“And? Not my fault someone more entertaining was holding my attention.”
Korbin rolls his eyes and mutters something aboutlunatics and omegasas he turns and leaves the room. I catch the edge in his tone—the kind that sounds a lot like curiosity mixed with annoyance and a little bit of jealousy, or maybe pissiness.
And for the first time, I wonder if Korbin’s encounter with the sweet little omega might have affected him more than he cares to admit.
30
Korbin
I tellmyself I don’t care.
I’ve said it a hundred times today. Muttered it under my breath in the locker room. Repeated it in the weight room. I thought about it during drills. Lied to Milton. Lied to myself.
But the truth keeps popping up, trying to smack me into reality. And every time I blink, I see her.
Bayleigh Lennox.
Shaking. Brave. Back against a wall. Her mint and green tea scent hitting me and sliding down my throat like ice water.
And now?—
Her sitting at that dinner table with my brother. Smiling. Hair soft around her face. Leaning toward him like he’s the safest place in the world.
My jaw ticks hard enough to crack teeth. It’s not really jealousy; more like envy. I don’t want to be there instead of him, but with them and Milton, too.
“This is fucking stupid,” I mutter to the empty room.
The TV blares some rerun ofThe LostI’m not watching. My beer sits on the nightstand, untouched now that it’s warm.
I should be thinking of anything else.
Practice. Stats. Drills. The matchmaker meeting management keeps pushing. Our shitty record.
But all I can think about?—
Is her.
That damn picture is everywhere. News accounts. Sports drama blogs. Fan pages.
Lincoln and Bayleigh, heads together in a restaurant booth like a fucking rom-com montage.
And I’m pissed.
Not because of the photo. Because of the way my stomach twisted when I saw it.
I grab the remote and flip through channels hard enough the buttons click loudly.
Doesn’t matter. She’s a Lennox. She’s your rival’s sister. Your brother is the one she wants.
I repeat it like a chant. None of it sticks.
But the memory of her scent does. Mint and green tea—cool, soft, steady. Wrapping around me the second I got close enough. Calming every sharp edge in me like she was designed for it.
The scent alone still pulls something primal out of me. Something I don’t want to look at too closely.
My phone buzzes on the table. I ignore it until it vibrates again—group chat.
Lincoln: Just checking in with an update.
