I swallow the rest of the sentence, realizing I might have just completely fucked up and spilled Carys’s secret, but Marilyn’s already arching an eyebrow.
“That answers that, I suppose,” she says. “I’d wondered if you knew. Ashton did, apparently.”
My eyebrows furrow as I frown. There’s no way another of the team players knew before Friday. Carys and Rhett had been too careful over the last month for anything like that to have happened.
“Another person on the team knew?” I ask.
Marilyn nods then purses her lips. “Well, he was one of the names Ares mentioned when he called me Saturday morning. Ares went to Carys’s apartment when she didn’t answer any of his calls Friday night. He was worried something had happened to her. Something dangerous, I mean. Can’t imagine how awkward that whole interaction with Rhett must have been.” She chuckles then sighs. “Anyway, I don’t know if Ashton knew who she was or just about the scent match in general.”
She pushes off the threshold.
“Are you all right to work alone? I have a mountain of paperwork waiting for me at my desk right now.”
When I give a quiet “yes”, she disappears into the work room. I follow behind her, tomorrow’s order in my hand for reference. Luckily, they’re small centerpieces for a holiday party and not some multi-thousand dollar wedding setup.
“When Rhett told me last month he’d found a scent match, I never would have guessed it was Carys,” Marilyn says. “I mean, it was like they’d never interacted before at Thanksgiving! I’deven pulled her to the side and asked about helping his scent match settle in when he finally introduced her to all of us.”
She snorts then grabs her bag before continuing.
“He’s been such a wildcard for years. But they match, the more I think about it. They’re both seekers of fun. On the surface, they seem frivolous.” She purses her lips. “Well, Carys comes across as more naive than frivolous, but still. Yet underneath, they both are ruthless in pursuit of what they want. And he’s certainly been nothing but protective and soft dedication this weekend with her.”
That jealousy rumbles uneasily just under my skin, but I swallow it back. One of the work tables has the small centerpieces prepped but not yet built, so I pull my apron from the hook along the back wall and then start in on the order, doing my best to match the inspiration photos.
“Yeah, I think they work well together, too,” I say.
And I ignore the voice in my head that keeps bugging me about wanting to belong with her, too, as Marilyn leaves the shop entirely.
Chapter Twenty-Six
PAXTON
The door to the apartment closes with a soft click as I’m adding the shrimp to both plates of pasta. A small wave of peach precedes my fiancée. My hands tremble, and my mouth dries out. I cross to the fridge and pull the half-empty bottle of white wine that wasn’t there when I left for the road games Saturday morning. Billie must have opened it last night after she got back from California.
Deep breaths, James.
“Oh, you made shrimp scampi?” Billie’s voice is tired but happy, and it just makes my nerves worse. “Thank you.”
“How was California?” Simple question. My voice doesn’t even shake.
A mix of emotions fill my chest—happiness and contentment and homesickness—before she answers. “It was good. Dani is glowing even more than when I saw her in October. She’s definitely one of those lucky women who look gorgeous pregnant.”
She settles into one of the chairs at the island, and I wordlessly set a plate of the pasta in front of her and then anempty glass and the wine. Billie’s always preferred filling her own glasses of wine. Her lips flip up.
I keep my left hand tucked in the pocket of my training shorts as I eat my own food. A swell of arousal hits my chest from that other bond, and I don’t dare sit down next to her. So instead, I stay standing. On the other side of the island.
The distance feels like the Grand Canyon.
I’m finished before her, but I don’t say a word as I watch her eat the last few bites, relishing the way her throat moves with each swallow and her fingers curve around the fork. Her hair is down just like always, a long, straight sheet of blue-black that I can practically feel wrapped around my fist—like the hundreds of times I’ve done it before. Her ice-blue eyes focus on me, feeling the roaring swell of emotion in our bond. She slowly sets her fork on her empty plate, a frown pinching in her eyebrows and turning down her lips.
My throat feels like ash. I swallow reflexively.
“We need to talk,” I say.
Her worry overlays the still-present arousal. She doesn’t say a word, taking a long drink of the white wine.
“Is it about Carys and Rhett getting found out because she went into heat? Marilyn told me about it yesterday.”
Well, first part of the conversation done, then. I nod, trying to take in every delicious, gorgeous about her about her before everything inevitably changes.
