Page 14 of Sweet Heat

“Hummm. That’s an interesting offer. I think I might be more of an automatic girl, though,” I joke, and Emma snorts.

“Awww. I promise my stick’s not too complicated. I’m a real good teacher,” he jokes, wiggling his eyebrows. Without my sense of smell, it’s nearly impossible to tell if he’s an Alpha, and his size is just a bit larger than average. The flirty behavior throws me off, but it’s also nice to be noticed.

“And do you have a big stick, cutie?” Emma chimes in, goading him. He flicks his eyes down her body, grin widening.

“Huge. Big enough to satisfy all three of you.” His boastful promise meets with a thick rumble of laughter from inside his booth and a hand comes out of nowhere and pops him on the back of the head. “Ouch, asshole! Don’t make me look stupid in front of the pretty ladies.”

“You’re already doing that all on your own,” another deep voice jokes before the booth shakes again.

Another friendly face pops over the top with a toothy grin. This one has short black hair, dark flashing eyes, and rough stubble that only adds to his attractiveness. The new addition runs his eyes over our little group before settling on me. The heat in his gaze becomes obvious, blatant, and I recoil.

It’s always the same—any time a male shows interest in me, my body shuts it down— like it knows this man isn’t the right one for us. The stupid anosmia makes it hard for me to figure out if someone is potentially compatible, and more importantly, it’s nearly impossible to determine if their motives are pure.

A scentless omega in a scented world.

“Please excuse my idiotic best friend, Wyatt. He has a severe case of foolitis. I’m Alex, and my dad owns a local driving school…”

Chapter Eight

Tapping my leg, I sit across the desk from my coach and the team’s PR manager while they both frown. No one has said a word yet, and so the stare-down continues. I’m honestly not sure if they called me in about climbing into the stands or the videos of the bar fight—but either way, I regret nothing.

Coach sighs, the first to break this little standoff.

“What the hell am I supposed to do, Miller?” he bitches, and it takes everything in me not to roll my eyes toward the heavens. Instead, I glare straight ahead, watching the clock tick on the wall. “The best catcher in the league. Now you’re acting like a loose cannon.”

Nothing loose aboutmy cannon.

“We’re going to need you to issue a statement,” the PR guy chimes in, wiping his hands on his pants leg and leaving a sweaty trail. “An apology.”

They wait expectantly while I process the request while the PR guy’s breathing gets heavier and heavier. My pants stick to my sweaty legs, irritating me further. The PR manager’s light beta scent is turning with fear, and I seriously don’t get the reaction. What the fuck is he afraid of?

“An apology for what?” I ask, my voice low and menacing.

“F-f-for beating up a fan. We can’t have people afraid the Alphas on the team will jump into the stands and maul them. It’s not good for business.” The PR guy’s stammering explanation only makes me frown harder. It’s not like I did this on a whim. I did it to protect my omega. Myunclaimedomega.

My hands pause their tapping and pull into fists. As she’s getting older, it’s becoming harder to control my instincts.

“Ifanyoneis rude to Posie Moore, they’re going to face the consequences. End of story,” I reply gruffly, getting to my feet. I’m not going to sit here and get reprimanded. Fuck this.

“You beat a man unconscious, Miller,” Coach snaps, standing toe-to-toe with me. “That goes against every morality clause in your contract. And this isn’t the first time you’ve let your anger get away from you.”

“Understood. But I’m not sorry, and I won’t say so publicly.” Calm, cool, collected—I maintain my composure and stop myself from shoving past him.

“I could suspend you for this,” he threatens, but it’s all bluster.

“Are you?” I ask, staring him down, although I can see the answer in his eyes. He’s already been told he can’t—Willie always protects his boys.

“Fuck. No. But Miller, if it happens again, we’re going to have a problem,” my coach says, but he’s talking to my back. My feet thunk against the floor as I make my way toward the clubhouse. Practice was grueling. I’m hot, sweaty, and tired as fuck. There’s no more damn time to waste. It’s been hours since I’ve gotten to check Posie’s location or see if she texted me back.

My skin’s too tight, the need to check in like an itch that can’t be scratched and I’m so close to losing it I nearly rip the door off its hinges to get into the locker room. A beast prowls beneath my skin; ferocious, needy, and begging for release.

Eyes bore holes in my back, but I ignore them—intent on one thing. That blinking blue dot. My heart pounds as I feel around in my bag for my phone, thankful when the cool metal slides against my palm.

I fish it out and tap in my pin before logging into the locator app. Pain splits my jaw as my teeth grind, waiting for it to load. Come on.Come on…

Finally, the app pops up. She’s home. Thank goodness.

My heart returns to its normal rhythm. There’s a red bubble over my messenger app. That’s not unusual, but something in my gut already knows it’s from her—and I’m not going to like it.

---