Page 10 of Cleat Heat

My mind stutters, trying to make sense of the incoming text message, but no explanation is forthcoming.

Who is this?

Who calls me little flier?

The message makes no sense, but I open it anyway, surprised to see that it’s actually one in a long chain of texts with a few different numbers.

A group message?

Unknown

I know this is weird, but we got your number from Tam. This is Ty. The other two numbers on here are Dash and Fox.

Unknown 2

Fox here! Hey, little flier.

Unknown 3

Dash

Pausing my perusal, I quickly save their numbers to make it easier to see what each is saying. Also—what the hell, Dash? Not even a hello? Freaking surly-ass Alpha.

Ty

We know this is out of the blue, but it seemed like there might be a bit of a connection today. We want to take you out on a date.

Fox

He means if you want to. The choice is yours.

Ty

But like also, give us a shot because you smell delicious, and I might die if you say no.

Fox

Ignore him. Even if you don’t say yes, please just let us know you got home safe, little flier.

Giggling at their silly banter, I feel lighter than I have since getting home. My pussy is still needy as hell, and slick seeps between my legs, coating my thighs in sticky arousal, but I’m suddenly not so afraid.

My fingers hesitate on the keys, wanting to beg them to come over. Yearning to ask them for help with this spike… or get me through my heat—but it’s too soon. I can’t.

Right?

The thought of them in my nest, their scents surrounding me as they devour my body, makes me moan. Yes. That’s what we want, my inner omega purrs. But I can’t give in to my instincts. These men are still a mystery to me. Not to mention, all Alphas are control freaks. They can be mean, harsh, and punishing. No, better to use Mr. Sparkles and some painkillers.

Thoroughly chastened, I simply reply:

Me

I’m home. I’m safe. And I’m not ready… but I’ll think about it.

Three bubbles instantly pop up next to Ty’s name, and my heart soars, looking forward to what he has to say, but before his response appears, the face of my ex dominates the screen.

Dread twists my stomach, and bile threatens my throat. Do I answer? If I don’t, Marcel will just call again, and again, and again. Asshole. Breathing deeply, I clear my throat and answer.

“Hello, Marcel.” My voice sounds strained, even to my own ears, and he picks up on it at once.

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