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My shoes and suit jacket don’t even make it into the house. I kick out of the loafers and rip my tie open, happy to see it go after the way it strangled me through a dozen interviews.
Coach was a dick, too. It’s to be expected, when someone is at my level and plays a mediocre game. Still, I want to talk to Theo about it. He’ll understand. He’s been listening to my quarterback bullshit for ten years. Plus, since he plays a position on the other side of the ball, he usually has good feedback for me.
I shuffle into the house, ready to set shit straight with the guys. But there’s no one there.
The entire first floor is completely empty. I know because I walk through it, not quite believing my eyes.
The lights are all off. Even the porch lights and the lanai. It’s only nine. Why would they all be in bed? Unless…
I rip my phone out of my pants and scroll through a bunch of bullshit to find a text from Ronan.
Ronan
We have Meg in Archer’s room. She’s had a hard night and needs down time. It’s probably best if you sleep in your own room and keep your shit attitude to yourself.
I stand in the dark kitchen, staring down at the screen. Feeling fucking devastated, honestly.
Outside of the game, the guys are all I have. And everyone knows pro-athletes have a shitty shelf life. Once my football career is over, if I don’t have the pack, who do I have?
No one, a familiar voice hisses. You’ve never really had anyone. No one has ever wanted you for anything other than your face, your spiral, or your knot.
Sadness settles in my center like a gut-punch. Throbbing until it starts to seethe. Simmering into the spite I know so well. The type I’ve used as motivation my whole life.
Fuck them. If they want to choose some random bitch over our pack, then they can have her. Hell, they can have the whole damn wing. I’ll sleep on the other side of the house, in a guest room.
Wouldn’t want me upsetting the sensitive little princess with my bullshit, right?
The girl must really hate me if she’s already pulling the others’ strings, getting them to exclude me from shit. Fuck, is that something she would do? I guess I’ve never actually talked to her. Which is weird, considering how many times a day her big, blue doe eyes and sassy little hip-cock pop into my head.
I’ve chalked it up to how hot she is, refusing to believe she got to me during that interview. But she did.
I can admit that now, in the dark, alone. The second I saw her, a hum cracked to life under my skin. I instantly knew I needed her out of our building. Away from the other alphas.
Away from me?
I assumed so.
But now that I consider it further, that strikes me as odd, too. I’ve never been an omega-chaser like Ronan or a heat volunteer like Arch, but omegas don’t usually repel me. Like any other alpha, they generally get my blood pumping in all the right ways.
There’s always that urge—the natural magnetism that draws us to them, makes us pay attention, forces us to want to fix whatever ails them. I resent it, yeah, but I’m not immune.
All in all, it usually balances itself out. I don’t hate omegas. I don’t love them, either. They are, mostly, a necessity, for the sake of a pack. A way to solidify bonds, have babies, all that shit.
Heavy, but nothing to send me running in the other direction.
So why did I instantly feel so strongly about this girl? The one they’re all so obsessed with?
It’s more than that. I know it is. Archer’s beat on like a drum all week, hammering the correct phrases into my thick skull.
Scent-sensitive.
Scent-matched.
Mate. Mate. Mate.
But how can that be true when she’s tearing us apart?
Maybe you were never meant to be part of this pack, that grating voice whispers. They all belong with her, and you don’t belong anywhere. You don’t belong to anyone.
