He feels bad that he hasn’t enjoyed any of the amenities or seen much of Gideon and Luca, but he promises himself he’ll make it up to them later.
Leo follows him inside, though, taking a seat on the couch. Maybe his mate has had enough of Finn’s running baseball commentary.
Despite the A/C working overtime, the box is redolent with the scents of his pack in various states of arousal—a signal he’ll need to ignore if he has plans to empty his bladder before the bottom of the seventh.
“Having fun, Finnie?” Luca asks from Rowan’s lap. He’s lost his pants already, and his cheeks are flushed the perfect shade of pink.
“The best. Be back in a minute.”
He manages to do what he came for, despite the semi, and when he’s done washing his hands, Finn splashes water on his face. Replacing his glasses, he spares himself a grin in the mirror so he’ll remember how happy he was—and what that looks like. He even takes a rare bathroom selfie.
When he cracks open the door, someone has closed the door to the balcony. Beyond the glass, the organ is playingTake Me Out to the Ballgamewhile 50,000 fans sing along.
Jay is sprawled on the sectional, with Gideon on his lap, making out in between sips of that bottle of bourbon.
Luca is seated on Rowan’s dick, golden legs hooked over his elbows. The position doesn’t give the beta any leverage to ride—only grind—and forces the enigma’s big cock as deep as it can go.
Heat bursts in Finn’s belly, his cock hard in the shorts so fast he’s lightheaded.
Standing by the balcony door, Leo has his phone out, angling it toward the single chair in the center of a spotlighted open space.
Wait. What?
He definitely hadn’t noticed the open space when they’d come in. Had it been there the whole time? And the lone chair. It looks like the setup for a bachelor’s party from the movies, where some poor guy gets a lap dance from a stripper.
Oh. No.
Every single one of his mates is watching him work through the details, smirks and full-on grins on their gorgeous—stupid—faces.
His stomach drops into his toes. This can’t be happening.
Most shocking is that they had hired a stripper…for Finn.
That doesn’t seem right.
They’re a closed pack—fated, mated, and bonded for life. Finn doesn’t think it’s possible to get aroused for another person, let alone a stranger. And it would be especially hard for Finn.
If asked, he’d classify his sexuality as mate-sexual, but in broader terms, he’s entirely demi-sexual. Before he’d met and learned to know his mates, he’d not experienced attraction to anyone. Unlike his other mates—except Leo, who’d loved only Luca since middle school—Finn had never even kissed someone else, let alone had sex before his first time with Jay and Luca.
There is no way they hired a stripper as a present.
“What the fuck? Tell me you didn’t—”
The door to the second restroom opens behind him. Forcing an awkward smile and preparing an apology to the poor soul who’s going home without doing their job and with only a big tip, Finn’s jaw drops and his eyes bug out of his head.
No way.
Dressed in short black ass-hugging shorts and a silky matching shirt, open down his muscled chest, is his perfect mate.
Grayson.
It sounds hokey to say, but his mate looks ethereal. An incubus sent to break Finn down into the smallest pieces. He’s barefoot, toes tipped in black polish to match the sharp black lines on his long, elegant hands. A single silver chain glints at his throat, joined to another that trails down into his pants, while his nipple ring snags on the transparent silk.
He’s even painted his full mouth a vibrant, lush red.
But it’s Grayson’s flushed cheeks, glittering eyes, and sexy-as-fuck smirk that steal Finn’s breath.
He’s not feeling shy. Not at all.
