Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Zak
Freddie yelps from inside his sloth suit, and we all turn to stare at him as I lower Milo's camera safely to my side.
"The two of you are siblings?" he asks, throwing his arms up to emphasize his surprise. "You're not a creeper trying to follow her home in the hopes of bumping uglies and claiming your camera woman for yourself?"
Honestly, he should be the one locked in a closet while the mature adults have this conversation.
"That's disgusting." Milo gags, completely disturbed by the suggestion. "Mia is my twin sister, and she's not a camera woman. My camera guy got food poisoning at the last second, and she filled in for me as a favor."
I spare a glance in Spencer's direction to see the same relief in his expression that I'm feeling. We would never want our mate to feel unsupported in her choice of career, but adding a sports reporter to our pack would have been difficult.
"Are you sure you're not trying to slide into home plate under the catcher's mitt before we do?" Freddie can't seem to wrap his mind around the concept of this guy being our mate's sister.
I elbow him hard enough to make sure he feels it through the suit. "Chill, Simon."
We don't want to make our mate's brother hate us from the very beginning.
And how dare Freddie use baseball metaphors within the sanctity of a football stadium?
I'm going to have to bring the whiteboard out at home again and go back over his options for football metaphors with him.
The man is in a pack with two professional football players–and he works for the team–he really needs to have a little more respect for the game.
"Simon, let her out," Spencer snaps, his alpha tone on full display. All of us shrink a little at the sound, even Milo, who was posturing against him just moments ago.
While Freddie slinks out of the way of the closet door, I hand the camera off to Milo and manage to get to the door before Spencer does, desperate to unite with our omega.
I turn the handle, and my breath catches as I see her up close for the very first time.
She's stunning, even with the soft features of her face set in a harsh scowl.
Her angry muttering is cut short the moment we make eye contact.
Mate.
The hair on my arms stands up as a chill passes through me. All the worry I had on the field that we might have imagined her scent dissipates as the smell of hibiscus flowers wafts around me, winding around my heart like a rope to tie me tightly to her.
All the thrills of the game seem far away now in comparison to how my pulse races for my omega. Our pack is finally going to be complete. After all those hours of paying an assistant to search full-time for our scent-match, she managed to find her own way to us.
And she wasn't even meant to be here. A favor to her brother brought her to us, and if that isn't fate doing its job, I don't know what is.
My gaze drops to take in the rest of her, and my heart swells.
Wrapped around her is a familiar garment that's been noticeably missing from my own wardrobe for many months.
My coat. The one Spencer has teased me about not replacing countless times.
The coat I for some reason couldn't bear to replace for some strange emotional reason that I couldn't quite place.
Somehow, I know the coat she's wearing just has to be the exact one I've lost, and not just the same coat that someone else bought.
Our pack's omega is wearing my lost coat.
I'm disoriented by the realization, so much so that I struggle to stay balanced, my hands clutching at the door frame to steady myself.
I want to tell her to keep it forever, but I also kind of want to put her over my knee for keeping herself–and my coat–away from me for too long.
Mia, the brunette woman with her hair tied up in a knot on top of her head, brushes some loose hair behind her ear and looks at me in awe. Her delicate nostrils flare. "You smell like sandalwood," she whispers, dropping her chin to stare down at the coat she's wearing.
My heart soars. I have to tighten my grip on the door frame to avoid closing the distance between us, sensing this moment is as overwhelming for her as it is for me. She looks back and forth between me and the coat, obviously drawing a correct conclusion about the coat's rightful owner.
I have so many questions about how my coat came to be in her possession, but there will hopefully be plenty of time to talk about that later.
Abruptly, Mia shrugs out of the coat and thrusts it toward me, her cheeks turning pink. "I didn't steal this," she defends herself, followed by a long pause before she adds, "from you." Her cheeks turn from pink to bright red.
"Keep it." I shake my head.
"But it's yours."
"You shouldn't be outside without a coat.
Really, you keep it," I insist. The idea of her being outside in the cold without proper clothes makes me frown.
Those printed pajama pants she's wearing don't quite look protective enough for the elements, either.
I wonder if she would be willing to wear a pair of my sweatpants over them?
For warmth, of course. And if the sweatpants happen to cover up her own odd clothing choice, well, that would certainly be a bonus.
I'm glad she seems confident enough not to care if she's judged by what she wears, but some of our fans can be kind of vicious online. I hate to see what the comment section would look like if the local news or a tabloid printed a picture of her with us.
We have privacy here in the stadium, but that privacy won't extend to the outside world.
Mia murmurs, "Thank you," and stops trying to return the coat for now.
As she shoves her arms into the sleeves, I stare at the front of her shirt.
I'm not trying to be a perv, so I try not to let my eyes linger on her chest, but there's a questionable brown stain down the front of her shirt that I can't help but notice.
Our omega appears to be a sweet little disaster. Nothing a little laundry detergent and an appointment with a personal shopper can't fix.
I manage to draw my attention away from the stain before I slip up and mention it.
I'm smarter than that. Let Freddie be the one to inevitably ask once he sees what my coat is covering up.
I step forward and pull the coat snugly around her again, relishing in my first chance to stand so close we're nearly chest-to-chest.
Our eyes lock as I linger there, my hands resting at the collar of the coat as I imagine how her pink lips would feel against mine.
The moment is interrupted when someone impatiently clears their throat behind me, reminding us that we're not alone. Reluctantly, I tear my gaze away from Mia to face our small audience waiting outside the storage closet.
Her brother, Milo, who I now realize almost uncannily shares my omega's facial features, glares at me.