Page 8 of Scrum Heat

Ha.Too late for that.

I’ve somehow accidentally moved in with four ridiculously hot alphas, and my grip on dignity is now hanging by a thread.

Evie leaves the room, and as I stare at the four alphas arguing over who gets to carry my tote bag, I have one clear, spiralling thought:

I am not surviving this.

Chapter Three

Frankie

There are few things more terrifying than being escorted to a stranger’s house by four muscled men who look like they were built in a government lab with a creatine drip and commitment issues.

But what’sworseis realizing their house smells like musk, pine,and testosterone.

I hesitate on the doorstep, taking my time since my fight-or-flight response has apparently defaulted to flirt-and-faint.

“Make yourself comfortable!” Finn beams, stepping fully inside.

Right.Comfortable. The perfect word to describe an omega in a house full of alphas, saturated in pheromones and primal tension.

Rory remains behind me as Jax and Theo step inside after Finn, and the scent that hits me as they pass is enough to make my knees buckle. I’m pretty certain this isn’ta heat, but I'm also concerned that the warmth rolling through me might've actually triggered early ovulation.

“Where should I put my things?” I croak.

“Anywhere,” Finn says brightly. “Or—wait—let me help! I’ll carry it! Ilovebags!”

Finn hurries to take my things, and Theo smirks at me as he stretches his arms from the center of the living room.

“You okay there, sweetheart?”

No, I amnotokay. In fact, I am one scented hoodie away from climbing someone and screamingclaim me, Daddy Protein.

“Totally fine,” I lie—

Right as I trip over the doormat on my way inside.

I stumble into the living room, and three things hit me.

One: The smell.

Two: The clutter.

Three: The painting.

Above the fireplace, there’s an oil portrait of a shirtless Rory, painted like a Renaissance war general about to lead an assault on your virtue.

I stare. I cannotnotstare.

“Team Christmas shoot,” Theo says casually, following my gaze. “Coach burned the final edit.”

I tear my eyes away and scan the rest of the room.

“Tell me that’s not food,” I say, pointing at what appears to be a raw steak.

Theo shrugs. “It’s meal prep.”

“It’son the radiator.”

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