Page 82 of Sweet Heat

Owen glowers at her, and she glares right back, not giving him an inch. They’ve been giving each other shit the entire game, and it makes me miss the soft, kind presence of Mari all the more. I love Emma to death, but she’s utter crap at soothing a grumpy Alpha. Unfortunately, Mari’s headed to a whole other continent to help take care of her sister. She’s planning to be gone for six months, tops, but something about the whole situation gives me a stomach ache.

I hope she’s all right.

“Fine. Fine. You don’t need my protection. You’re a big, strong, independent omega and all that…” He pulls the baseball hat from his head and crushes it between his hands before shoving it back on his head. I could take his attitude personally, but we’ve been working on his dickish behavior. Raising my eyebrow, I give himthe look.An exasperated sigh floats from him. “Fuck. Sorry. I’m an asshole.”

He’s awful at apologies, but at least he’s learning.

“You forgot to mention, smart and a successful business owner,” I sniff primly before sticking my tongue out so he knows all is forgiven. I’m joking, but it’s also the truth. The professional equipment Miller set up for me has doubled my efficiency, and my jewelry is selling out as fast as I can make it. Custom orders are rolling in, and with graduation just around the corner, I can’t wait to devote myself to my craft full-time.

The delicious scent of nachos reaches my nose, and I marvel at how much more vibrant life is now. Scents are all around me: the field grass, so many foods, Emma’s light perfume—coming to the stadium is totally different. The kind beta server eyes my brother warily as she passes us the snacks.

“Thank you,” I say, nudging my brother in the cast before passing his nachos.

“Ouch. Oh. Right, thanks,” he utters distractedly, piling chip after cheesy chip in his impossibly large mouth. Such a neanderthal.

Emma makes a gagging noise, and I can’t help but laugh. He is the grossest.

“Oh, fuck it all. COME ON, CRIMSON,” Owen shouts, leaning forward, his fight with Emma forgotten. The game has been brutal. Without our star pitcher, wins have been harder to come by. If the Feckers lose this one, all our playoff chances are going to blow right out the window. A win or a tie will keep our season alive. The backup pitcher isn’t any good, and the rest of the team just seems off without Owen’s leadership, which leaves them where we are now.

Losing 1-0 at the bottom of the 9thinning with only two batters left.

Glancing at the stands, Crimson, unflappable as always, smirks and flips off my brother before choking up on the bat and stepping up to the plate. He does a practice swing, making the air whoosh around him while the stadium holds its collective breath. If he gets a home run, we’ll tie, while a single or double would still leave a bit of room for a win. Unfortunately, Miller is the final batter, and it’s not his strength. There’s a good chancethe Feral Feckers are going to lose today, but as die-hard lifelong fans, we never lose hope until it’s over.

The pitcher winds up and sends a curveball sailing past home plate. A swing and a miss for Crimson. Strike one.

“Get it together!” Owen hollers next to me like a maniac.

He winds up again. This time, it’s a fastball that hits Crimson hard on the shoulder. Shit, a walk. Frustrated, Crimson hangs his head and jogs slowly over to first base. Definitely not what we needed.

Now, our only chance hinges on Miller being able to hit at least a double or more—something he rarely does. A loud whistle blows, signaling a timeout, and my Alpha walks over to talk to the head coach.

“This is so bad. Your stupid boyfriend is the worst batter in the history of baseball,” Owen gripes. His nerves make mine worse than ever.

“He’s mymate,” I correct automatically, my eyes never leaving Miller. Like he can feel my gaze, he lifts his head, and our eyes lock together. I send him every ounce of love pulsing down the bond and blow a kiss. The big goof snatches it out of the air and brings his hand to his mouth before shaping his hands like a heart.

“God, you two are so gross. Absolute barf,” Owen grouses.

“Can it, Grumpy Gus,” Emma snaps, narrowing her eyes athim. “If they lose, it’s not the end of the world. And we all know Miller and Posie are adorable. You’re just super jelly your pack hasn’t found their omega.”

It’s a below-the-belt hit, but it packs a big wallop, and Owen growls at her. Emma couldn’t care less, though, relaxing and meeting his eyes with her own show of dominance. She shouldn’t be able to, but my girl stares down my big brother until he’s the one who turns away, leaving me shocked. He never backs down.

The whistle blows, signaling the resumption of the game.

Miller saunters up to the plate in all his pinstriped glory, his ass bunching under the flimsy material. My mouth waters, watching his muscles clench and flex. Even his damn forearms make me needy with desire.

He steps forward, and I can feel what he does. His heart thumps steadily in his chest, and his awareness narrows to the swath of land between him and the pitcher. He can do this; I know it deep in my soul.

The first ball arcs wide, a slider that no one saw coming. Miller misses it by a mile.

Come on, baby.

He shrugs it off and taps the plate a few times with the nose of his bat before taking up his stance once more. Crimson trots a few steps away from first, and the pitcher winds up. My palms get sweaty, and my hands clench so tight that my knuckles turn white.

A nasty curveball breaks to the right. Miller misses. Fuck.

“STRIKE TWO,” the umpire yells, and I want to jump down onto the field and punch him in the nose. Can’t he see Miller’s trying?

Miller glances up at me, and I mouth the words, “I love you.”

---