Page 77 of Chaos At Second Sight

“Sure.” Phone Girl smiled, her red-painted nails clutching an official Dark Diamond purse. “Want some gum?”

Her friend pulled out a compact mirror and added another layer of lipstick.

“Do you know anyone here?” I asked as we climbed the stairs.

“The best players on the team.”

“And our captain,” Lipstick Girl added with a smile that made my jaw twitch. “I heard he found a mate, but nobody believes it.”

“Why not?”

“We think he made her up to keep girls away. No one’s ever seen her.”

“What about after the Comet game?”

“We heard that story. Just some jealous fan.”

“And he isn’t marked,” Phone Girl added. “If he’d found his mate, they’d both be marked by now.”

Soon. My hands balled, then unclenched. Be mature. Don’t let your emotions control you.

Assaulting two innocent women and ending up in jail because my mate was a walking hormone imbalance seemed like a poor return on my parents’ investment in med school.

Logan’s amber scent drifted down the stairwell, soothing me.

“The captain’s really here!” Phone Girl said. “Don’t worry, we’ll introduce you.”

And goodbye calmness.

“Maybe we can all take a picture together!”

We stepped in.

My nose followed his scent until I spotted five guys. It was obvious they were wereball players, all tall, broad, and much rougher than the average werewolf. I wondered if the apartment floor had been reinforced. But my gaze specifically landed on a lycan wearing jeans and a white tank top revealing thick shoulders and tanned arms hard enough to bounce a tennis ball off of.

“These she-wolves’ skulls would bounce just as nicely.” Zelda’s killer instinct hadn’t calmed down after spotting our mate.

Today Logan wasn’t sporting his trademark grin. He looked…restless, checking his phone every two seconds, sighing, running a hand through his unruly blond hair. Beer halfway to his mouth, he stopped, brows drawing together, and sniffed.

A heartbeat later, his head whirled my way.

Phone Girl gasped. “Moon Goddess! He’s looking at us!”

Logan narrowed his eyes at me in accusation, shoved his beer at his friend, and strode toward us. A smile began to tug at his lips, growing into a grin that probably matched my own.

The girls fretted.

“Crap, he’s coming over!”

“Put on deodorant. Quick!”

My smile hitched higher.

Studies showed that the hormonal changes in a woman’s monthly cycle encouraged them to advertise ovulation, urging men to notice. Women didn’t fling poo like hippos or spray urine like cats but they would sometimes wear more revealing clothes, sway their hips, and become more sexually responsive.

My own mate proved that theory wrong.

Because women—humans and werewolves alike—were in permanent heat around Logan.