The employee's eyes widen in recognition, and she studies our faces more carefully. "Oh! Oh my goodness, you're from the Ghosts team! Plague and Whiskey!"
This is somehow worse.
"In the flesh," Whiskey confirms, flashing that easy smile that melts fans' underwear right off. "Sorry about the confusion."
"No, I'm sorry!" she gushes, her professional demeanor dissolving into excitement. "I shouldn't have assumed—I mean, you were showing him those omega supplies, and with all the scents in the air, I couldn't tell you were both alphas, and—you look so different without your mask, Plague!" She stops herself mid-ramble, blushing. "Um. Let me check on your order."
And yet she still assumedIwas the omega.
Another employee comes up with her mouth hanging open. "The team is courting an omega? Who's the lucky girl?"
"Or guy," the first employee adds hastily.
The question hangs in the air between us. I can feel Whiskey about to say something catastrophically stupid, so I cut in quickly.
"No, nothing like that," I say smoothly. "We're picking up supplies for my sister." The lie rolls off my tongue easily. "She's going through a difficult time, and I promised to help."
Whiskey shoots me a look that clearly sayswhat the fuck?I ignore him.
"Well, that's very thoughtful of you both," she says, but I can tell she doesn't fully believe me. "Let me check on that order for... your sister."
"I didn't think he had a sister," a customer says as she walks up to ogle us, not quite keeping her voice low enough.
"To be fair, Plague is the opposite of an open book," says her friend.
Here comes another.Fuck. At least they're talking amongst themselves and staying away from us. They giggle about something behind their hands, glancing up at us before dissolving into giggling whispers again.
Whiskey snorts next to me.
Yep. He's going to die tonight.
The employee returns, still looking slightly starstruck. "Your order will be ready in just a minute. They're finishing packing everything." She hesitates, then adds, "Can I ask you something? It's a bit... personal."
Here we go.
"Shoot," Whiskey says before I can stop him.
"I was at your game against the Wolves last month, and I couldn't help but notice..." She glances between us. "The way you two work together on the ice is amazing. There's this chemistry that just... well, a lot of us fans think you'd make a really good couple."
I stare at her, momentarily speechless.
"You know, I'm personally more into shipping the brothers, but I might be a convert now," she continues, growing more animated.
My eye twitches. "The... brothers?"
"Thane and Wraith," Whiskey clarifies.
The cursed mental image that flashes unbidden in my mind is bad enough to give me cold spots. "I can assure you," I say with as much dignity as I can muster, "that I'm not attracted to alphas, and if I were, it wouldn't be Whiskey. Whiskey and I arenottogether."
Whiskey grins at her. Or at me. I can't tell and I don't care.
"If you say so," she says in a sing-song. "Let me go grab your order. They just pinged me."
The moment she's out of earshot, I round on Whiskey. "What the hell are you doing?"
"Having fun," he says simply. "It's good for PR to keep the fans guessing."
I’m about to threaten him with how quickly I could go nuclear on his “PR” when the employee returns with two large bags and a box. "Here's everything in the order." She hands me the receiptwith a shy smile. "I threw in some extra heat relief patches. On the house."
