My cheeks flush as I clear my throat. “It’s just… You smell like an Omega.”
Now both eyebrows raise, his shock a palpable sensation in the small space.
“Excuse me?”
I shift a bit in the seat, though I try to keep my breathing shallow.
“I know your sense of smell has been messed up for a long time, but can you seriously not smell that at all?”
It’s so intense, it’s disconcerting.
Timber frowns. “I really don’t know what you’re talking about.” His hands clench around the steering wheel for several seconds. And then, much quieter, he asks, “What does it smell like?”
I take a deep breath on instinct, and then my cheeks flush. It feels like I shouldn’t be witness to whatever must have happened in this car with him. Because the intensity of this scent? It’s like when I use my vibrator when all of my body’s reactions become too much.
“Maple syrup,” I manage to say.
Timber tenses. I can’t help but explain just how strong it is in here just in case he’s going to have another of the players catch a ride.
“It’s more than just you, though. I’m pretty sure I can smell older perfume in here, too.” It’s buried, but there is a thread of it. Honestly, it feels like an Omega right at the crest of their heat. I lean against the window to try and cut the intensity of it. “Are you sure you’re not hooking up with an Omega? Or, wait. Did Marilyn manage to set you up with someone? Dad mentioned she’s been on a war path the last month or so with all of you.”
Since preseason, actually.
The team’s been awful the last year or two, and upper management put down an ultimatum this year: get better or risk being dissolved and the team sold for parts. Somehow, the plan morphed from attracting more talent into trying to get all the guys happy and in love. Marilyn’s been hatching plans for months now, trying to move everyone around until the Alphas on the team are more settled.
It’s part of why I haven’t been around the arena as much as when I was in high school. The floral shop and wedding season have been nice excuses, of course, and there’s definitely still a lot to be done at the shop most days even now that the busiest of the wedding season is behind me. But, really, I don’t want to accidentally get pulled into one of Marilyn’s plans. Dad would lose his mind if she tried, and I know his irritation would come out at practice with the team rather than directed at me.
“No.” He’s quick to snuff out the possibility. “I’ve heard she’s set her sights on Rhett next.”
Butterflies twist my stomach, but I ignore them. Whowouldn’treact to hearing Rhett’s name? He’s sex appeal personified—not just on the Scorpions, but across the entire league. Like, literally. Some sports entertainment website named him the Sexiest Player of the Year the last three seasons. They’re not even wrong. Tall and powerful with soulful brown eyes and red hair that curls after games. He’s managed to not lose a single tooth yet, either. And his smirk?
My thighs clench.
Distraction time before my own scent gets added to whatever the hell has been happening in here with Timber.
“Dad mentioned you already had a meeting with Marilyn?”
I intentionally phrase it as a question to try and get him to answer. His shoulders are still stiff, though, his jaw clenched tight.
I try again.
“Is that why you smell… like that?”
He clucks his tongue in derisive dismissal. “Do you honestly think I’m going to start anything with an Omega? I stopped by the convenience store before picking you up. An Omega was behind the counter.”
I can’t help but raise an eyebrow in disbelief.
“Timber, it’s way more intense than a random encounter.” My cheeks burn with another blush. Way,waystronger. “If someone’s scent marking you without your consent, that’s a really big problem.”
It’s also backwards from how most of those abusive situations form. Omegas tend to be the victim, not the Alphas, but Timber’s never been usual with that type of stuff. No, it had been his ex-wife that had abused him, manipulating him with her scent until he was powerless to resist her.
I manage to control my shudder, but it’s a near thing. To be that powerless? To have your ability to consent and reason stripped away because of the base urges of our designations? Absolutely terrifying.
Timber’s reply pulls me from the depressing thoughts.
“Don’t worry about it.” His voice is gruff, an effective end to the conversation.
I don’t push him, settling into the seat of his truck and closing my eyes before my motion sickness can kick in.
