Traded (Crossing the Line #1)

1. Opening Night and Hairy Kiwis

Chapter one

Opening Night and Hairy Kiwis

Callum Morris, NPHL Network Analyst:“The Titans might be soaring into this season as Everly Cup favorites, Jeff, but the Aces seem determined to prove last year’s surge was no fluke. With Blackwater’s rival franchises both facing a playoff run, it’s shaping up to be an explosive season ahead.”

Gripping my instrument of torture in one hand and a loudspeaker in the other, I raise it to my lips before puffing out my cheeks and blasting a direct strike at the trio of sleeping alphas sprawled across my nest.

Their reactions are nothing short of spectacular.

All three bolt to life as my bellow echoes through the room, helped along by the loudspeaker I might have borrowed from the equipment room at the rink.

Sorry, Eddie.

“Up and at ‘em! It’s game day, bitches. Opening night waits for none of us. Get your asses moving.”

“This hour is ungodly.” Jonas yanks the covers over messy golden-brown hair until only a few curls stick out. His words come out muffled. “What moron came up with this?”

My entire body bounces as I launch myself into the pile of bedding. Carter’s hands grab my waist, steadying me. His words are still filled with sleep. “You did, asshole.”

I beam at Jonas. “I know I said I wasn’t sure, but I agree. The horn was an excellent addition to the alarm.”

“Of course you do,” Liam mutters. His arm is thrown over his eyes, blocking out the overhead lights I switched on before beginning our pack-approved, officially Rosie Johnson-certified game day routine.

His other hand skates up my side, and I wriggle closer into Carter with a snicker.

“If there’s any chaos to be found, you’re going to be in the middle of it. ”

My smile spreads as Carter tugs me with him, sprawling back into the warm blankets and finding my skin beneath my tank. His lips press against my temple as I shamelessly bury my face and mumble into his—very nice, very warm, twenty out of ten, yum—chest. “Game day. How are you feeling?”

“All good here.” Carter shifts until I’m settled on top of him, my legs on either side of his hips. “And fully rested.”

He smirks up at me, all deep blue eyes and innocence. “Ready for my warm-up, coach.”

I suck in a breath as his hips flex, and I try to hide my approval. “This was not in the routine.”

“Goes without question.” His smile is wolfish as his fingers find the dips in my hips beneath my shorts, stroking my bare skin. “But we can write it on your clipboard if it makes you feel better.”

Frowning, I consider it. “I’m not sure there’s space—ack!”

Carter twists, rolling until he hovers over me, a few strands of dark blond hair falling over his face. His smirk wavers, before spreading as though the flicker of pain was never there at all. “Morning, baby.”

Maybe I imagined it. My eyes narrow. “Your shoulder? Again?”

“It’s fine.” He rocks against me, and my breath leaves my lips as easily as my mind empties of any thought at all.

Liam swallows my gasp, his lips finding mine before dropping down to my neck. When his teeth graze the skin of my throat, my entire body loosens. “Can you run through this routine for us, Ro?”

What?

My eyes shutter when his tongue traces my collarbone. “Uh…breakfast?”

“Was that a question?” Carter’s fingers slowly draw down my shorts. Jonas appears on my other side, his brown hair a curly mop and his smile full of wicked promise. “You’ve been planning the season for months. None of us know what to do without you. Don’t flake on us now, Johnson.”

A single finger traces the red cotton covering my nipple, and I arch into the offer as every line on my carefully curated plan vanishes into smoke beneath the immediate, aching need that clenches my stomach.

“Rosie,” Carter prompts. Amusement fills his voice. “Focus. It’s opening night.”

It could be the end of the world as we know it, and I wouldn’t care right now. I have one alpha’s teeth playing perilously close to my pulse, another’s finger circling my breast, and Carter teasing me with the barest trace of heavily calloused fingers against my pussy.

My hands twist into the bedding as Carter shifts back and nudges my legs apart with tattooed hands that look impossibly huge against my not insubstantial, definitely-prefers-a-snack-to-a-workout thighs. His fingers sink into my skin as he holds me open. “You said it’s time for breakfast?”

My rapid nodding is on the eager side. “Yes. Please. Full spread.”

Jonas laughs softly into my hair. “Five AM was the right idea. Nobody likes rushing breakfast.”

The smallest hint of awareness filters into my befuddled brain. “Sneaky, sneaky alphas.”

“That’s because we know what’s best for our omega.” Liam’s hand finds my hair, tugging it back lightly as his wrist pins me in place until I can’t move. Eyes of steel and storms sink into mine. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

The first long, curling lick of Carter’s tongue makes me arch. But Liam and Jonas hold me still, their hands finding my knees and spreading me wider as Carter settles in to play. “Oh—oh—yes. Full agreement. Whatever you say.”

