His mate takes the opportunity to kiss his cheek. “I wasn’t sure you’d be down for the surprise today, let alone not being in on the planning.”
Finn can let other people plan shit, thank you very much. As long as the other people are Leo or Jay. Maybe Grayson. Never Luca or Rowan. Even Gideon is a wildcard—unless it’s a well-planned sex session. He takes his role as Architect of Pleasure seriously.
“I can let other people plan things.”
Luca snorts from behind him, his bare toes pinching the skin of Finn’s arm from behind them and between their seats. “As long as it’s got Jay’s stamp of approval and Rowan is just as surprised as you are, right?”
“Hey! I can be surprising!” Rowan mutters from across the aisle.
“That’s kind of the problem, baby,” Jay laughs.
No kidding.
All the ways Rowan Foster has surprised them this month alone could fill a long, long list. It’s a good thing chaos is part of the big man’s charm.
The plane taxis to a stop inside Herschell’s private hangar, and the ground crew opens the door with a whoosh. The heat hits them in the face like a sweaty fist, but the SUVs are air-conditioned, and the leather is cool against the backs of Finn’s thighs.
Atlanta is a beautiful city, and he spends the drive holding hands withGrayson as he points out architectural interests along the way. More often than not, he is philosophical and poetic. It’s easy to forget that his mate is climbing the ranks as a celebrated architectural prodigy in their daily life. Finn listens as he breaks down Atlanta’s skyline, pointing out everything from the incredible graffiti artists to the soaring Peachtree-Dunwoody & Buckhead Skyscrapers.
“This part of Atlanta thinks it’s New York. The proportions are off—there’s no shadow, see? It’s all built to reflect. No civic rhythm,” he mutters.
Finn loves listening to him, coming away from their discussions wiser for every word. Grayson’s architectural style is what his boss calls “art and soul”—art married to function, and always serving the community rather than catering to wealth and making statements.
He’s most insulted by the fakery of the Cumberland District and the looming concrete of Truist stadium set down in the middle, where Braves fans mingle with bourbon brunchers.
“Everything’s a set piece, you know what I mean? It’s brick that’s never known weight, and fake gas lanterns burning LED. Don’t get me started on the facades…There’s no soul.”
Finn sort of agrees. It’s all very pretty on the outside, but with no substance. He’s about to commiserate when the driver of their Escalade slows, signaling their turn into a Truist security checkpoint.
It clicks and everything inside him lights up. Holy shit. “Are we going to the game?”
Finn loves few things more than baseball. As a hardcore Braves fan, only medicine and his mates make the very short list of things he loves more.
“The Braves are hosting the Nashville Tempest today,” Leo says—as if Finn didn’t already have a live feed queued up on his phone in case he got a moment to watch. “Jay has connections. We wanted to surprise you.”
“How…?” Finn asks.
“Do you remember Malachi Knox from Lolla, the year you mated us?”
Indeed, he does.
Half glambot and half goth, the genderfluid rock god had been mesmerizing. Despite charisma in spades and oozing sexappeal, it had been the alpha’s huge smile and humble demeanor that had set them all at ease, even while crowds of fans had screamed his name after his set.
Finn had felt jealousy for the first time that day, as the Appalachia-to-Florida transplant had laid a big kiss on Jay’s blushing cheek. They had history from their Clearwater days, when the two had dated briefly. Right before Jay had met Ivy—and then Phoenix—Rena.
Surely the possessive Gideon will have something to say if Knox joins them today—could be fun.
“Knox is part owner of the Tempest, and he’s been trying to get Jay to invest.” Leo rubs his hands together in anticipation. “Should be a helluva good time today.”
Wining and dining are right up Leo’s alley, but his scent is more fiery than Finn might expect from the promise of gourmet BBQ sliders and guac.
Grayson is smirking beside him as well, and now that Finn thinks about it, no one is wearing scent patches. The quiet alpha’s basil scent is lush, a greenhouse sultry with anticipatory arousal.
Finn frowns, his gaze darting around the car. “What are you up to?” he murmurs, voice just for them. “I know none of you like baseball that much.”
Or at all. Finn is alone in his appreciation of America’s favorite pastime.
Grayson winks, squeezing his hand, and Leo mimes zipping his lips as they pull up in front of the Delta SKY360 VIP entrance.
