Arlo’s grin turns wicked. “Busted.”
I laugh, the sound shaky with relief and nerves, and wave goodbye to the others as they cheer and whistle. “You guys are the worst. Thank you.”
Arlo keeps one arm around my waist, even as I shove everything in my bag and head downstairs. The second we step into the parking lot, I see Fox leaning against the car, arms crossed, looking equal parts worried and determined.
I walk straight up to him. “Seriously?”
Fox shrugs, pulls me against his chest, and kisses me, one hand sliding up to cup my cheek. His cock hardens against my belly almost immediately.
“None of that out here,” I mumble against his mouth, even as I melt into him. “I let you knot me in the locker room, but this is too public.”
Arlo opens the back passenger door with a dramatic flourish. “Noted. We need to get back to the dorm then so we can knot you properly.”
I smack his chest. “You’re both ridiculous. No knotting. We need to figure out what Fox is wearing tomorrow.”
Fox huffs a quiet laugh, lips brushing my temple. “I thought you were going to win me. What does it matter?”
“So?” I say, climbing into the car. “That doesn’t mean you can’t look good. They can look, but they can’t have you. Drive! I need to look at your closet.”
Arlo slides into the driver’s seat, still laughing. “Well, I think I like this version of our Omega. Fox doesn’t get bossed around much, baby.”
Fox settles into the backseat and pulls me halfway into his lap, hand on my thigh. “Keep talking like that, and I might let you boss me around more often.”
I lean back against his chest, heart full and nerves finally settling as the car pulls away.
Tomorrow I’m winning my Alpha.
And after that?
We’re figuring out forever.
arlo
Theauctionhallispacked and buzzing with the kind of chaotic energy that only Knotlocke can pull off. Lights are draped from the rafters, gold and white tablecloths cover every surface, and the scent of too many Alphas, Omegas, and Betas all crammed together in one room makes my nose twitch. But none of that matters right now.
All I can focus on is Parker. She’s sitting beside me in the third row, white-knuckling her bidding paddle like it’s the only thing keeping her grounded. Her scent is a storm of peach and warm vanilla spiked with sharp, nervous citrus that keeps peaking every few seconds. I slide my arm around her shoulders and press a kiss to her temple, trying to steady her.
“You’ve got this, baby,” I murmur against her hair. “We’ve got this.”
She nods, but her grip on the paddle doesn’t loosen. We pooled everything we could scrape together, $5,500 between herbit, my savings, and a few desperate favors from classmates. It’s going to a good cause. The team needs that money. But right now, the only thing that matters is winning Fox.
Behind the stage curtain, I know he’s wearing the dark gray pinstripe suit I bought him two years ago for some formal event he never ended up attending. Parker spent all last night making him try on every single suit he owns, then every tie, until she found the perfect combination. She stood there in nothing but one of my shirts, adjusting his collar and smoothing the lapels like it was the most important decision of her life.
He looked hot as fuck in it. I’ve been half-hard all day just thinking about peeling that suit off him later. Or watching Parker do it. Preferably both.
The lights dim, and the announcer steps up to the podium. “And now, one of our most requested Alphas of the night… Fox Martinez, catcher for the Knotlocke baseball team!”
The curtain parts and Fox steps out under the spotlight, the entire room seeming to inhale at once. The dark gray pinstripe fits him like it was made for him, tailored shoulders, crisp lines hugging his broad chest, and those long legs. The white shirt underneath is open at the collar just enough to show a hint of the matching tattoo on his left pec. His hair is styled back, tattoos peeking from his cuffs. He looks dangerous. Untouchable. Mine.Ours.
Parker makes a soft, wounded sound beside me. Her scent explodes so thick it cuts through the entire hall. I tighten my arm around her, pride and possessiveness slamming into me so hard I have to breathe through it.
Fox’s eyes find us immediately in the crowd. His gaze locks on Parker, softens for half a second, then hardens again with that quiet intensity he only ever shows us. He stands tall, hands clasped in front of him, the picture of controlled power.
Bidding starts at five hundred.
Paddles shoot up everywhere.
It climbs fast, eight hundred, twelve hundred, then fifteen hundred. Parker’s paddle is up every single time, her arm steady even though I can feel her trembling against me. We hit three thousand. Then four. My stomach twists. We only have fifty-five hundred total. This is going to be close.
