Page 51 of Knot Sharing the Ice

As Mom pulls out the dreaded photo album, I feel a warm hand squeeze my knee under the table. I look up to find Carter watching me with soft eyes.

"You okay?" he mouths.

I nod, some of my tension easing. It's hard to stay annoyed when he looks at me like that.

"Oh my god," Jayce's voice pulls my attention back to the album. "Is that Ember in a chicken costume?"

"Spring pageant, third grade," Dad supplies helpfully. "She was supposed to be a swan, but there was a mix-up with the costumes."

"I worked it," I say defensively. "That chicken hadgrace."

The laughter that follows is warm and genuine, and I find myself relaxing despite myself. This isn't so bad. My family loves them, and the guys are being perfect gentlemen.

Well, mostly.

The conversation drifts to safer topics—the guys' hockey careers, which Dad knows unsurprisingly little about. My upcoming competition, which Mom knows every detail of. And Taylor's new bakery, which has Mason practically salivating.

I start to relax again, letting the warm atmosphere and good food work their magic.

This is nice.

Normal.

Almost like we're just a regular group of family and friends having dinner and I'm not an omega who got railed to the brink of splitting open on the four guest alphas' cocks.

"So, tell me more about playing for the Reapers," Taylor says, leaning forward with interest as if she can read my mind. "You guys have been crushing the Wolves this season."

Adder grins. "The chemistry on the ice just clicks."

"Chemistry is important," Taylor says with a pointed look at me that makes me want to crawl under the table. "Though I have to admit, I was shocked when I realized who you all were. The way Em talks about hockey, you'd think it was just guys smashing into each other on ice."

"That's exactly what it is," I mutter into my wine glass, my cheeks heating up at her candidness. I should probably tell her I've evolved a bit on that, but at the same time, suddenly gushing about hockey woulddefinitelyget some unwanted attention.

"Hey now," Mason protests good-naturedly, rescuing me. "There's strategy involved. Finesse, even."

The guys laugh, but I notice the way their eyes light up. They're in their element now, talking about the sport they love. It's... kind of endearing, actually.

"It's more than that," Adder says, his voice taking on that authoritative tone he uses on the ice. "Each player has a specific role, and we have to work together seamlessly. Like a well-oiled machine."

"Or a pack," Jayce adds with a wink in my direction.

I feel my cheeks heat up and kick him under the table again. Subtlety is clearly not his strong suit.

"That's fascinating," Dad says, and I'm surprised to hear genuine interest in his voice. "So it's almost like a chess game on ice?"

Mason grins. "Exactly. Except the pieces are two-hundred-pound men on skates moving at twenty miles an hour."

"And the pawns are your teeth," I mutter, but I can't keep the smile off my face.

But the truth is, listening to them talk about hockey with such passion is... doing things to me. I've always been attracted to drive, to ambition. It's part of what drew me to figure skating in the first place.

And seeing that same fire in their eyes as they discuss plays and strategies...

Well, let's just say it's a good thing the table cloth is hiding the way my thighs are pressed together.

"What about you, Ember?" Carter asks, his dark eyes finding mine across the table. "What's your favorite part of figure skating?"

The question catches me off guard. I'm used to people asking about the technical aspects, about scoring and competitions. But the way Carter phrases it, like he genuinely wants to know what I love about it...

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