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Pathetic.
Ronan could at least pretend it doesn’t make him horny to watch the mouthy little thing insult me and sling paperwork at us. Instead he stares right at her, all intensity and pure alpha dominance, making no secret of the way he adjusts his suit pants.
Over what? This girl?
Sure, she’s hot. Really hot. Like, fucking hot. But I’m not impressed.
Being world-famous and ridiculously rich sort of makes it hard to get excited about shit. I feel like I’ve done everything. Seen everything. Heard everything. Had everything.
Except that stupid Championship ring.
And, you know, an omega. But that ended in a clusterfuck last time, so I’m prepared to write that desire off.
I want the ring more out of spite than anything else. For months, I’ve listened to an endless string of commentators lay odds on my talent, career, and future. I’ll win to show them all how wrong they’ve been.
And I owe it to our pack. Especially Theo.
Sure, I know having a strong fan base and good ad funding will be pivotal to our program this year. And, yeah, I know I have ground to recover after the disaster that was last season.
But this girl just pisses me off.
She doesn’t belong here. Something about her being in this building, at our facility in general, makes my skin itch.
And she has the audacity to walk out of the interview without so much as saying my name? Seriously, what the fuck is wrong with her?
I expect Ronan to chuck her résumé in the trash the second the door snicks closed. Instead, he pushes aside all the other applications and holds hers up.
“I like her.”
A growl slips out from behind my teeth. “What?”
Archer nods with the same infuriating calm he always gives off. “I agree. We can talk about it more tonight. I need to get over to the gym; I have a ton of pre-season exams to sign off on before tomorrow.”
They both pause to glance at me. Ronan’s face issues a challenge—almost a taunt.
Fight me, kid, it says, I dare you.
Archer simply sighs, turning weary while he rubs his eyes under his glasses. “Declan, for the love of God, what is wrong? We haven’t hired her. We’re just going to discuss it.”
I don’t know what my problem is. This is how we always do everything. The four of us give our opinions, Ronan makes a final decision, and Archer puts it into motion.
It usually doesn’t bother me—they’ve been a pack since they met in college. Their friendship built Ronan’s company, got Archer through med school. When they found Theo and me, we were clueless college bums, and they were already successful businessmen in their early thirties.
They rebuilt Ronan’s entire empire for us. Took his wealth and funneled it into buying the right team, getting us in with the right trainers. They built Theo and me just as much as they built our pack.
We only ever disagree on personal shit. Specifically, over one woman. One omega. And it turned out they were fucking right, and I was an idiot.
So why do I want to fight them now?
Anger rumbles in my voice. “I don’t want her here.”
It’s fucking wrong. She doesn’t belong here.
My alpha instincts are going batshit at the thought of this girl roaming around our building, our gym. Probably filming other players half-naked for fucking TikTok.
“Well I didn’t want to watch the team I put fifty-million dollars into tank last year, but here we are,” Ronan replies, his cool eyes flickering.
“Because it’s my fault I got injured making plays for you?” I bite back, shoving out of my chair.
