“One of those old bitches thought I was thirty,” Dixon mumbled quietly, as if he was ashamed to say it out loud.
I crossed my arms, staring him down. “Dix, we’re almost twenty-eight. They weren’t far off.”
“I find it particularly offensive,” Mac said calmly in the recliner, thrumming fingers against the chair arms. “I am, in fact, about to turn thirty.”
“Damn, Mac. You know it’s not like that, man. You know cougars get me going, but…shit. Them thinking I was thirty just pissed me off. When did we get so goddamn old? On top of that, the bitches only wanted to fuck with each other. Hags were forty-five at least.” Dixon balled his hands into fists and slammed them against his knees.
I knew what he meant. It felt like just yesterday that Dix and I were running around a country club at fifteen and piecing Oblivion Haze together at twenty. Being close to thirty felt like it should still be a long way off.
“You can’t take things like that personally, Dixon.” Mac shrugged out of the brown seventies style jacket he’d put on after the concert. “Remember what the new therapist said last session? You can’t control what others say or do. You can only control your reaction. For instance, I choose not to be angry that you believe thirty is ancient.”
“Easy for Doctor Thorne to say. That Alpha’s been mated for a decade. Of course he’s at fucking peace.” Dixon cracked his neck and then slammed his back against the sofa.
There it was. The atom bomb.
Not that it was a surprise.
Tray and Mac both looked at me. Brief glances, knee-jerk reactions which absolutely showed they thought I was the Omega mate matchhold up. If I’d let go of my ghost and the ‘one Omega’ idea, then maybe we all would feel free enough to find our ‘right’ partners.
Silence bloomed. Uncomfortable and choking.
After a minute or two, Tray broke the tension by doing a handstand. Well, he tried to. He was far too drunk to be upside down. He got his legs halfway up and then toppled to the carpet with a grunt. In typical Tray fashion, he quickly recovered. Rolling onto his back with a laugh.
“We can’t keep getting tossed out of hotels,” he chuckled. “This damn bus is too small.”
“Tired of cuddling?” Mac crossed his legs elegantly and folded his hands over the higher knee.
“Never.” Tray sat up quickly, face going serious. “If I tire of cuddling, you might as well shoot me. I’m dead already.”
I moved to the second recliner, sitting opposite of Mac. “Didn’t get some cuddles in before the mattress misfortune?”
“We’d barely moved past a couple of shots and first base,” Tray moaned, hopping up off the floor and moving over to the sofa to plop down next to Dixon. He rhythmically patted his hands against his thighs. Seconds later the patting shifted to a full-on drum solo.
“Cut it out,” Dixon shoved his shoulder against Tray, but his tone was halfhearted.
“I’m pent up. Can’t help it.” Tray scooted closer to our riding-the-edge band mate. He suggestively brushed his side up and down Dix’s shoulder. “You can help it though?” He waggled his eyebrows now.
“Asshole,” Dixon grumbled before tossing one muscled arm over Tray’s shoulder and tugging him closer. It was always sour and sweet with Dix, especially in the aftermath of an episode.
I looked at my friends’ faces. We were all bottled up. Maybe they’d been right. Someonewasbetter than nothing. A releasewasbetter than no release. It didn’t have to always be special.
Right here, right now though, it was just us. We’d been in this position before, needful with no girl in sight. Well, girl for me, Dixon, and Mac. Tray was unabashedly open to all. An equal opportunity Alpha with a thing for asses.
“Movie?” I suggested, snagging the remote from the coffee table. I didn’t have to clarify what I meant. None of us were ashamed of satisfying our natural needs.
“Read my fucking mind,” Dixon grunted out, voice betraying his tenuous control.
“I’m game,” Tray bounced a little against the cushion.
Mac simply nodded.
I got up for a brief moment, making quick work of dimming the lights and flicking on the slim faux fireplace beneath the television to set the mood. Tray had insisted on that feature, said it made the bus feel more like our mansion. Flipping on the TV and navigating to the SlickMax App, I hunted down a pack favorite.Puck This Heat.Dixon liked hockey. Tray loved the uniforms and, his words, the guys slamming against each other nonstop. And Mac had a thing for the Omega actress. I only cared that the plot was decent, and the sex R-rated.
The movie opened with the Houston Heatwaves winning against their biggest rival. An enthusiastic Omega news anchor waits nearby for a post-win interview with the game MVPs, who happen to be a bonded Alpha pack. The minute her scent hits the three Alphas, they realize she’s their pack’s fated mate. The debauchery that ensues includes a foursome on the ice atop hockey uniforms, the Omega pegging the Alphas with a glass strap-on, and the Alphas managing to skate nude while, one-by-one, supporting the also naked Omega upside down to receive and give oral.
“Anyone got a Beta on speed dial to be our fluffer? We can do the rest.” Dixon stroked himself, fingers closed around his thick cock.
“That's illegal in the great state of Washington,” Mac deadpanned, eyes trained on the movie. The scene where the Omega shyly undressed in the locker room was playing. He hadn’t pulled his dick out yet, but it was bulging against his pants.
