, swinging my belly around, trying to commit to my role.
The enthusiasm behind my shoulder shimmy is wrecked, and I accept that it’s a hopeless endeavor as my eyes are soon back on the woman who looks like she went thrift shopping for an ironically bad outfit.
I guess I’m impressed by her courage to just be herself in public. I’d never be brave enough to leave the house without even checking to see if I have drool still crusted in the corner of my mouth.
Or maybe it’s toothpaste?
It makes sense why Zak and Spencer would be so anxious now. We’ve found our missing piece. An omega who can complete us without turning me green because I can sense how much she belongs with us.
But she’s not ready for our world.
I cannot let this happen. I won’t let her lack of style, and possibly hygiene, keep us apart. I will fix this.
“We have work to do, my messy little omega,” I whisper while rubbing my claws together.
My eyes narrow when the reporter she’s been holding the camera for comes over and seemingly bothers her about her camera work, getting way too close for my liking. He doesn’t seem aggressive, just concerned about getting a steady shot, but that’s still unacceptable.
My giant feet move down the sidelines without a second thought.
A sudden roar echoes through the stadium, stopping me momentarily. Zak stands in the end zone with his chest rapidly rising and falling. His teammates are surrounding him, including Spencer. But while everyone else is celebrating, my alphas are staring at her again.
I wave to get their attention before quickly pointing at their distraction and making a thumbs-up.
I’ve got this.
I’m an expert at communicating with body language, so I’m certain they understand me. Giving them a quick salute, I continue on my journey.
They can finish the game, and I’ll take care of her.
Our kicker lines up to successfully kick a field goal, and cheers fill up the stadium, but the game no longer holds my attention.
I have a mission to complete.
I just need to convince a visibly overwhelmed omega in pajama pants to trust a giant, furry mascot enough to leave her post and follow me into a private area.
Like my very secure dressing room. Or whatever closet door happens to be close and open.
Possibly to remain there.
Maybe under mild duress.
Until the game ends.
I pause mid-step.
This plan probably sounds worse than it is.