Liam’s approval is a warm balm against my sticky skin. “Good girl.”

By the time we finally make it to proper breakfast—or second breakfast, as Jonas cheerfully names it while kissing my neck as I fret over the cold buffet laid out across our kitchen island—my hair is little more than a raggedy scarlet bush.

Several marks line my freckled neck and throat, courtesy of Liam.

He brushes one as he strolls past me with a banana in his hand and a smirk on his lips.

“This is my favorite version of you. All messed up and obedient.”

I toss a kiwi at him that he catches with the flash of a grin, biting into the skin. I wrinkle my nose. “Ugh. Not the skin.”

“Full of nutrients.” He comes to stand beside me, surveying the spread I got up a whole hour before them to organize. I wait silently, my legs twitching. “Breakfast looks good. Here. Try this.”

His thumb nudges my chin up, and I doubtfully eye the kiwi in his other hand.

“Rosie,” he murmurs. His fingers stroke over the marks on my throat. “It’s good for you.”

He’s so damned bossy. We might still be standing here for puck drop if one of us doesn’t give in. And nothing puts him in a better mood than me giving in.

Sighing, I cross my eyes and make a face at him before leaning in and biting. He watches me with approval as I chew with a grimace. “See? Not that bad.”

“It’s hairy.” I swallow it with effort. “Hairy. Hairy fruit is an insult to fruit lovers everywhere.”

He kisses my cheek as he lets me go and circles the table to pull out a stool. “Half of one every morning, please. Including the skin.”

Ugh. I shove my tongue into my cheek, considering my protest, but he raises his eyebrows and I suck down the instinctive refusal. But my half-shrug-half-nod-half-headshake is noncommittal. We can battle it out tomorrow.

If he wants me to learn to bite hairy round things, he’d better be careful what he wishes for. That’s all I’m saying.

Pavlov, take notes.

But not today. Today is a big day, and not because my pack started it by fucking me like their road to playoffs depends on it. “Where’s Carter?”

“He’s coming.” Jonas pats the seat beside him, batting ridiculously pretty green eyes. He looks like he should be filming an underwear commercial, not slamming his opponents into the boards with the force of a speeding train. “Sit by me, Rosie girl. I need all the luck I can get today.”

I watch him arrange his plate in meticulous order. Jonas grins when he catches me watching him. “All perfect.”

As it should be. Each of my alphas have their own game day routines—hence my possibly over-zealous planning of our day—and they must go perfectly. Especially today, when the season officially begins.

Eighty-two games across the next seven months are waiting for us. My mind wanders to Carter again, and the faintest hint of unease settles on my shoulders.

Warm fingers slip beneath my tangle of hair and squeeze lightly. “This looks amazing. Almost as good as the breakfast I had earlier.”

My cheeks flush as Carter settles himself into the tall stool beside me. A low sound echoes in his chest as he stretches his right arm out for bacon.

I clench my teeth with admittedly Herculean effort as he eyes me.

When I don’t say a word, he leans in to kiss my cheek, and then my lips. “Thank you. I appreciate how hard that must have been for you.”

My eyes narrow at his teasing. “I’ll be on your case plenty tomorrow, don’t worry. And so will Elena.”

The Titans physiotherapist is a tiny beta with the strength of seven enforcers put together and the attitude of a bull terrier chewing a wasp.

And she’s gonna be pissed if he’s hiding pain in his shoulder from the brutal hit he took in last season’s Everly Cup final against the Bruins.

Especially after all the work the Titans have done to make sure their star center is fit to play.

I try not to bite down on my lip. He shouldn’t still be in pain at all.

Carter winks when I focus all of my worry into a glare. “Noted, boss.”

“So.” Jonas’s voice is muffled with a bite of the six eggs he’s laid out on his plate.

Each one is perfectly boiled and peeled, a single pinch of salt added, sliced and set out in a weird clock-shaped offering to the hockey gods.

No more, no less, or the heavens will fall and his left side just won’t have the same strength.

He points at me and swallows. “Game day, Ro. Hit us with the plan to make sure we smash those assholes.”

I lift the clipboard from beside me and reel off the list. “After breakfast, everyone heads to the Furnace. Carter, you’re seeing Elena first before practice—then back here for a snack and pre-game gaming.”

All three of them grin. The official Everly Cup pre-game videogame is a ritual that cannot be messed with.

“Nap?” Jonas asks hopefully. The puppy dog eyes are in full effect. “Preferably with you.”