Page 133 of Roulette Rodeo
"That's my foot!" Corwin yelps.
"Both of you are slow as shit!" Shiloh growls.
We explode out onto the street in a tangle of limbs, probably looking absolutely ridiculous to anyone watching. But all I can focus on is Red, already halfway to where we hitched the horses, her laughter echoing off the storefronts.
She's running in those boots we found for her, the ones that actually fit, her hair streaming behind her like a banner. The late afternoon sun catches the red in it, turning it to flame. She looks back once, catches us basically wrestling each other to get ahead, and laughs even harder.
"Cheaters!" she calls out. "You're supposed to run, not fight!"
But we're alphas, and everything's a fight when the prize is worth it.
I break free first, my underground fighting experience finally good for something besides bar brawls. My longer legs eat up the distance, boots slapping against the packed dirt of Main Street.
"Not fair!" Corwin protests from behind me. "You've got like six inches on me!"
"Life's not fair!" I call back, but then Shiloh's passing me on the right, that military training making him efficient even in a foot race.
Red's almost at the horses now, Luna and the others looking up with mild interest at all the commotion. She spins around, walking backward, watching us with glee.
"Come on, slowpokes! My grandmother could move faster than?—"
She trips.
Of course she does, walking backward in boots she's not used to. But instead of falling, she turns it into some kind of gymnastic roll that would be impressive if it wasn't so fucking adorable. She pops back up, dirt on her cream blouse, hat askew, grinning like a maniac.
Shiloh reaches her first by maybe half a second. I'm right behind him, with Corwin bringing up the rear but not by much. We're all breathing hard, probably looking absolutely ridiculous—three grown alphas who just sprinted down Main Street like kids racing for the last piece of candy.
"I win," Shiloh pants.
"Bullshit," I argue. "I was right there?—"
"Boys," Red interrupts, and we all turn to look at her. She's standing there with her hands on her hips, dirt smudged on her cheek, looking absolutely delighted with herself. "You all lost."
"What?" we say in unison.
She points to Luna, where Duke—the dog, not the restaurant owner—sits in the saddle, tail wagging proudly.
"Duke got here first, which means you guys are all disqualified in getting my speciality whipped cream, aka the one in the fridge you guys used on the pancakes this morning" she announces. "So technically, he gets first dibs."
The dog barks, like he knows exactly what's going on and approves of this chaos.
She was taunting us this whole time when she was referring to the whip cream…in the fridge.
It’s both realistic and yet the most prosperous shit they’ve heard, especially when they’re just a bunch of horny Alphas smitten for this new Omega in their lives that seem to light up their world.
We all stare for a moment, then Shiloh starts laughing.
Real, genuine laughter that transforms his whole face. Then Corwin joins in, and I can't help myself either.
"You hustled us," I accuse, but I'm grinning.
"I don't know what you mean," she says innocently, but her eyes are sparkling with mischief. "I just said first one to the horses. Never specified it had to be human."
From behind us, Rafe's voice carries on the wind.
"Are you fucking kidding me?"
We turn to see him standing in the diner doorway, looking absolutely disgusted with our antics. But there's something else there too—a crack in his cold facade, like maybe he wishes he'd run too.
