I keep my expression carefully blank, though every muscle in my body tightens. The guys would love the company? Since when did he start making decisions about what I’d love?
“And the kitchen’s always stocked,” Liam offers smoothly, stepping in as Ash flounders.
“I…” Ash looks between us, clearly flustered. “Okay. Maybe?”
“No pressure,” Beckett says, though his hopeful expression says otherwise. “I’m going to hit the showers,” he announces, squeezing her shoulder gently as he passes. “Meet you guys out front in fifteen?”
Liam steps closer to Ash. “Want me to show you the women’s locker room? In case you want to freshen up.”
“That would be great.” There’s relief in her smile.
I nod, watching as they all peel away. Liam guiding Ash toward the locker rooms with a light touch to her elbow, Beckett striding toward the men’s showers. Leaving me standing alone in thecorner, surrounded by weights and mirrors that reflect back a man who looks calm, unbothered, in control.
It’s bullshit. Every inch of me is screaming, and I don’t even understand why. It’s taking every ounce of will I have as an alpha not to follow her.
I glance toward the hallway where Liam led her. The women’s locker room is pretty basic. So is the men’s. We’re not an upscale resort gym. I can clearly picture Liam just shrugging at the basic amenities. My mind skips ahead, imagining her pulling her oversized sweater over her head, her hair falling back into place, skin exposed inch by inch.
Suddenly, I’m seeing all of us, me, Beckett, Liam, and Ash, in the large shower stall in the back corner of the men’s room. Water cascading over bare skin, steam rising around us. Beckett’s hands in her hair, my mouth on her neck, Liam behind her with his fingers tracing the curve of her spine. Her head falling back, water running in rivulets between her breasts. The four of us tangled together, slick and desperate.
“Fuck.” The word explodes from my mouth as I shove myself violently away from the bench. My body’s reaction is immediate and overwhelming, cock hardening, blood running hot in my veins, a pulse of desire so strong it leaves me dizzy. The fantasy is so vivid, I can almost feel the water on my skin and my tongue in her mouth.
What the fuck is happening? I’ve never reacted like this to an omega before, not even close.
I grab a clean towel from the stack and wipe my face roughly, cursing as pain shoots through my face. My goddamn nose.
I focus on the mess Beckett left. Weights not reracked, his water bottle abandoned on the floor, a sweat towel crumpled near the cable machine. Things I can fix, clean, control. Not whatever this is burning through me like a fever.
But the images won’t fade. Ash’s hands on Beckett’s chest, her mouth on Liam’s, her eyes on mine.
What is it about her? She’s not even my type, too skinny, too bitchy, too guarded. She looks at me like she’s expecting a fight.
And now Beckett wants her spending time at our house while he’s gone. The thought sends another pulse of heat through me, followed immediately by frustration. I’d have to see her every day, watch her move through our space. Not being able to properly smell her is making me crazy, like trying to read in the dark.
I grab Beckett’s water bottle from the floor, squeezing it too tight in my fist. Water spurts from the top, splashing my shirt. “Perfect,” I mutter, shaking droplets from my hand.
Behind me, the locker room door opens and closes. I take a deep breath, forcing my face into neutral lines, my posture into something resembling relaxation. I methodically wipe down the bench like nothing happened, like my mind isn’t still half-trapped in a fantasy I have no right to imagine.
“You good?” Beckett asks, hair damp from his shower, gym bag slung over his shoulder.
“Fine,” I lie, not meeting his eyes. “Just cleaning up your mess. As usual.”
He laughs, the sound light and easy. “What would I do without you?”
Oh Beckett. Without me, you’d probably have the perfect life, that perfect omega, a gaggle of kids. Everything your heart ever wanted.
Just then, she emerges from the locker room, Liam at her side. He’s got his laptop bag in one hand and her coat in the other.
“Let’s eat,” Beckett says, clapping me on the shoulder.
Great. And now all I can think about is getting that omega on her back, pushing her legs wide and making a meal out of her.
Chapter thirty-four
PIERCE
ThelistfromAlexeisits folded in my palm. I squint at the street signs through my windshield, hunting for the turn that’ll take me deeper into Nashville’s worst neighborhood. I touch my nose, testing the edges of the medical tape. Still tender. Still can’t smell worth shit. The radio hums some country ballad about regret and lost chances. I snap it off. Fucking country music. I might be white trash, but I’m headbanger white trash, not gun racks and cowboy boots white trash.
Four bars on the list. Four shitholes known for their back rooms where the real action happens, where guys like Randal Voss would feel right at home. With Beckett traveling with the team, I’ve got time to hunt properly. The Last Ace is first. Alexei described it as “a place where hope goes to die, but bets go to thrive.” Said like he was impressed with hispoetry.
