Chad’s grin doesn’t falter; if anything, it deepens, his eyes gleaming like he knows exactly what he’s doing to me. “Wasting time?” He tilts his head, that smug, infuriating smile pulling at his lips. “Didn’t know I needed your permission to talk to her. Or to exist.”
For a split second, I imagine reaching out, grabbing him by the collar, and crushing my mouth against his—anything to shut him up. But that thought just makes the heat flare hotter in my chest, because I know that want, that pull, is as dangerous as it is tempting.
Before I can even process the wild urge to shut him up with a kiss, Lakelyn’s voice cuts through the tension like a lifeline.
“Okay, guys, let’s not turn this into something it doesn’t need to be.” She steps forward, placing a hand lightly on my arm. Her touch is soft, grounding me in a way I didn’t expect. The coiled tension inside me loosens, my fists relaxing as her presence gently soothes the storm brewing beneath my skin.
I glance at her, and something about the calm in her eyes tugs at the alpha inside me. She’s not challenging me, but she’s not backing down either. She’s just…there. Strong, steady. A sweet melody of blueberries and cream blooms between us. And my mouth waters to taste her in the same way I’ve tasted Chad.
I take a breath, attempting to clear the desire out, releasing some of the heat that’s been building up. “Fine,” I mutter, stepping back, though the frustration still lingers beneath the surface.
Chad watches us, his grin fading into something quieter, something almost thoughtful. But he doesn’t push it. Not this time.
CHAPTER 13
Chad
Dean’s eyes flicker,and I know I’m pushing his buttons. I can’t help it—it’s too easy. Every word, every glance, lands like a hit, and he reacts just the way I want him to. Like I’ve struck a raw nerve.
There’s tension between us, electric and unspoken, and I crave it. Him. It’s why I signed up for these lessons in the first place. Not because I care about tennis, but because I need to be close to him. I need him to see what he threw away.
But then Lakelyn steps into the space between us. Her hand brushes his arm, light and unassuming, and everything shifts.
Dean’s whole body softens, his shoulders relaxing like her touch alone is enough to calm the storm brewing in him. It’s subtle, but I notice—and it knocks the wind out of me.
I can’t look away from them. For a moment, it’s like I’m outside of myself, watching the way he looks at her, how he melts under her hand.
And then it hits me.
It’s not just me.
He wants her, too.
It’s not something he’d admit—not in words, not even to himself—but the way his alpha instincts flare up around her and me is undeniable. It’s like he’s fighting it, but the truth is written all over him.
He wants a pack, even if he’s too stubborn to acknowledge it.
And here’s the kicker: the thought of Lakelyn and me in the same pack with him? It doesn’t just make sense. It feels perfect. Almost too perfect, like we’ve been orbiting around this without realizing it.
I don’t know what to do with that thought yet, but it burrows in deep, refusing to let go.
I take a steadying breath, forcing the tangled thoughts to the back of my mind, and cross the court to where the rackets are lined up. My fingers skim the handles before picking one up, testing its weight, rolling the grip between my palm and fingers. The feel of it is foreign but grounding, a distraction from the storm of emotions simmering beneath my skin.
Even with my back to them, I feel their eyes on me—their attention like a current in the air, pulling me under.
I turn slowly, swinging the racket lazily, my gaze locking on Dean’s. “So, Coach,” I drawl, letting a teasing lilt curl into my voice, “think you could lend me those expert hands of yours? You know, to make sure I’m holding it just right.”
His jaw tightens, and I catch the flicker of fire in his eyes, the way the tension snaps taut between us like a rubber band ready to break. My lips curve into a smirk, satisfaction blooming in my chest.
But underneath the smugness, there’s something else—a deeper ache coiling low in my belly. The idea of Dean’s hands on me, the thought of his touch, settles there and spreads like wildfire. I can’t stop the image that flashes in my mind: him standing behind me like he did with Lakelyn the other day,his hands guiding hers, his body brushing against hers as he adjusted her stance.
Only this time, it’s me. His breath warm against the back of my neck. The press of his chest to my back. The weight of his hands, steady but firm, as they guide mine.
My grip on the racket tightens as heat rolls through me, stirring something deep and primal. I know exactly what I’d do if he stepped closer. Just enough to feel the brush of his body against mine. Just enough to push him over the edge, to make him admit this thing between us isn’t one-sided.
Dean’s eyes flicker, his gaze cutting briefly to Lakelyn before settling back on me. For a moment, I think he’s going to shut me down, tell me to figure it out myself, to stop playing games.
But then he exhales, slow and measured, and nods. “Alright, fine,” he says, his jaw still tight, his voice clipped but steady.
