“Of course,” I offer, trying for polite. It comes across as downright timid. Kane cackles, and I shove him as I pass. “Fuck off.”
Marilyn cocks an eyebrow as she glances over her shoulder, opening the door to Ares’s office without missing a single step. She locks both doors before dropping into the chair behind the desk, just as comfortable there as anywhere else I’ve seen her the last seven years I’ve played for the Scorpions. I’ve not been in Ares’s office in over a year. Having already signed an extension after my rookie contract and not being in the hot seat for performance this last season means I don’t really get chewed out by the assistant coach. I swallow as I take in the rest of the space, my eyes catching on all of the photos of Carys on the main wall across from the desk.
“Sit, James. I don’t want to be here all afternoon if I can help it.”
Marilyn’s voice pulls me from the slow perusal of my scent match’s milestones.
I carefully drop into one of the leather chairs, keeping my body deceptively relaxed. It won’t help if my scent is triggered, but it’ll keep this whole disaster from escalating quite as fast. Marilyn opens the envelope, laying out multiple pieces of paper on the desk, turning them so they’re facing me.
“I’ve pulled together a few options for you,” she says, downright clinical. “None of them are expecting more than a date or two, though they wouldn’t be opposed to something more serious developing.”
I lean forward, pretending to look at the profiles without actually seeing any of the printed information. There’s no denying all three women are gorgeous. I vaguely recognize one of them from hanging out with Jackson over the summer. Was she a backup dancer for him? Or the opening act, maybe.
In a detached sort of way, I can understand why Marilyn selected these women. On paper, they’re exactly what I’ve been attracted to in the past. But just the idea of going out with someone has bile rising in my throat.
“You don’t like any of them.” Marilyn’s comment is said without accusation, but I still flinch away from the profiles. “That’s fine. I can curate a couple more options.”
She pulls yet another piece of paper from the folder and grabs a pen carefully stashed beside the keyboard to her left. She holds the cap against her mouth, tapping it in a steady beat—exactly the way Carys does. My stomach flips over itself again.
I clasp my hands together between my knees to keep from fidgeting. “I really have to do this? You’re sure there’s no other way to bring about good PR?”
Her eyes flash up to me, the cap freezing mid-tap.
“It’s not just for the PR,” she admits after a long stretch of silence.
I arch an eyebrow. She taps the end of the pen against the desk, her lips pursing as she considers her answer. With careful movements, she replaces the cap on the pen and sets it on the papers, leaning forward onto her palm.
“It’s also about getting all of you Alphas level-headed for the rest of the season,” she says. “You’re all talented, don’t get me wrong. But look at the way Chase and Axel have improved. If we manage to get the rest of you locked in like that, especially before the all-star break, we’re not only going to prove to the league we deserve to remain a team. We have a good chance of making the playoffs, too.”
Like we all don’t already know that. We have so much firepower on our team this year, it’s wild. We’ve had brief moments when two or three of us really lock in, and every single one has gotten us all pretty damn excited. Paxton’s been pivotal in shaking up the lines and blending all of us just a bit better, too. If we can figure out how to get all of us to click on the ice? We’re going to be practically unstoppable. We might not break any big point or goal records, but winning by a single goal is still winning. Ds get degrees or whatever that saying is.
I focus on the profiles again. One date. I can do one date, right? Carys and I can talk about it, why it’s happening. Hell, she probably knows about this whole push by the management team already. One date for optics won’t mess up what’s happening between us… right? Nerves tighten my chest, like I’ve taken a nasty hit against the boards and can’t catch my breath just when I need it most.
“What’s going on, Rhett?” Marilyn’s voice has gained a concerned edge. “You’re one of the league’s biggest bachelors. You’ve never worried about being seen with whatever buddingcelebrity was interested in you for two weeks. Why is this one different?”
“I don’t date,” I say, sticking to the line I’ve maintained since everyone and their dog started asking why I wasn’t packed up about two years ago.
You hit twenty-five, and suddenly all anyone seems to care about is if you’re building a family. Paxton proposing to Billie over the summer has just made it worse. It’s even more excessive for the few Omegas who play in the league. I can’t even imagine the pressure they’re under every year they continue to be single and unbonded.
“Well, you’re going to now,” she says. “It doesn’t need to be anything serious. Just enough to get those instincts of yours settled and locked in to the season. All of these Omegas are well aware you’re a playboy. Unless you bring up something more substantial, they know the score.”
She’s really expecting me to have a one night stand with one of these Omegas? And they’re all… just fine with it? Bile burns my throat.
Jesus, scent matching is something fucking else. Just a month ago, I would have been willing to have a wild night with a woman to get Marilyn off my back. Now the idea of just being photographed at a restaurant bar with someone other than Carys has me wanting to sprint for the damn hills.
Completely oblivious to my spiral, Marilyn goes back to her list. She stars a couple names on it before turning it toward me.
“Now, pick one of these women so I can arrange everything for when we have our seven game home stand over Thanksgiving.” Her eyes harden. “Otherwise I’ll have Miles put you as a healthy scratch.”
This time, the threat isn’t enough to deter me. I shake my head, leaning back in the chair and staring at the ceiling. I guessif I get benched, I get benched. There’s no way I can subject Carys to seeing me with someone else even just for optics.
“I can’t,” I croak.
Not won’t.Can’t.
I run my hands over my face as I blow out a sigh. I’m about to admit to yet another person I’ve met a scent match and now literally no one else catches even a whisper of my attention.
“Why, Rhett?” Marilyn’s voice is pure irritation now.
