A growl rumbles out of Mason at my words, and Landon makes a choking sound.
“I do not want to talk about my sister fucking anyone, Lake.”
I purse my lips and look between them. A shiver runs down my spine at the possessive glint to Mason’s eyes, but I yank my gaze away from him before he can capture it. Only to look at my brother, who looks as if he’s lost his appetite. Serves him right, I don’t want to hear about him and his sexcapades either, especially if they involve Mason.
Bringing the wine cooler back to my lips, I take a slow swig. “Payback's a bitch, Lan.”
CHAPTER 7
Dean
The burning edgeof a rut spreads through me, making my skin uncomfortable, still I volley ball after ball. Until sweat drips from my temples and my shorts and t-shirt cling to my body. Memories of a night long ago attempt to drag me back. But I shove them away. I’m older now. My control wouldn’t slip like it did before.
Chad.
He taught me a lesson I wouldn’t ever forget. No matter how much I want to. Hell, he’s the fucking reason I never found a pack. Not that he so much as blinked an eye at the fact that he ruined my life. With one simple act.
Even now, my body pulses with need. This unfulfilled desire that will just have to stay fucking empty.
I may have to check myself into a rut clinic, because if an actual rut’s coming on, I don’t want to be caught in a situation that I’ll regret. Still, I hit each tennis ball with ruthless precision, begging my body to back off. Can ruts be triggered by people?
I’m pretty fucking sure they can. Because the second Chad strolled out onto my court, acting as unfazed by everything in our past as I expected, even going so far as to bring it up, this all-consuming need has grabbed hold. Then he followed me into my office, opening old wounds, and it makes me want to punish him for it.
“Everyone’s gone home, Dean,” Hank calls, breaking my concentration enough to miss the next volley. “Don’t forget to lock up.”
I twist and wave at him with my racket to let him know I heard him. Then I focus back on exhausting my body so I can hopefully sleep tonight.
The rhythmic pop, pop, pop, pop of the machine as it fills the growing darkness.
Slowly, I let the thoughts in with each smack of the ball against my racket.
His pouty fucking lips.
Thwack.
Shit, when he curves them up into a smile, my balls tighten.
Snap.
His lean form, grown more defined and less lanky teen since back then.
Whack.
Blood pulses between my legs at the image of having him on his knees in front of me.
Pop.
“Aggressive,” Chad’s voice washes over me like a tsunami, as if I conjured him with my thoughts, making me miss the next volley as I twist toward the phantom sound. Only it isn’t a phantom. It’s him. What the fuck is he doing at the club? It’s closed. “You still look as hot as ever, dripping with sweat, and smelling like a mountain morning.”
My mouth dries up at his words, and my racket hangs loosely at my side. “What are you doing here?”
He lifts his shoulder in a shrug like it isn’t a big deal that he keeps flaunting himself in front of me. “Just had to get out of the house. It’s stifling.”
“And you came to the club you knew was closed,” I demand, my tone sharp and angry. “My club.”
A slightly guilty look crosses his face before it’s erased in a practiced mask. “What can I say, old habits die hard. Obviously.” He nods at me, and I know what he means.
Alone time at the club is what got me where I am right now. Packless. Keeping everyone at arm's length. And this man—no, this omega—is to blame. My musk spikes off of me, but I don’t care. Pheromones fill the air like a low level cloud, and I drop the racket. My urges drive me across the space between us. He gasps as I back him into the fence, boxing him in.
