Page 11 of Pack End Game

While my outfit is admittedly embarrassing, there's no reason for anyone to even notice me down here on the sidelines while the game is happening. Except, the game isn't happening. Two officials attempt to get in front of the quarterback to get his attention, but he waves them off and steps around them, leaving them both red-faced, shouting after him.

Something on the sidelines near us has thoroughly captured his attention, but when I look around us, I can't see anything obvious that would cause a scene. When I look back through my camera lens, I could almost be convinced his intense stare is trained specifically on me, but I know that's only a trick of the camera angle.

A whistle blows, signaling a timeout.

"Looks like Coach Lamb called a timeout to see what's going on with his star player," Milo murmurs in explanation.

The whistle doesn't seem to faze Spencer Mills.

Another gust of wind tears through the stadium, this time whipping toward us from the opposite direction, past the team and straight into our faces. This time, I don't pull the coat any closer because I'm too busy with my eyes fluttering closed as I inhale something so sweet I wish I could melt into a puddle.

The wind just brought me a first-class delivery of the scent of my mates.

Chapter Five

Spencer

"Mills, c'mon." Ronald, one of the Sloth's running backs, elbows me as he refers to me by my last name with enough emphasis to let me know he's tried getting my attention more than once. "Coach called a timeout."

I blink myself out of a haze and back into the present moment. We're better than the team we're playing tonight. Why the hell can't this game be over yet?

An unhappy growl escapes under my breath as I join Ronald in jogging to the sidelines, where Coach Lamb is waiting. The other guys on the team look confused as he waves everyone away from him, seemingly only waiting for me.

The glare on Coach's face would scare any of my teammates, but I'm uncharacteristically distracted. My gaze pans further down the sideline to where several reporters are gathered. It only takes a moment for me to zero in on the source of the sweet, delicate scent that interrupted my concentration.

Hibiscus.

I never would have guessed our omega would have a floral scent. Once our pack's scents are all combined, I have a feeling our home will smell like a permanent vacation. My muscles already relax just thinking about how comforting her scent will be to come home to.

Squinting, I try to make out the details of my omega more clearly. All three of us guys in the pack have dark hair, and so does she. A perfect match to complement us. I can already imagine dark-haired children splashing around in the Olympic-sized pool in our backyard.

Note to self: Have Zak look into putting a fence around the pool. I can already imagine how worried he's going to get about baby-proofing the house we've lived in as a bachelor pad for far too long.

"Spencer!" Coach shouts my name from the sidelines, jarring me from my fantasizing.

Ronald has slowed alongside me and stares at me with bewildered eyes. "Are you okay?" he asks, searching my face for answers that no one usually bothers looking for past my excellent poker face.

"Yeah," I answer in a tight voice that's sure to be a dead giveaway that everything is not, in fact, alright. Because while I still have nearly half of this game left to play, my omega is standing right there on the sidelines just out of my reach.

No wonder my poker face can't hold up under scrutiny for once. This is the moment every alpha spends their entire life dreaming about. My usual calm and collected vibe shatters under the weight of this moment. None of my dreams warned me that finding my omega would steal the air from my lungs.

Now I have to pause planning every delicate detail of our future to play a game. An important game. But my pack has always been my top priority, and our soon-to-be new addition is no different.

How am I supposed to throw a football when I can't even catch my breath?

When we're only a few strides away from Coach Lamb, he waves Ronald away. He only wants to talk to me, and the reason is obvious. My head is no longer in the game. Not exactly captain-like behavior for me to be this distracted when we're only up by seven on the scoreboard, and with six minutes left on the clock, this could still be anyone's game.

Knowing my team is counting on me, I settle my nerves through sheer willpower. I'm lucky my parents all worked together to raise me with a superhero-like ability to stay level-headed.

I lean in, teeth discreetly gritted as I prepare for a chastising from Coach that doesn't come. He pats my chest, instead.

"There's only one thing in the world I imagine could knock my star quarterback off his game." He flashes a rueful smile. "Is your pack about to have a new plus-one?" He looks behind him at the crowded stadium, as if he could pick the omega in question out of the crowd somehow.

I fight the urge to smirk. "Wrong direction." I nod my head in the direction of the reporters.

"A sports reporter?" He groans and rubs a hand down his face. "Deacon Kane is going to hate this."

Deacon Kane, the billionaire owner of our football team, is notorious for hating the press. He would be the first to kick them off the field altogether if the league didn't require the media coverage.