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Well, Bear had already taken over-protective to a whole new level before. Now? He’s practically my unofficial bodyguard.
Even if he didn’t glance over at me every minute or so, I would still recognize him right away. His goalie pads give him excess bulk. Not that they seem to be any hindrance to him.
While I watch, he absently sinks into a lunge, pulsing his hips forward before switching legs. When he drops to his knees to thrust into the open air, my mouth falls open.
“Actually,” Dr. Archer chimes, “Those stretches are essential, especially for goalies. They have to drop to their knees and strike as quickly as possible, so their muscles need to be warm at all times.”
As if he can hear Archer, Cass spreads his thighs wider and jerks his hips forward even more insistently. Meg follows my open-mouthed stare and then turns to Declan, frowning. “Why don’t you stretch like that for me?”
Declan shrugs and smirks. “I do. Just not on the field.”
They both snicker, Theo joining in, but I still haven’t gotten my jaw off the floor.
Finding Damon in the sea of teal jerseys doesn’t help. I finally get a flash of his jersey, the block letters clearly proclaiming, MATHERS.
A second after I see him, he glides to a stop and does a few of the pulsing lunges before sinking into his own hip thrusts. And I swear I catch the flash of his grin as he lays his lower body flat on the ice, hips down, and goes to town.
“Oh c’mon,” Meg cries. “Now they’re just milking it.”
Hockey, as it turns out, is insane.
Enormous grown men, on ice skates? Speeding around a slippery surface? Throwing elbows and fighting with sticks?
My anxiety is next-level.
Even before Theo drops down into the chair beside Meg’s and speaks over a munching mouthful of popcorn. “Hey, Remi, where is your other alpha? Aren’t there supposed to be three?”
I huddle lower in my seat, playing off my shudder of dread as a reaction to the cold arena. “He’s working.”
That might be a lie. I actually have no idea where he goes or what he does during the day, only that he usually isn’t back at the pack house until after I fall asleep. By design, most likely.
Though, he did show up at Proper Coffee this morning. After dressing up and making the two-mile walk out of his fancy neighborhood to the city bus every morning for over a week, I was grateful he’d finally seen my efforts at least once.
He’s obviously avoiding me. It’s the only logical explanation for why he would come to the shop every single day for months and then abruptly stop the same day we were matched.
Still, would it kill him to give me even the faintest glimmer of approval? He just sat in the corner for three hours and stared, never indicating whether he noticed my nicer clothes or faster work pace.
I, on the other hand, noticed that he had on a new tie. This one was brighter than his usual drab colors—a light pink that matched the frilled pocket square in his breast pocket.
I still didn’t know what to make of that. Is he changing his attire to impress me? Or some other woman?
Make it make sense, Alpha, my Omega pouted, fed up with him and his mute staring. And while you’re at it, you could, you know, talk to us.
That would be nice. Especially since our Cold War has left me constantly wondering what he thinks about the changes I’ve made to the house. Thanks to Mallory and his teams of contractors, I’ve gotten the stairs sealed, repaved the front walk, and finished the kitchen cabinets. Next week, there’s a group starting work on the swimming pool, and a troupe of painters scheduled to finish the interior and exterior walls.
Asshole.
For once, I agree with my Omega’s attitude. Smith could at least say thank you for the dinner plates I leave him.
I’d take a text. Or a Post-It.
Instead, I find his plate clean, washed, and drying beside the sink every morning. I put it away before I leave the house, and we start all over again the next night.
I’m trying not to let it devastate me. But it does.
When I was young, I used to watch sitcoms where families sat down to dinner together every night. It looked so cozy and idyllic—everyone at the same table, passing bowls of food around, trading stories or hashing out family decisions.
It was everything I wanted.
