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ten
“Where the fuck have you guys been?”
Theo rarely sounds angry. Of all of us, he’s easily the most relaxed. Which is a good thing. The man is the size of two grizzly bears and could probably beat Ronan in a fight if he really wanted to.
Which might happen right now. Because Theo is standing in the middle of our kitchen with a towel wrapped around his hips and his enormous arms spread three feet in either direction, irate.
The whole scene feels off. He was clearly in the shower when he heard us pull up. There are still water droplets clinging to his blond beard, and his long hair is dripping onto the marble floor… so he must have leaped out and run downstairs for some reason.
And, he’s scowling.
I can’t remember ever seeing that before.
I set my leather messenger bag on the kitchen island, careful not to scuff it on the raw-wood edge. Black stone floors gleam under my feet while the halogens above illuminate wood counters and steel cabinets.
Our kitchen has the same masculine motif as the rest of our pack house. It’s all a bit much for me, but this is what comes with Ash Family money.
Oblivious to our packmate’s mood—or maybe just apathetic, as per usual—Declan shuffles in behind me and goes straight for the fridge. Can’t blame him there. I’m also starving and I haven’t spent six hours in conditioning.
Ronan enters last, sliding his suit jacket off and dropping it over one of the metal barstools tucked under the island. He looks distracted, his cold eyes far away, until he lifts his head and sees Theo dripping all over the place.
The temperature around him plummets. “Theo, you’re making a mess. And where were you today? We’ve discussed timeliness. You missed the interviews and your conditioning.”
Theo’s frown drops into an open-mouth gape. “Are you shitting me right now?”
I collapse onto a stool, resting my forehead against the heels of my hands. It’s been a hellish day, finishing pre-season exams for fifty players, arguing with Declan every time we’re in the same room….
And thinking about the beta.
Our potential new employee.
Very inconvenient, considering I’ve been half-hard for eight hours from the mere memory of her.
“Guys,” I grunt. “Can we not do this tonight?”
Ronan makes a low noise of agreement, slumping next to me, his joints clicking. Stubborn old man. He needs to stretch more.
Theo lunges forward, his huge ham-hands wrapping around the corner of the island until his knuckles blanch. “Are you all messing with me? Is this a joke?”
Declan’s face sours as he stabs a fork into one of the dozens of personal-chef-prepared training-macro-approved meals we keep on hand for him and Theo. This one is a salad. He has to be seriously hungry to choose that over one of the filet minion plates. Or maybe just so exhausted he can’t even face the microwave.
Rolling my eyes, I force myself up and walk over to the double-door refrigerator, rummaging until I find two steak dinners and throwing them into the microwave. I grab a clean fork and take the salad out of Declan’s hands. “Have the steak. I’ll eat this.”
Next, I slide a small plastic platter of sushi at Ronan. “You need the omega-3s, old man.”
Ronan glowers, but starts opening the package.
“GUYS!” Theo shouts. “Can you all listen to me, please?”
Our pack alpha’s thick eyebrows bunch while he speaks, not looking up from his plate. “Stop yelling,” he barks, pouring soy sauce out of a packet.
Dec rips into his steak like a wild dog, barely pausing long enough to hand Theo his. Our always-hungry, normally-happy-go-lucky packmate stares at the food like we’ve offered him a dead rat. His dismayed expression turns from Declan to Ronan to me, an edge of hysteria creeping into his wide features.
“Arch,” he exclaims, green eyes wincing. “Come on, put me out of my misery. Tell me you’re all fucking with me.”
I swallow a wad of salad. “Theo, we don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He drops the takeout container to the island with a thud before throwing his hands into the air. “The omega!”
