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The neckline is wide enough to slip off one of my shoulders, leaving the bare skin on display. I work my hair into a messy fishtail braid to sweep over that same shoulder and carefully situate the black bow headband from Spencer on my head.
My selection of shoes is now endless, but I somehow end up in a pair similar to the ones I arrived at the Thorne house in. Platforms with a thin ankle strap—only black velvet instead of worn pleather.
When I come out of my room, Tristan, Spencer, and Avery are waiting in the kitchen. All three of them drop their conversation and snap their focus to me.
Flashing me his quick, feral grin, Avery is the first one to approach. He claps his big, beat-up hand around the back of my thigh and slides it straight up to cup a handful of my ass, squeezing much more tenderly than he’d ever let the others see.
When he feels the panties he picked, victorious adoration glows in his ghostly blue eyes. “Bad little kitten.”
To my surprise, Spencer actually comes over next. He stands behind Avery for a long moment, looking me over before offering a nod.
“Jonah will like this,” he tells me, matter-of-fact.
The sudden, needy whine in my throat startles me. Spencer’s eyes soften, though, the dark pools warming.
He slips around my back and finds my wrists, holding them at my sides as he skims his lips up my exposed shoulder, stopping to properly kiss the fading bruise he left on my neck.
“You look very good, Miss Swanson,” he adds, a wave of approval washing over me. Soothing me. “I’m pleased.”
Lord, I should not crave his praise like I do, but I can’t help myself. Feeling dazed—and a little bit betrayed by own brain—I find Avery staring at me, his beautiful face smirking while he nods at the professor.
“Can you believe this fucking guy?”
Laughter breaks the tension crowding my chest. Avery’s smile splits into something more genuine, just as he dips forward to steal a kiss from my lips.
I’m covered in de-scenter, but they can still sense the small burst of perfume spinning off me. Spencer’s fingers stroke reassuring circles along the insides of my wrists while Avery nips my lower lip lightly.
“Mm,” he rumbles. “There she is. Perfect.”
But I’m not. So I bite him back. His jasmine and amber darken, weaving with the humid freshness rising behind me. The two alphas are arguably the most difficult to get along with—but, somehow, their scents merge into the most peaceful, all-consuming rightness.
I feel my body relax, falling back against Spencer’s, welcoming the press of Avery’s lean hips and warm abdomen. Tristan catches my gaze, smiling softly across the island while he watches his packmates embrace me.
It’s the first time, in a room full of alphas, that my perfume hasn’t caused a frenzy or some sort of faux pas. Instead, as both of the guys lean in closer and slowly breathe deeper, we’re just…
At home.
Ourselves.
I expected Avery to be the most overprotective alpha in such a huge, crowded place. Or, maybe even Tristan, if the half-bond did weird things to him.
But, no.
Spencer is the one who snarls at practically every person we pass.
Halfway along the long, curved hallway outside the stadium’s private boxes, I slip my hand into his and squeeze, shooting him a look. Most of the hostility drains from his face, his dark eyes going soft when they land on mine, but his lip stays curled in irritation.
It’s cute. I grin at his sour expression and his white-blond brows lift, that stern mouth twitching into a smirk.
“Do I amuse you, Miss Swanson?”
I give a breezy shrug. “Immensely.”
He drops my hand, only to reach back and swat my ass hard enough to send me forward a step. “You know what I do to brats, Miss Swanson.”
Yeah, that’s sort of the point. Flashing a grin, I keep my voice as sweet as can be. “Yes, Professor.”
His scent spikes while his nostrils flare. Avery chortles, slipping his arm around my waist. “Getting the professor all hot and bothered?”
