Page 38 of Altius
The pheromone bombing was strictly confidential, with an added layer of protection by my NDA with Redwing. Alijah didn’t have the appropriate clearance. Even if I could tell him, I probably wouldn’t, if only to spare him unnecessary worry.
Given the reaction of university athletics thus far, it would stay a dirty secret. They wouldn’t talk about it publicly even if they could.
Between a swipe of my ID badge at security and the vendor parking sticker on Owen’s windshield, we secured a decent spot in the staff parking lot. I was already out of the car and walking toward the stadium when Wyatt caught up to me, dangling a guest pass in front of my face.
“Look what I got as a signing bonus. Sideline access for today’s game.”
I gave him a flat stare over the rims of my sunglasses. “Congratulations.”
“Oh, come on!” He rushed two steps ahead, cutting me off and pouting like an idiot. A very handsome idiot. “You couldn’t have figured it out.”
Pausing, I adjusted the strap of my bag, shifting my weight to one foot.
“If you were planning to drop us off, Wyatt, we’d have taken your car and skipped going through security. Furthermore,” I said, looking down, letting myself savor the flex of his muscled thighs within their temporary denim casing, “you’re wearing pants. That set off alarm bells the second I opened my front door.”
With a burst of laughter, Alijah bumped into my side. “Oh, she got you. Guess you really are old friends.”
“Indeed,” Owen murmured as he briskly walked past.
I tried to match his pace, putting several feet between us and the other two.
“It was supposed to be a surprise,” Wyatt grumbled, hurrying to catch up, head down, hands shoved in his coat pockets.
“I’m not sure we should let such a sulky baby hang out with us,” Alijah said, hooking a finger around the strap of my bag and giving it a playful tug. “Should we park him with Owen at the PheroPass tent—or maybe they need another water boy?”
Wyatt pressed closer until our shoulders brushed together with every step. “Not funny.”
“Gentlemen.”
Owen stopped shy of the bronze narwhal statue, a visual reminder that the staff entrance was only a few yards away—which meant a sharp uptick in surveillance.
“To my side, please.” His command left them with no choice but to obey. “Let her focus.”
The usually inscrutable gray of his eyes warmed ever so slightly, allowing a flicker of appreciation to break through—and maybe, just maybe, a hint of approval, too.
***
Whistles pierced through the crowd noise, followed by an eruption of yellow flags. A personal foul on Knox Aarvold—a Garvey acolyte—resulted in a first down for Garroway Forest.
“What the hell are you doing?” Coach Garvey bellowed at Knox, who was too amped up to listen, already running back to center field. “Stop trying to show off. Stay in position andblock, goddamn it—block!”
His unchecked anger prompted me to move further away from the bench, where I’d just finished clearing a player to return to the field after a hard hit.
Whatever possessed the defensive line to charge around like enraged bulls for the entire first quarter had nothing to do with me, so long as they didn’t get hurt.
The whole team was on edge—staff, players, and everyone in between—not only because the Narwhals were losing.
Something was off.
“Hey.” Cal cut through the crowd, wearing an anorak coat over a black turtleneck sweater, holding a tablet in his gloved hand. Given the density of people, no one noticed when he walked right into my personal space. “You all right?”
“Yeah. Just worried someone’s going to get hurt.”
“Me too. Already showed this to Dr. McEwen.” Cal angled the tablet so I could read the real-time alerts, something I couldn’t follow during a game.
For a nauseating moment, I wished he hadn’t.
Spikes—just bomb after bomb—filled the screen. Enough to drive the entire defensive line mad.
