Page 77 of Pack End Game

I stir awake feeling disoriented.

My neck hurts.

One of my legs is asleep, prickling with a painful pins-and-needles sensation.

Zak's coat is clutched to my chest, my grip as tight as if it were a life raft in the middle of open waters. Holding on to his coat helps me feel anchored to the pack. Spencer and Freddie have given me items of their own to add to my growing collection of stolen clothing items.

From Spencer, a college t-shirt that I put on before the game. He worked out wearing it, so it smells delicious.

And from Freddie, one of his lucky socks. Not the pair of socks. Just one, which I wear on my left foot. He's wearing the other one–which I know because he sent pictures of his right foot before the game to confirm we're matching.

Such a sweet, funny, weirdo.

I'm not sure why I've woken up suddenly when the apartment is still empty. Maybe it's the horrible combination of feelings that confirms my heat is preparing to come and rock all of our lives.

There's an ache between my legs that's needy and restless. I'm so deep in emotional turmoil that I managed to make a makeshift nest of blankets on the couch during the football game. Except now I'm feeling kind of overly hot surrounded by so many fuzzy blankies.

One minute, I'm a competent, high-powered marketing professional. The next, I'm one sad commercial away from dissolving into a puddle of emotions.

My incoming heat will not be ignored.

I shuffle anxiously around on the couch, inhaling deeply to take in the scents of the pack. I can smell them from the items they left behind, and from their extended presence in my apartment. Their scents have permeated every piece of furniture and blanket in the place.

Then I freeze, my ears locking onto the sound of a click as a key turns in the door.

I sit up on the couch to greet the three men who enter with athletic bags slung over each of their shoulders. The smell of the stadium is still on them, and I notice immediately that the three of them don't appear to have showered after the game.

Sometimes Freddie waits until he's home, but Spencer and Zak usually shower in the locker room.

"Hi," I say in a sleepy voice. "Did you rush home because you missed me?" I smile sweetly as all three of them hurriedly drop their bags to the ground when they see me waiting up on the couch for them.

"Always," Zak smiles.

Spencer walks toward me, stopping near the end of the couch to affectionately squeeze my foot. The one wearing Freddie's lucky sock. I'm not sure when the beta last washed the sock, so it's probably a questionable choice, but I don't mind the affection.

"How are you feeling?" he asks. He presses his thumb into the center of my arch, eliciting a groan from the back of my throat. The pressure feels so good on my foot.

After my groan, I admit I'm feeling "Wimpy," because there's no reason to keep pretending with them. I tried to hold myself together the past few days–the best I could–so they could focus on football.

Now that this week's game is over, I don't have the energy to pretend anymore.

"And clingy," I decide to add. "Please never leave my sight again. From now on, I'm going to all your away games. I know you don't like the idea of me being in the stands alone, but I can invite my brother or Belle and her pack or maybe one of my work friends."

"We'll figure something out," Spencer easily agrees with a nod.

I lean toward him and wrap my arms around his waist, pressing my head against his waistband. "Did I mention I'm feeling clingy?"

Freddie's gaze meets mine, and I see him staring at me with a blindingly bright smile that borders on creepy in its intensity. "Perfect. Then this is an excellent time for a field trip."

He's crazy.

"No, I just want to cuddle." I shake my head against Spencer.

His smile doesn't waver. "Counterpoint: yes. Field trip. Field trips are fun!"

I wrinkle my nose. There's nowhere I can imagine going at this time of night that strikes me as fun. All I want to do is curl up amongst the pack in bed, preferably with the ceiling fan on high. And maybe we could take a snack with us. Pretzels. Or popcorn. Or maybe some of those strawberry poptarts I hid in the back of the cabinet so Freddie would stop eating an entire box per day.

Zak jingles his keys, drawing my attention.