Page 74 of Just Wait

“On the way over, I worried we might be going bowling based on the clues Malcolm gave me. If I knew then what I know now…” I chuckle, stepping up beside my ball and bending my knees, like Malcolm and Riser showed me. “I would have at least had a chance if we’d gone bowling.”

Some random guys behind me laugh obnoxiously, and I don’t even get to take my swing.

Kincaid slides up behind me, leaning around my back and framing my arms with his. “You were close to flashing them your ass.”

“I knew I should have worn jeans,” I mutter.

“Nah, you’re dressed perfectly for where we’re going next,” he says, his warm breath fanning down my neck and making my heart race. “I’ll just stick with you and make sure you’re covered when it’s your turn.”

His hazelnut scent hits my system, and I once again have the urge to bury my face in his chest.

The fact he’s literally wrapped around me doesn’t help me keep my composure, and my shot goes so wild that it jumps the small barrier and lands in the decorative pond.

“Shit,” I grumble, stomping my foot. “Well, it’s official. I suck at mini golf.”

Not only did I embarrass myself in front of one of the hottest guys I’ve ever seen, I also managed to grind my ass against his jeans while swinging my club.

“Yeah, me too,” Kincaid says, finally releasing me. “Come on. Let’s check things out inside. I’ll buy you some fries or nachos while we wait for Riser and Mal.”

I nod, licking my lips as I turn to face him.

I love it when he takes control, and I can just give in and follow instructions. With Theo, I was the one making plans and forcing us to stick with them. It got overwhelming, but I knew he wouldn’t do it, so I stepped up and handled things. It’s nice to be on the other side for a change.

It’s much cooler inside, and I’m grateful that I brought a sweater.

Kincaid buys a bucket of tokens that I assume must be for the whole group, unless he plans to stay until this place closes. He also treats us to snacks and sodas before leading me to one of the booths near the arcade games.

We get settled in, and I barely pick at the fries and nachos.

My Dr Pepper is crisp and delightful against my taste buds, but I’m more focused on Kincaid’s hazelnut scent. Every time I pick it up, it seems to hit me with more force.

As a beta, my life has never revolved around compatible scents the way it would for alphas and omegas. It’s a strange development, and I have no idea what it means.

Kincaid manspreads on the curved booth, similar to how he sat in the limo. There’s more than enough space on the bench seat, meaning I could scoot away a bit. However, he has his arm slung over the back of the booth. It’s not like he’s surrounding me, but it also kinda feels like he is.

I cross my leg over the other to keep myself from bouncing in my seat, but it doesn’t do much to settle my frazzled nerves, and I uncross them just as quickly.

Being around Riser is calming. His scent is like a natural sedative.

When I’m close to Malcolm, he helps me relax and lighten up with a well-timed joke. He’s goofy and playful, and it’s contagious.

With Kincaid at my side, I almost don’t know what to do with myself. He’s always watching and assessing everything. It makes me feel safe, like if any dangers popped up, he would handle them, but it also leaves me concerned that I’ll do or say the wrong thing and embarrass myself.

Even though I’m not hungry at all, I grab a couple fries, dip them in ketchup, and shove them into my mouth. They’re flavorful and the ketchup helps, but eating was a bad call.

I force myself to chew and swallow, solely because spitting out food would be mortifying.

“So, what did you do in Florida before all of this?” Kincaid asks, leaning toward me.

“I was a bartender.” I make a mad grab for my soda, but my hands are shaking. I bump the cup which nearly goes flying.

“Careful.” Kincaid saves the day with lightning-fast reflexes. His hand gives mine a squeeze, and he pulls it away once he’s sure I’ve got a hold on the plastic cup. “You’re shaky.”

“Nah, I’m good,” I lie, taking a drink of my soda.

Kincaid’s right arm rests around the back of the booth. He saved me from spilling my drink with his left hand, and he brings it under the table, squeezing my bouncing knee.

The warmth of his skin against mine is delicious.