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He grins. "No idea what you're talking about."

Liar.

Across the table, Autumn focuses very hard on her pizza, and Clint takes a drink of his soda, completely ignoring me.

"Seems like a waste," Tripp continues.

I close my eyes briefly. "Please stop."

"A whole motel room."

"Tripp," I growl.

"Just one man."

"Tripp."

"With our scent matched omega staying twenty feet away."

Autumn chokes on her drink, and Clint immediately hands her a napkin, while smiling like the cat who got the cream.

I hate both of them.

Tripp points at me. "You know what happens if she decides she doesn't want you, right?"

My jaw tightens.

The smirk slips from his face, because suddenly, we're not joking anymore.

"What?"

"You get stuck listenin' to the rest of us bein' disgustingly happy."

I glare at him.

He knows that's not what I'm actually afraid of. The problem isn't being left out, it’s her leaving.

My gaze shifts before I can stop it, straight to Autumn, and she’s looking straight back at me.

No teasing or attitude, just watching.

Somehow, her staring and Tripp’s teasing have me realizing that my fight is whether I’m brave enough to ask her to stay.

Chapter

Thirty-Seven

Autumn

Last time I came to one of these, everything felt too big and too loud, like the whole place was moving around me faster than I could understand. The noise, the animals, the announcer, the dirt. The people who all seemed to know exactly where they were supposed to be, while I stood there trying not to look like the city girl Clint accused me of being. I didn’t know where to stand or what to watch.

Now I know enough to be nervous.

I stand outside the stalls with a coffee Clint shoved into my hand twenty minutes ago, and watch the three of them move through their routines like they’ve done a thousand times. Tripp checks his gear while talking too much, mostly to me and occasionally to Bruce, even though Bruce belongs to Briggs, and absolutely doesn’t care about whatever nonsense is coming out of Tripp’s mouth. Clint is quieter than usual, one hand running over Captain’s neck while he checks a strap for the second time. Briggs stands a little farther away, his whiskey eyes focused on everything except me, which is rude considering I’m standing right here, looking cute and emotionally available.

Okay, emotionally suspicious, but that still counts.

“You’re staring,” Tripp says without looking up.