Page 1 of Sweet Heat

Chapter One

“Oh please, you’re just here to check out their butts,” Mari jokes with a cheeky grin, tossing a strand of her pink-tipped hair over her shoulder.

“If they didn’t want me looking, they wouldn’t wear such tight pants,” Emma agrees with a wink.

“Hush. One of those butts belongs to my brother,” I laugh as we make our way through the throngs of people buying snacks before the baseball game. A sea of navy-blue and gray-clad fans hustle about, carrying loads of food and every type of memorabilia imaginable. Children scurry after their parents, waving foam fingers and shaking bobbleheads. It’s pure mayhem, and I love it. My heart does a happy little shuffle while I sniff theair, trying to catch even the faintest whiff of all my favorites, but sadly, nothing.Sigh.

The big gray entrance for our seating section looms ahead, and I grab my girls’ hands, weaving confidently through the crowd until we reach the usher.

The familiar older beta frowns when his eyes flick between me, Mari, and Emma. Since my big brother and his pack play for the team, I’m here frequently—sometimes with friends, sometimes with my family.

“Perhaps we could strive for some decorum today, ladies?” My face flushes bright red at the implication. Yes, occasionally we get a little excited. But this stadium is my home turf. Before my brother played here, my dad was a hall-of-fame pitcher for the Feral Feckers. I practically grew up here, and although, as co-owner, my dad has a luxury box, my parent’s original season seats behind the dugout are my favorite place to be. There’s nothing like the roar of the crowd and the sun on your face. Real baseball happens here.

He steps aside, tracking us with a glower—insufferable old twit.My lips tug down, and I frown right back and narrow my eyes with a huff.

Refusing to give him another moment of my time, I turn and saunter toward our cushy seats.

The team is already out on the lush green field, practicing. A shaft of sunlight peeks through the cloud cover to illuminate home plate, drawing my eyes to the thick thighs of the catcher. He stretches on the dirt, squatting up and down rhythmically. His powerful legs clench with every movement, and my heartpounds. Vivid images of him under me flit through my mind, and slick trickles from my core. Heat flushes my skin.

“Earth to Posie,” Mari cackles, grabbing my hand and pulling me into my seat. “Like something you see?”

“More likesomeone,” Emma replies, wiggling her brows. She scoots in behind me, dumping her enormous tote bag on the ground. “But the question remains: Who has caught our fair omegas eye?”

My beautiful beta bestie flicks a long strand of curly black hair over her shoulder, making a show of bringing a purple-polished nail to her lips. She taps three times as though deep in thought as her eyes peruse the veritable hottie buffet stretching for our viewing pleasure on the field.

“Hummmm, well, it can’t be any of the fine man-meat of Pack Moore,” she teases as I gag at the thought. The younger Pack Moore consists of my brother, Owen, and three of his closest friends. Owen, Damien, and Crimson all play for the team. Their final pack member, Niko, is an infamous sneaker designer with no appreciation for baseball.Go figure.

“Please never say man-meat again.” I make a pretend retching sound, which has her rolling her eyes, but they quickly return to scanning the players. They flit from uniform to uniform, getting ever closer to the object of my desire. The stadium squeezes in on me. My heart pounds. Emma always knows when I’m lying. But this is a truth I’m not ready to face.Time to divert her attention.

But how?

Sensing my growing anxiety, Mari leans around me, poking Emma in the ribs. Her messy pink locks tumble across her face, but she brushes them back carefully, ensuring that her crescentbirthmark remains hidden. Mari hasn’t perfumed yet, so for now, she’s an omega potential—but that doesn’t stop people from assuming. “Snacks?” she asks, pointing toward the man carrying a tray down the stairs.

At the mention of food, Emma whirls around, and her hands immediately drop to her stomach. The woman eats like an Alpha, always starving. If I didn’t love her so much, I would hate her for being able to gobble down all the goodies and still look like a runway model.

“Wieners. Get your wieners here,” the man shouts, walking our way. As he gets closer, a fit of immature giggles bubbles in my throat. Our eyes meet, and all three of us crack up. It’s like we’ve been smacked by the silly stick. As college seniors, we should all be well past the juvenile ‘dick jokes are funny’ stage, but clearly we aren’t. The laughter rolls through us all, building until tears leak from my eyes and I pitch forward, trying to catch my breath.

My long brown braid swings forward along my shoulders, allowing the crescent on the nape of my neck to see the light of day. As soon as it appears, the sensation of eyes from behind makes me snap back up. A shiver works through me, and I cover the mark before peering around. No one seems to be staring, but the feeling remains.

Being an omega isn’t something I advertise. I love my designation, but the idea of dating is too overwhelming. Vulnerable. And I hate being vulnerable.

“Definitely don’t want that guy’shot dog,” Emma jokes with a lusty sigh. She wiggles her eyebrows, turning back toward the team on the field. “I think we all want somethingsweeter.”

“Oh, I brought loads of candy.” I reach for my bag, purposely ignoring her innuendo as I haul it onto my lap and begin pulling out gummy candies, trail mix, and enough sweets to put us all in a sugar coma.

“Damn, Posie. Did you clear out the entire store?” Mari teases, reaching out to grab a handful of licorice bits and tossing them into her mouth.

The girls needle me gently, but there’s love entwined in it. We settle in, ready to relax and giggle our way through the game. My gaze drifts back to Miller Phillips. The team’s catcher, my brother’s lifelong best friend, and the Alpha who blames me for his parents’ death…

The sun breaks through the puffy white cloud cover, dancing across his face, stealing my breath. Rugged, handsome, and chiseled; the man has muscles for days.

Too bad he’s an asshole…but he didn’t use to be.

A gust of wind ripples through the stadium, ruffling the grass and cooling my rapidly heating skin. My nostrils flare, trying to catch all the scents in the air. But it’s a reflex, not my reality, and I shove down the spike of disappointment when I smell nothing.

An omega with no sense of smell. What good am I?

The bag of gummy peach rings crinkles when I tear it open, venting my frustration on the packaging, and the force of the tear causes them to go flying.

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