Page 50 of False Catch

"Not a no." He leans in, and—

The door flies open.

"For fuck's sake," Beckett mutters.

Gray stands in the doorway, looking exasperated rather than murderous. "Cameron's about to start the movie without us because, and I quote, 'punctuality is a virtue.'"

"Cameron has virtues?" Beckett asks.

"Also, Coach wants us at morning practice at 5:30 to officially record our times," Gray continues, ignoring him. "So maybe we should actually sleep tonight instead of..."

"Instead of what?" Beckett asks innocently.

Gray's jaw tightens. "Movie. Now. Both of you."

He leaves the door open and walks away.

Beckett looks at me. "Rain check on that kiss?"

"We'll see."

"I'll take it." He grabs my textbook and hands it to me. "Come on. Let's go watch Cameron's horror movie and pretend we're not all thinking about different ways to get you alone."

"That's not what—"

"Reese." He grins. "We're eight Alphas living with a beautiful woman who commands us like we're extensions of her will. We're all thinking about it. The only difference is I'm honest about it."

He heads for the door, then pauses. "For what it's worth? When it happens - and something will happen, with someone, because this tension is getting ridiculous - I hope you pick whoever makes you laugh. You don't laugh enough."

Then he's gone, leaving me standing there with my textbook and a lot of complicated feelings.

This is getting out of control.

But as I head to the living room where everyone's gathered for the movie, I realize something.

I don’t want to pick at all. I want all of them, equally. And that is more terrifying than overworked suppressants or suspicious administration or psycho stalkers could ever be. Because the others I can deal with, but wanting eight men - eight gorgeous, distinct, dominant men?

That’s not just off-limits. That’s a disaster of catastrophic proportions just waiting to happen.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Beckett

The living room has never felt smaller.

Cameron's commandeered the big armchair like a throne, remote control in hand, looking satisfied that we're actually watching his horror movie pick. The opening credits of "The Descent" roll across the screen while everyone tries to find seats that don't put them in direct contact with Reese's pheromone cloud.

Good fucking luck with that.

She's curled in the corner of the main couch, textbook still in her lap like she's actually going to study during this. Tyler's on her left, maintaining exactly six inches of space between them. Zane's on her right, not even pretending to keep distance. His thigh presses against hers, and every time she shifts, he shifts with her.

Gray took the other armchair, positioned where he can watch both the screen and Reese. Because of course he did. Our captain's control might be slipping, but his need to monitor everything remains intact.

Jackson and Eli claimed the loveseat, sitting close enough that their knees touch. They think they're being subtle. They're not. Especially not with the way Jackson keeps shooting glances at Reese when he thinks no one's looking.

Bo's on the floor, back against the couch near Reese's feet. Every so often, his shoulder brushes her calf, and she doesn't pull away.

Which leaves me perched on the arm of the couch, trying to look casual while my entire body vibrates with awareness. She smells like all of us now - our scents layered on her skin from a day of proximity. But underneath, her own scent is getting stronger. Suppressants failing or overwhelmed, I can't tell which.