Page 25 of Puck Your Charity

Olive steps out onto the cracked concrete walkway. She wears a pair of faded denim jeans and an oversized gray sweater.Her dark bob looks messy, tucked behind her ears. She looks exhausted. Dark circles shadow her beautiful brown eyes.

She walks down the driveway and heads down the sidewalk. She moves with a stiff, tense posture.

I wait for her to gain some distance before I turn the engine off. I reach into the backseat and grab my duffel bag. Pulling my slacks and cashmere sweater off, I change into a pair of fitted black joggers and a tight, moisture-wicking athletic shirt. The dark fabric highlights my golden skin and broad shoulders. I lace up my running shoes. I keep my posture loose and relaxed. I want to look like I own the world but lack a single care in it.

I step out of the car and lock the doors.

Following her route from a distance, I track her away from the main road. She turns into a small, empty neighborhood park at the end of the cul-de-sac. A faded plastic playground sits on a bed of woodchips.

Perfect. An unbonded Omega dealing with intense suppressant nausea avoids crowded places. She needs fresh air and silence.

I start a steady jog up the paved path toward the park.

Olive sits on a weathered wooden bench under an oak tree. She wraps her arms around her ribs. She stares at the empty playground with a blank, hollow expression. She lacks the blue hospital mask and the menthol paste today. The suppressants must hold the Heat back enough for her to risk a walk outside.

I jog right past her. I keep my gaze forward, pretending I miss seeing her.

As I pass the bench, I let a tiny trace of my scent slip out. Just enough for the breeze to catch the crisp citrus and black pepper.

I finish a loop around the small playground. Coming back up the path, I slow my pace to a walk. I wipe a bead of sweat from my forehead, playing the part of the exhausted athlete.

I stop a few feet away from the bench. I feign surprise.

"Olive?" I keep my voice smooth and casual.

Olive jolts. Her head snaps in my direction. Her brown eyes go wide with a spike of panic.

She pushes herself back against the wooden slats of the bench. "You."

I flash my brightest, most disarming smile. I hold my hands up, showing her I carry no weapons and pose no threat. "It's me, Lawrence. I promise I left the rest of the team at home."

"How did you find me?" She grips the edge of the bench. Her knuckles turn white. "Did you track me down?"

"Track you down? No." I lie with practiced ease, burying the guilt of the private investigator deep in my gut. "I use a sports therapist a few blocks from here. We planned to meet at this park to go over some knee stretches. He bailed on me ten minutes ago. I figured I'd get a run in anyway."

Olive narrows her eyes. She searches my face for a lie. My relaxed posture and easy smile offer no clues. I keep my Alpha pheromones pulled back tight. I refuse to flood the air with my scent. I let her breathe the fresh suburban air.

"You expect me to believe that?" She crosses her arms over her chest.

"I expect you to believe my therapist owes me a refund for my wasted time." I offer a soft chuckle. "But seeing you here makes the trip worthwhile. Do you live around here?"

She hesitates. The lie works. The idea of a coincidental run-in disarms her initial panic. She relaxes her grip on the edge of the wooden bench.

"I'm staying with my sister," She mutters.

"Do you mind if I sit?" I point to the empty space on the wood. "My knee acts up after a long run. You can leave, if you want."

Olive looks toward the empty sidewalk. Her logical brain calculates the risk. I stay planted in my spot, giving her total control of the situation.

"Sit." She shifts to the far end of the wooden bench.

I take the opposite end. I stretch my long legs out over the grass, making sure not to trap her in the corner.

"You look tired." I keep my tone gentle.

"Suppressants make you tired." She avoids eye contact. "Moving twice in a week makes you tired."

"I saw the houses in this neighborhood." I lean my elbows on my knees. "They look crowded."