Page 22 of Scrum Heat

“Don’t forget the camera!” Theo calls after me as I stomp toward the door. “And maybe some salt. For the thirst trap!”

“I willend you,” I shout back, my voice muffled by the hallway.

Behind me, Rory growls low and sharp. “Shut it, Theo.”

There’s a beat.

Then Theo again, far too smug:

“Just saying. If anyone’s going to imprint on her, it’ll be me.”

I head upstairs and slam the door to my new room for dramatic emphasis.

God help me—this is only day one.

Chapter Seven

Theo

People think being an alpha is all brooding dominance and responsibility.

Not me.

I’m here forchaos.

Thighs out, charm on, scent spiking slightly inappropriate levels of pheromone-based distress. I like to make people laugh, squirm, blush—or ideally, all three.

Which is why I’m currently glistening (not sweating,glistening) in the early morning sun and about to charm an omega into unconsciousness,again.

See, there are a few moments in life that stick with a man.

Your first kiss.

Your first try at knotting.

And the exact second you lay eyes on an omega in dark yoga pants and a cropped pink t-shirt that saysBE KINDwhile clearly trying to commit war crimes with her tits.

Look, in my defense: she’sreallycute. Warm blond hair, perfect curves, and these big dark eyes that go wide every time I so much as flex near her. Her shirt clings to her chest like a love letter to every hormone I’ve ever had, and her legs looks like they’ve been fuckingpaintedinto those yoga pants.

She’s standing at the side of the pitch, fiddling with her phone and a tripod and muttering under her breath about lighting angles—

And I amabsolutelygoing to flirt my way into a scent-triggered spiral and a government-mandated omega safety warning today.

“Need a hand, sweetheart?” I say as I approach.

She looks up from her phone, andbam, there it is—that same look she gave me in the hallway of the training facility. The one right before she dropped to the floor.

This time, she manages to stay upright.Progress.

“Oh god,” she groans. “Youagain.”

“That’s right: only the alpha who’s in all of your dreams.”

I stretch casually against one of the side railings as my training shirt pulls tight across my chest and my thighs do truly unspeakable things to the fabric of my compression shorts. I know full well what I’m doing as I adjust my grip, causing my biceps to flex, my abs on tasteful display through the shirt’s thin material.

“You ready for the shoot?” she says, trying for professional, adjusting her little pink tee like it might protect her.

We both know it won’t.

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