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Gonna take me ten extra minutes to get into my gear with this boner *attached image*
*Cassian has left this conversation*
This has to be the worst decision I’ve ever made.
Though, to be fair, I really didn’t make it.
That would be Damon, who quite literally took care of everything—planning the evening, inviting my best friend, and securing our box seats, and sourcing the shirt on my back.
Some responsibility could also go to my Omega, who squeed like a schoolgirl with hearts in her eyes when Damon purred for me and told me to let him handle everything.
He did exactly what he said he would, organizing everything seamlessly. He figured he and Cass would leave the house around six, but Meg and her alphas would be there to get me at seven. He also told me that he’d cleared the whole thing with Smith and had left a jersey for me upstairs on the bed.
Which is how I ended up here.
In a special section of the hockey arena’s club level.
With Meg and all four of her alphas.
“Ronan,” Theo, her biggest, burliest man grunts, his mouth full of nachos. “The food here makes our stadium food look like ass.”
Their billionaire pack-leader and intimidation master cuts Theo a severe look. “I’ll take that under advisement.”
The truth is, the Osprey’s stadium is a paradise compared to this arena. Cassian explained that the Timberwolves have been considered up-and-comers for a long time—they’ve never won a title, and therefore they don’t have the funds for the lavish renovations this place would obviously benefit from. But, still, it’s clean. Well-lit. There are plenty of seats, and our box is at least semi-private, with tinted partitions between us and the next booth.
Meg runs her hand over Ronan’s salt-and-pepper hair. “We have better cocktails, at least.”
Considering the hockey arena only sells domestic beer on tap, I would have to agree. I’ve been sipping the foamy liquid in my cup for twenty minutes, but I haven’t really made a dent. I’m too nervous.
Hours of watching hockey videos online while I cook has somewhat prepared me. I also watched some game tape from their last match with Cass one night, both us piled on top of one another in my little bed.
I thought I felt okay about witnessing the whole thing in real life. Now that we’re here, though, I’m beginning to feel like this was a huge mistake. And not just because there’s a beta couple in the open-air box next to ours who won’t stop whispering while they shoot glances at me. I hear the words, “Pierson pack,” “never,” and “puck bunny” before I decide I don’t need to know any more.
Sheesh.
I suppose I might wonder why I’m such an object of fascination… if I hadn’t found one of Cassian’s Timberwolves sweatshirts folded on my chair, waiting for me.
Which may or may not have made me perfume.
Thank the Lord I’m wearing two pairs of scent-blocking panties.
What have I gotten myself into?
Meg says nothing as I slip Cassian’s sweatshirt on, swallowing a whine at his perfect hazelnut scent. When I notice her sharing a smug, knowing look with Declan, I narrow my eyes.
“I didn’t say anything,” she laughs, holding up her hands. “Just tell me: What is a hat trick, and is it as dirty as it sounds?”
Declan chuffs into her hair, hiding a smile against her temple. “What?” Meg cries, throwing her hand toward the ice. “Look at them!”
I turn my head and peer down at the ice. Half of the Timberwolves skate lazy circles around the right side of the rink while the other half?—
Well.
I’m not actually sure what they’re doing.
But it looks like… humping?
It’s hard to tell which one is Damon from high up, but it’s easy to spot Cassian. For one thing, he will not stop looking up at me. After I privately told Meg about what happened before I snuck out for work a few mornings ago, she assured me that it’s normal for an alpha to be a little extra over-protective after their first knotting.
