Is this what other Omegas feel when they’re near an Alpha? Because I don’t think I can handle it, honestly. Smelling all of the different scents on Dad after practice has never bothered me like this. Maybe my heat is finally getting close? Nerves crowd my throat just at the thought. I need to come up with some kind of plan for when I actually have one. The idea of calling my dad to help get me somewhere safe is… mortifying. Crap. Is there even somewhere to go here? The sorority had a safe space in the big house. Maybe I could just hunker down at my apartment?
“Carys?” Billie says my name like it’s not the first time.
I swallow all the thoughts and sensations. My cheeks flush as I look over at her. “Sorry. Just got…”
I trail off, not even sure what to say. A second hangout is definitely not the time to admit to having wild fantasies about a player on your dad’s hockey team. A player who happens to be the soon-to-be brother-in-law of the woman you’re trying to become friends with. I’m sure that will make her super comfortable around me and want to hang out more.
Ignoring the shaking of my hands, I start a new grouping of ruscus, stripping a stem that’s in the way and dropping it inelegantly to the ground.
“So do you want to?”
“Want to what?” My flush gets hotter even as I grimace.
Billie grabs the last of the ruscus left in the bucket and hands it to me before taking the empty bucket back to the cooler. “Go to whatever this Halloween party is.”
I shake off all the overwhelming thoughts. “Oh, sure!”
She refills the bucket as she smiles. “You want to dress up with me? Paxton will refuse especially since we’ll be going straight from the game.”
“If it’s something simple!” I say, trying to keep a bit more upbeat to hide the swirling mess of… of everything going on under my skin. “I don’t think I’ll have time to put together anything intricate. I have another wedding after this one for delivery Saturday and then the event on Halloween itself.”
Billie nods. “I can come up with something for us if you’re all right with that.”
Her phone pings with a notification, the noise temporarily silencing the commentary. She purses her lips as she swipes it away.
“That’s dinner finally. You want to take a break for a bit? We can watch the first period and then get back to it.”
I drop the wire onto the work table and stretch my neck. “A break sounds great.”
Her shoulder brushes mine as we head to the front of my shop to get the delivery order. Billie adjusts her hair, and a wall of sweet, almost unnoticeable, peach fills my nostrils. My stomach clenches, and my chest flutters. My scent swirls around me, blending with the peach. Billie doesn’t notice, crossing to the door and politely taking the delivery order we’d put in from a nearby Italian restaurant.
“Text me your sizes, and I’ll make sure I have it all together by the game,” she says.
I drop into one of the chairs I normally use for client meetings, my smile not as faked as before. “I can do that!”
Chapter Six
BILLIE
Carys links her elbow with mine as we make our way down to the depths of the arena. Despite staying in our seats until the Zambonis were finishing resurfacing the rink, there are still a significant amount of people in the main walkways of the arena. The crowds don’t phase Carys as she navigates through them, ignoring the large groups trying to get out of the main doors. I adjust my bag as a group of drunk men jostle by us, obnoxiously loud in their celebration. There’s a general air of excitement that gathers around everyone, a clumsiness to it like it’s an ill-fitting coat they’re not quite sure how to adjust. Winning clearly isn’t something that has happened here all that often for the last few years.
“Man, Itoldyou that trade was good for us!” someone says behind us.
Another man scoffs. “No, you didn’t. You bitched to anyone who would listen that it was a waste of resources to get James from LA.”
Carys grimaces as she looks at me. I roll my eyes. The majority of the hockey world was pretty put out that theScorpions traded for Paxton. It only got worse when they lost to Seattle. Luckily, the last couple games have shut most of the keyboard analysts up.
“Whatever, man.” The guys push past us, forcing Carys closer into me, her hair pressing against my cheek. My breath catches. “We going out? My buzz is fading.”
One of the jerks wears a James jersey, the number 16 making it Rhett’s. He elbows the other with a smirk. “I know the bouncer at Slapshots. He said he’ll let us in if we get there by ten.”
Carys pulls on my arm, forcing us away from the irritating group and through another crowd of people trying to get out of the arena. She smiles to a security guard, quickly flashing her lanyard and badge that show she’s allowed to enter the employee access hallway, while keeping her arm looped with mine. The man looks over to me, and I quickly pull my own arena ID and lanyard from my pocket. He steps away from the door, silently ushering us through. The noise immediately cuts in half, the din of the crowd dampened by the concrete walls of the employee hall.
Carys breathes deeply and stretches her neck, one of her perfectly curled waves falling across her cheek. The movement makes the nearly imperceptible aroma of her orchid scent become more noticeable. My breath catches in my throat, and my hands tingle. The desire to touch her, to tuck that strand of hair behind her ear and trace the soft line of her jaw, rushes through me, stronger than the Santa Ana winds. I clench my fingers around my arena ID, breathing through the urge.
“Locker rooms are just down this way,” Carys says, guiding me to the left and deeper into the arena.
Not for the first time this last week, guilt rushes through me as fast as the urge to touch her. Have I noticed how beautiful she is? Of course. It’s impossible tonotsee just how beautiful she is. Spending nearly five uninterrupted hours with her a few nightsago while she built out an obscene amount of custom table garland just drove it home.
