Page 67 of Scrum Heat

It’s not the plan.

But still, the heart—and body—wants what it wants, and I want all of them. Which feels…greedy.

I’ve met people in packs before. Old classmates, a couple at college who had the whole shared-nesting-and-collective-Instagram vibe down. But I never asked them how it worked, never asked the questions I need answers to now.

Like, how do you know when it’s right? How do you figure out the dynamics?

Does someone make the call? Is it instinct? Agency? A group text?

How do you know if you’re a scent match for one, or more, or all?

And what if youare?

Do you tell them? Do they want to know?

Do they wantyou?

The idea of asking makes my throat tighten. I’m not even officially bonded—hell, I’ve spent most of my teenage years and adult life pretending I’m not even an omega, if I can help it.

Now look at me—living in a house with four alphas who smell like mine, making content about them, and wanting them.

Allof them.

And I have no idea what happens next.

I shut my laptop and press my palms into my eyes until I see stars, then I open a new note on my phone that I title asAway Day Filming Plan.

I start typing.

Because if I’m not brave enough to ask the questions yet…

At least I can make sure I get the footage.

*

I’m halfway through syncing subtitles on the pre-match video when Harper sticks her head into my office.

“Lunch?” she asks, already holding her keys.

I glance at the Tupperware on my desk.

Sad pasta. No garlic, and absolutely no joy.

“I brought food,” I start to say. Then I think about the fact I’ve been in this office all morning squinting at font sizes and accidentally seeing another hate comment I promised myself I wouldn’t read. “You know what?Screw it. Let’s go.”

Harper beams.

We end up at a little café just off the high street that has tiny tables, mismatched chairs, and a whole lost-in-Wonderland aesthetic going on. I haven’t been here before, which I say out loud just before the grilled cheese arrives and changes my life.

Harper looks smug. “What can I say? I’ve lived in Alderbridge all my life. I know all the good spots.”

I don’t say that the boys have said the exact same thing. Apparently everyone in this town thinks they invented hospitality and carbs.

Still—she’s not wrong. The place is cute and cozy. The table wobbles just enough to be charming, and the lady behind the counter gave us extra chips because “you both look like you’re working hard.”

And honestly? It’s kind of a relief.

Not being surrounded by protein shakes. Not being stared down by four testosterone-heavy alphas in various states of compression short-related chaos. I love the job—obviously—but being the only woman in a house full of enormous, confusingly magnetic men is… a lot.

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