Page 38 of False Catch

"Good. Help me understand your team dynamics before the others arrive."

It's not a request. I set down my water bottle, trying to figure out what she's fishing for. She wants information, but giving too much could hurt us. Giving too little makes us look like we're hiding something. Which we are.

"We row," I say simply.

She smirks. "Cute. Try again. Eight Alpha rowers and a female coxswain. That's unprecedented at this level. How's it working?"

I think about last night. About Reese's voice echoing through the house. About the way we all turned toward her this morning like plants seeking sun. About the fact that I can still smell her on my skin despite two showers.

"Fine," I say.

"Your performance metrics suggest otherwise. You've been inconsistent since Callahan joined. Some practices brilliant, others barely functional. Why?"

I shrug. "Adjustment period."

"Or designation complications." Her gaze sharpens, and I realize she's not just observant - she's hunting. "I'm not here to cause problems, Blake. I'm here to keep your team eligible to compete. But if there are dynamics at play that could violate university policy, I need to know."

She's giving me an out. A chance to confess before she discovers it herself. But confession would end everything. Reese would be gone. The team would be investigated. We'd probably lose our season.

"No complications," I lie smoothly. "Just eight guys learning to take commands from someone new."

She studies me for a long moment. I keep my expression neutral, a skill I've perfected over years of hiding my own shit.

"You don't talk much, do you?" she observes.

"No ma'am."

"But you see everything."

I don't respond. She's not wrong.

Before I can answer, voices carry across the parking lot. The rest of the team arriving together, which is unusual. We typically trickle in. But this morning they're moving as a unit, with Reese in the center like they're unconsciously shielding her.

I study them as they approach. Gray leads, because of course he does, his body angled slightly toward Reese even while talking to Bo. Jackson and Eli bookend the group - not touching but moving in perfect synchronization like they're connected by invisible thread. Zane walks just behind Reese's left shoulder, close enough that I can see how their spaces overlap, how she doesn't flinch away from his proximity like she did yesterday.

Tyler's in the middle, gesturing animatedly about something - probably stats or technique. Beckett lounges along like he doesn't have a care in the world, but his eyes track every movement Reese makes.

They look like a pack. Move like one. And they don't even realize it.

I've been watching packs form since middle school. My parents run a designation counseling center, so I grew up seeing the signs. The unconscious clustering. The synchronized movements. The way scents start to layer and blend until individual markers become secondary to the group signature.

We're exhibiting every classic indicator, and we've only been together with Reese for three weeks.

Something shifted last night. Not just Zane and Reese in the kitchen. The whole team feels different. More settled. Like puzzle pieces finally clicking together.

Or like biological imperatives overriding common sense.

"Gentlemen," Torres calls out. "And Ms. Callahan. Let's discuss expectations."

We gather in a semicircle, and I catalog more evidence. The way Zane stands just behind Reese's left shoulder, not quite touching but close enough that their space overlaps. How Jackson and Eli bookend the group, a unit within the unit. Gray's position directly across from Reese, maintaining eye contact like he's checking she's okay.

And Reese herself - something's different. She looks... relaxed. For the first time since joining us, the constant tension in her shoulders is gone. The perpetual wariness in her eyes has softened into something like trust.

She got what she needed last night. Not just the orgasms - though from the sounds, those were spectacular - but the connection. The belonging. The thing we've all been dancing around since she arrived.

"I'm not here to babysit," Torres begins. "I'm here to ensure you can compete without violating university policies regarding mixed-designation teams. That means professional boundaries. Appropriate physical distance. No designation-based behaviors that could be construed as bonding activity."

"We understand," Gray says.