Of course. Even when she’s delirious with heat, she’s still bratty as fuck. I love it.
parker
Twoweeks.That’showlong it’s been since Fox and Arlo claimed me in my nest, since their bites settled into my skin and their scents became permanently tangled with mine. Two weeks of absolute, ridiculous, perfect bliss.
We’ve done everything. Weekend trips to the city museum, where Arlo kept whispering filthy things in my ear while I tried to look at art. Lazy afternoons at the park where Fox would pull me into his lap on the grass and kiss me until I was squirming. Domestic mornings in whatever bed we ended up in, sometimes my nest, sometimes their beds, where I’d wake up sandwiched between them, already slick and needy and so fucking happy I could barely breathe.
I’m fully mated now. Their marks are on me. Their scents are on me. And every single day I feel it deeper in my bones: I belong to them, and they belong to me.
And with the money needed to repair everything, the team morale has boosted and we’ve finally made it to the championship game.
The stands are packed. Knotlocke’s entire student section is a sea of gold and teal. My Omega cheering squad has claimed an entire row near the dugout, Milo, Avery, Kit, Harlow, and a few others waving ridiculous handmade signs that say things like “Parker Ellis: Home Run Queen” and “Bite Me, Fox & Arlo.”
I wave at them as I jog toward the on-deck circle, bat resting on my shoulder. Milo stands up and screams my name like I’m a rockstar. Avery and Kit are both laughing and cheering. Harlow’s holding up a sign that just says “MATED & DANGEROUS.”
A little higher up in the stands, sitting alone near the top row, is Blair. He’s dressed down today, black jeans, black tee, still covered in all that silver jewelry. He looks like trouble wrapped in expensive clothes. When our eyes meet he nods once, and mouths two words I can read from here.
Good luck.
I nod back, heart full. That fifteen-thousand-dollar check he dropped at the car wash saved the program. We still don’t know the full story behind why he did it or where he got the money, but I’m grateful every single day.
I’m about to step into the batter’s box when two familiar scents slam into me from behind.
Arlo and Fox.
They pull me aside, just out of the umpire’s direct line of sight, crowding me against the fence near the dugout. Arlo steps up against my back, chest pressed to my shoulders, arms sliding around my waist. Fox presses in from the front, one big hand sliding possessively up my thigh under the hem of my uniform shorts.
“After this game,” Arlo murmurs against my ear, lips moving down and brushing the fresh claiming bite on my neck, “we’re taking you on a little trip. Just the three of us.” His voice drops lower. “We’re going to take you apart properly, baby. Slow. Thorough. Until you can’t remember your own name.”
Fox’s hand slides higher, thumb brushing the edge of the bite mark he left on my inner thigh. He grins against my mouth. “I can’t kiss where mine is right now… but I’m thinking about it.”
I shudder between them, heat flooding my face and my core at the same time. My scent spikes hard as slick threatens to soak through the padding I’m wearing under my uniform. I’ve had to start wearing it permanently with how hands-on my Alphas now are, not that I’m complaining, but I’ve had to put ‘slick liners’ permanently in the budget.
Coach Ramirez’s voice booms from the dugout. “Wolfe! Martinez! Let my fucking second baseman go, or we’re going to lose this goddamn game!”
I slip out from between them, cheeks burning, but I’m grinning like an idiot. I step up to the plate, bat resting on my shoulder, glowing from the inside out.
Coach gives me a look. “Focus, Ellis.”
I grin at him, full of fire. “Coach, I’m not going to fucking lose this for us.”
He grunts, but there’s a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. The pitcher on the mound chuckles and shakes his head like he thinks I’m bluffing.
Bases are loaded. Two outs. Bottom of the ninth. We’re tied.
This is it.
I crouch down a little and hold the bat out, in perfect bunt stance. Coach groans but I know what I’m doing, especially when the pitcher smirks, winds up, and throws.
“Ball!” the ump calls. The pitch sails inside, nearly clipping my hip. I hear a low, dangerous growl from the dugout.Fox.
I glance over at my Alphas. Arlo is gripping the fence so hard his knuckles are white. Fox looks ready to vault onto the field. The entire team is holding its breath. I pause, take a deep breath, and grin.I’ve got this.
I hold up one hand to the umpire, step out of the box, and switch my stance, turning from righty to lefty in one smooth motion. The crowd goes dead silent. The pitcher stares at me like I’ve lost my mind because for every game we’ve played against Ridgeview, I’ve batted right. But that’s the one secret I’ve been holding back.
It doesn’t matter which side I bat from, as long as the ball hits that sweet spot, I can hit it.
The pitcher’s brows furrow a little before he launches the ball toward me again. I pull back my bunt stance at the last second and swing hard.
