He chuckles but takes the controller, keeping his arms wrapped around me.
The race starts. My focus narrows on the game, tongue poking out the side of my mouth. Thayer makes a comment about how I’m one of those players that tilts my controller in the direction I want my cart to go, but I ignore his attempt to distract me.
I am going to win this game.
I hit a boost at the exact right moment, my kart sailing past Grieves’ just before the finish line.
“Yes!” I shout, pumping a fist in the air. Celebrating like the bad winner I am.
The pack stares at me for half a second—then all hell breaks loose.
“That was dirty,” Thayer accuses.
“She absolutely cheated,” Grieves adds, sounding like a sore loser.
“I did not cheat,” I protest, primly. “I used skill. Precision. Years of experience. I can’t help it if you’ve all been too busy being royal to master Mario Kart.”
Court laughs, low and warm, his chin brushing my shoulder. “She’s adorable when she’s feral.”
“I heard that!”
“I meant you to,” he says against the side of my head.
Another race starts. I lose the next one because Forsythe very deliberately rams me into a wall, then has the audacity to look smug about it.
“Oh, that’s how it is?” I twist around to glare at him. He arches a brow in challenge. “Fine. Gloves off.”
By the third race my omega is buzzing, my focus razor sharp, my trash talk unhinged. Somewhere between knocking Thayer off Rainbow Road and shouting “Eat my shell!”, I become acutely aware of how close Court is, how warm, how histhighs are solid on either side of me and his arms are steady and his cock—
Okay. Too much.
I pop up abruptly, nearly knocking his controller from his hands, and throwing my own across the fort, just barely missing hitting Piers in the arm with it. “I—uh—I made dessert too,” I say to give myself a reason for leaping up like a psycho in the middle of a race.
Five heads snap toward me, predatory in a way that makes a shiver roll down my spine. Not because I’m scared, but because I want them to hunt me, want to be their prey.
And that is a very dangerous desire to have.
“What did you make for us, killer?”
“It’s a surprise.” I say flapping a hand at them. “Keep playing. I’ll dish it up.” Piers makes to get up, but part of this is a surprise for him, so I press a hand to his shoulder to keep him where he is. “I’ve got it.”
I retreat to the kitchen before anyone can comment on the heat in my cheeks or the way my pulse is racing for reasons that have nothing to do with Mario Kart.
I need this space to get myself under control, to remind myself of what tonight is. It’s not about me joining their pack. It can’t be. This is about remindingthemthat they are a pack. Nothing more. Nothing less. I need to keep that in mind and keep my distance. No more sitting on Courtland’s lap. No more flirting. No more accidentally grinding my ass on alpha cocks.
I’m acutely aware of the eyes on me, of the glances being thrown my direction as I pull all the ingredients out of the fridge and begin an assembly line. Grieves wanders over to me as I’m making swirls of whipped cream on the top of each sundae.
His mouth quirks into a half smile, staring down at the pan of brownies topped with pretzel pieces.
“Piers told you about Court’s late night snack?”
I hum and pick up two of the bowls, and he grabs two more.
“I know it's not exactly the same as chocolate covered pretzels dipped in peanut butter,” I say, handing Court the first bowl and Piers the second. “But when Piers mentioned he liked brownies, I thought the two would go well together. And I made a peanut butter sauce for on top of the sundae.” And sprinkled it with peanuts and a whole dollop of whipped cream too, just in case.
The two of them are staring down at the bowls like they can’t quite believe it. “You didn’t think I forgot about you, did you?” I ask, not quite understanding the looks on either of their faces right now.
“I-” Piers starts but doesn’t seem to know how to finish. Shit. He definitely didn’t think I would do anything for him. Just like he was surprised when I made him a set of pajamas.
