Page 15 of Sweet Heat

Posie

Thanks for the offer, but I’m good. I signed up for drivingschool.

Oh. Hell. No.

That’s definitely not happening, but I’ll figure it out. I toss my phone back in the bag with a thump, then grab my shower shit on the way to our team’s private bathroom.

“Damn, that took you a while,” Damien says, leaving the steam filled room with a towel slung around his waist. “We’re just about finished cleaning up. Wanna grab dinner?”

Shifting back and forth, I mull over the offer. With Posie safely behind her parents’ locked doors, I don’t have anything better to do with my evening besides jerk off, thinking about Posie. And I can do that after food. My stomach rumbles loud enough to make Damien chuckle, and he raises an eyebrow in question.

“Count me in. But pick somewhere good. I’ll be quick.” The shower is calling my name, so I head that way, ready to get out of my sweaty, itchy post-practice clothes. I pass the other members of Pack Moore on my way, but we don’t stop to chat. There’ll be plenty of time for that over dinner.

“Burger time!” Crimson chants, acting worse than the toddler throwing Cheerios on the floor two booths over from us. We’ve already fed the big lug multiple appetizers, and he’s still starving. To be fair, so am I—today’s practice was a bitch, but I can still comport myself like an adult. Even if internally, I’m also throwing a tiny tantrum.

“So, what did they threaten you with?” Owen asks, slurping his soda straw. “They told us if we have any more media fiascos we need to do community service.”

“They wanted me to issue a public apology to the fans,” I tell them with a roll of my eyes.

“I say we do community service at an animal shelter. Omegas love dogs. And my knot loves omegas.” Crimson does a happy dance as our food arrives, giving our waitress a big grin and a thank you. He bites into his burger without any decorum, laughing as the ketchup oozes out the sides.

“So, what did you say?” Damien wonders aloud, throwing a napkin at his packmate.

“Told them I wasn’t sorry, so I wouldn’t be apologizing for shit. Then I walked out.” I take a big bite of my burger with an appreciative groan, my stomach finally chilling the hell out.

Owen barks out a laugh, slapping my shoulder. “Wish I had said that. We just said protecting our family comes first and left it at that. I don’t like the way those assholes thought they could touch my sister.”

Crimson and I both snarl, in full agreement.

“No one touches little sis and lives,” he says, and they all nod.

She’s not a little sis to me.

“Speaking of crazy. Do you think we should offer for her to come live with us?” Damien glances between the three of us. I have no idea why he includes me in the question since we don’t live together. We both inhabit the same apartment building, just a few floors apart. Pack Moore has a fairly large four-bedroom penthouse, while I have a smaller two-bedroom to myself.

“We don’t have the space…” Owen begins, trailing off and staring into nothingness as though mentally reconfiguring their apartment. The moment is filled with tension, and I wonder if they’re waiting to see if I’ll offer. And if it’s a trap or genuine hope.Do they know?

Damien watches me like a hawk as I chew ever so slowly, considering my options.

With seven years between us, Owen has always made it clear that Posie is off-limits to everyone. Between the two of us—and now his pack—we’ve gone out of our way to scare off any little shit who showed interest. She’s been relegated to protected status, and I’ve been completely on board with keeping her untouched.

But it can’t be that way forever. Itwon’tbe that way forever.

The phone buzzing saves my ass. With a muttered curse, Owen reaches for it, but not before I see the screen light up with his mother’s picture. He raises his finger to indicate that he needs a minute before heading toward the doors of the busy restaurant to take the call outside.

The food suddenly tastes like ash in my mouth as worry builds inside me. Why is his mom calling? What if something’s wrong with Posie?

Not bothering to be discreet, I pull out my phone and log into the tracker app. The little blue dot still blinks just where it was before, and I take a few deep breaths through my nose.

She’s fine. She’s fine.

I quickly close it before anyone can see, wiping my now-sweating palms on my legs.

“We’re heading out next weekend to help Jazzy through her heat. Wanna join?” Damien asks, dipping a fry into some ranch dressing before tossing it into his mouth.

Digging, you shit?

Crimson continues to eat, completely unbothered—but then again, Damien’s always been the second smartest member of Pack Moore. I need to be more careful around him.

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