Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Mia
The Sloths pull off a solid win, putting another seven points on the board before the final whistle blows. Despite starting this game with no personal investment in the outcome, I feel my chest puff up with pride for the home team.
For a second, I thought Spencer Mills might be my scent-match, even though his scent didn’t match my beloved coat.
I caught a whiff of salty air that I liked enough to make me purr under my breath.
A smell I swore had to belong to my scent-match, and the quarterback had stared in my direction as if my scent had caught his attention, too.
But after Spencer talked to his coach, he never looked my way again, and the scent faded too quickly to search for another source, especially with so many other alphas on the field.
I can't imagine Spencer would so easily go back to focusing on the game if he thought he caught a whiff of a scent-match omega.
I know athletes are supposed to be super disciplined or whatever, but c'mon. This is biology we're talking about.
Maybe one of my scent-matches was out there somewhere in the stands watching the game. Maybe not. I have been known to have a vivid imagination, so it's not entirely impossible that I imagined the whole thing.
Sandalwood and sea salt would make for a great combination, though.
"You can rest your arms." Milo nudges me. "Coach Lamb will congratulate his guys before he decides who to send over for interviews while the crowd dies down."
Aside from keeping a tight grip on the expensive camera, I let my arms fall limp by my sides. My muscles are so relieved that I groan appreciatively.
"Cameras are heavier than I remember." I pout at my brother, hoping he'll take pity on me and take a turn holding the damn thing.
He's too busy jotting down notes in his little reporter's notebook. He hums under his breath, acknowledging me but not really listening.
A split-second later, I see something furry rushing toward me out of the corner of my eye.
I turn my head just in time to see the Sloth's mascot gunning right toward me.
There's no time to react as the crowd of reporters around me gasps, people stumbling over each other to avoid being barreled into.
The sloth stops short of running into me, and while I'm busy gawking, yanks the camera out of my grip.
"Hey!" I protest.
"What the hell?" Oh, now Milo decides to start paying attention.
The mascot pivots, camera cradled in his arms.
As panicked as Milo was about the possibility of not having a camera guy for one game, I don't even want to imagine what the network will do if they find out one of their cameras has been snatched by a sloth from the sidelines.
I sprint after the rogue mascot, ignoring the protest of my aching feet, which have already done more running today than in the last ten years combined. I'm especially grateful for those precious moments I wasted finding sneakers because this would have been even worse in heels.
The sloth darts toward the tunnel that the players use.
"Stop, Simon!" Milo yells from behind me, his words winded from joining the chase.
One time, I joked to Quinn about doing a social media collaboration with Simon the Sloth after showing her some of his goofiest social media posts, but this is not how I expected the meet-cute to go.
I figured we'd sit down with the team's social media person, who would inevitably refuse to allow Simon to pose with Quinn's knotted dildos.
Then, we'd be introduced to Simon the Sloth as a consolation, at which point I'd at least snap a photo with him for my personal social media.
In those daydreams, I definitely wasn't wearing freaking pajama pants!
Honestly, this day has been filled with so many odd occurrences that I’m starting to wonder if I’m actually still sleeping, and this entire situation has been conjured up by my pathetically desperate subconscious.
There are two police officers standing guard at the entrance to the team's tunnel. They do a double-take at the sight of Simon speeding past them with me closing in behind him. One of them tries to speak up as they adorn matching perplexed expressions, "Team only! This tunnel is for the team only!"
"Sorry," I blurt out as I continue following Simon past them.
Milo seems to be trailing behind because his voice grows more faint as I hear him call out, "That sloth stole our camera, and we're supposed to be setting up to go live!"
If I weren't completely breathless from running, I would giggle at the ridiculousness of my brother's words.
The officers must not know what to think of him, either, because I hear his footsteps continue to echo behind me as I chase Simon down a maze of hallways, taking so many turns that I'm positive I'll never be able to find my way out by the time he stops suddenly.
"Oof," I grunt as I run into the mascot suit that turns out to be surprisingly softer and fluffier to the touch than I expected.
I reach out to take the camera back from Simon, but he shakes his head at me. Before I can catch my breath to chew him out for making me run, he shoves me backward into an open supply closet.
"Don't you dare–"
Simon the Sloth slams the closet door in my face.
I turn the handle desperately, but the sloth blocks the door, and I'm not strong enough to push it open. Letting out an angry huff, I abandon my attempts to force my way out and pound my fists against the metal door instead.
What the hell is this sloth's problem?