“Look at Coach out of his uniform.”
I looked up to see Kota Mori, one of my younger players, grinning back at me like it was some big joke.
“You know I am a person,” I countered, raising an eyebrow as I walked into the shallow water.
His grin only widened. I wasn’t sure if this was an attempt at working past the tension from the locker room. He was the only one who had put up a fight when I talked about the journalist.
It seemedhedidn’t like me judging a book by its cover.
Ididn’t like having a journalist interfering in my day-to-day.
Which meant, we were at an impasse there.
Lachlan Evans was at his side. They were usually together and Evans seemed unfazed by the delta’s teasing.
“How are you liking the resort so far?” I questioned, struggling to find common ground with players half my age.
“It’s great, Coach,” Evans said. “Thanks for getting this for us.”
“I can’t take the credit,” I admitted. “This was all Kingsford. He’s all about building the team up this year.”
“Well, it certainly isn’t hurting,” Kota said, holding his nose before going under the water. When he came back up, he shook his head, spraying us all in the process.
I was surprised to see tattoos on his chest. Outside of games, he was usually dressed impeccably. I’d noticed more than one name brand. He just didn’t seem the tattoo type.
“There she is!” Kota called out, waving someone over.
I turned around, my breath catching at the sight of Roxie in her bikini.
It was a sports-bra-style top and matching bottoms that were mainly shorts, but it didn’t matter. They showcased more creamy skin than I could handle.
Her hips were flared, her stomach soft but somehow toned at the same time. She was petite and curvy and had plenty of that omega softness.
The kind you wanted to sink your teeth into.
Fuck.
She’s half your age.
Roxie waved over to Kota, but the other omega stopped her, both of them hissing back and forth.
“You might be coming on a little strong, brother,” Evans said, smacking Kota lightly. At least one of them could read the room.
Kota just grinned, his eyes never leaving the two. “They’re my scent-matches. Of course, I am.”
The whole world seemed to come to a halt. My vision tunneled and my alpha roared in my chest. When I managed to speak, the words were strained.
“You’re scent-matched with the journalist?”
He turned around, his face going white as if he had just realized what he’d said.
“There’re no rules against that,” he tried weakly.
No. There wasn’t.
“You’re right. But this makes the article a conflict of interest for her.”
My mind clung happily to that, yet at the same time, my alpha argued, protesting with discomfort.
