“He’s the only one of us with a normal family,” Hunter chimed in. “Hard to believe, I know.”
It was equally hard to believe that Hunter Reeves was making lighthearted remarks and jokes. “I’m happy to help you murder any evil family members,” I offered, only half kidding. It pissed me right off that these alphas had dealt with a variation of the same cruel, lonely shit as me. Maybe worse, if the depths of pain in Finley’s eyes were anything to go by.
Kellan all but purred as he buried his face in my arm. “You say the most romantic things, Shortcake. I don’t know what we did before you were in our lives.”
Hunter even laughed at that, though he didn’t comment further.
When we’d arrived at the stadium, surrounded by cheering shifters clad in mostly teal, gold, and white jerseys, I found true excitement flaring.
“There are more red jerseys than I expected,” I said, leaning closer to Hunter after we took our seats.
He’d tried to force me into their corporate box, but I’d wanted to be close to the ice. Our seats were right behind their bench, center of the action.
Hunter took in the rows of red and gold jerseys. “Yeah, a lot of shifters travel consistently for the games. The puck wolves and bears especially.”
I’d already learned those titles were reserved for the females who tried to bag hockey players, even if only for one night. The very thought of any of them being near Kellan… or even Finley, had me raging. Not that I had any right to care.
“When do the teams come out on the ice?”
“They’ll be out for warmups soon.”
I couldn’t wait to see what warmups entailed… Was it mostly stretching and skating laps?
Lights flashed around the arena as music pumped, and I loved seeing all the shifters with their plastic cups of beer and plates of nachos settling into seats. Hunter got a lot of lingering stares from shifters not used to seeing him down here with the plebs. Or maybe it was the fact that he was the entitled alpha of the strongest pack in the city and looked freaking gorgeous in his charcoal suit.
This alpha controlled his space without saying a word, and the fact that all the seats around us remained empty felt like a testament to his strength and power.
“Would you like any food?” he asked, glancing over at a group of girls giggling nearby. They were spilling their beer and fries in an attempt to catch a first glimpse of the hockey players.
“Actually, I’d love snacks.” Do not ask me where my giddy excitement came from, but like my first cinema experience, I was pumped to watch this game.
Hunter whipped out his phone and shot off a text message. I had no idea who he was messaging to bring us food. Probably one of his many assistants.
When the music grew louder, shifters started jumping up and down in the stands, waving their arms in a weird pattern. It was all fascinating, like I’d stumbled into another world.
A few seconds later, my phone and Hunter’s beeped, and I opened it to find Kellan had messaged our group chat.
Golden Boy: *Image Attached*
Hunter ignored his phone and leaned over to stare at my screen. I almost forget to click the image, distracted by his energy licking down my skin. Swallowing roughly, I pressed the message and waited for it to load. A few seconds later, a snort of laughter escaped me.
Kellan had sent a picture of Finley standing in the middle of the locker room.
At first, all I noticed were his muscles…so many musclesencased by perfect, dusky skin. Like the other alphas, Finley was stacked, which I saw clearly because he only wore a pair of tight, white boxer briefs. Oh, and socks.
Hunter cleared his throat, and I was surprised by his low laughter. “Fin is going to murder him.”
“Why? Because he sent this phot—”Oh fuck.
I’d been so focused on his broad shoulders and ripped muscles—yep, I was shallow—that I’d missed two important details in the picture. One: Finley was absolutely furious, his face menacing as he leaned toward Kellan. And two: right on the crotch of his underwear, over the impressive bulge, was my face.
My fucking face.
“What’s happening? What’s the point of Kellan doing this?”
I was startled to find Hunter looking amused. This alpha rarely, if ever, looked amused. “Finley is extremely superstitious when it comes to hockey,” he explained, waving at the image. “Whatever socks and underwear he wears for the first game, he wears for the entire season. No wavering. We’re lucky his superstitions don’t go as far as not washing said items.”
A closer look at the image revealed small bears all over his socks, with a word I couldn’t read at the top. “So… Kellan made sure those boxer-briefs were all he had to wear today, and now he’s stuck with my face on his dick for the full season?”
