Page 14 of Pack End Game

My giant feet move down the sidelines without a second thought.

A sudden roar echoes through the stadium, stopping me momentarily. Zak stands in the end zone with his chest rapidly rising and falling. His teammates are surrounding him, including Spencer. But while everyone else is celebrating, my alphas are staring at her again.

I wave to get their attention before quickly pointing at their distraction and making a thumbs-up.

I’ve got this.

I’m an expert at communicating with body language, so I’m certain they understand me. Giving them a quick salute, I continue on my journey.

They can finish the game, and I’ll take care of her.

Our kicker lines up to successfully kick a field goal, and cheers fill up the stadium, but the game no longer holds my attention.

I have a mission to complete.

I just need to convince a visibly overwhelmed omega in pajama pants to trust a giant, furry mascot enough to leave her post and follow me into a private area.

Like my very secure dressing room. Or whatever closet door happens to be close and open.

Possibly to remain there.

Maybe under mild duress.

Until the game ends.

I pause mid-step.

This plan probably sounds worse than it is.

Chapter Seven

Mia

The Sloths pull off a solid win, putting another seven points on the board before the final whistle blows. Despite starting this game with no personal investment in the outcome, I feel my chest puff up with pride for the home team.

For a second, I thought Spencer Mills might be my scent-match, even though his scent didn’t match my beloved coat. I caught a whiff of salty air that I liked enough to make me purr under my breath. A smell I swore had to belong to my scent-match, and the quarterback had stared in my direction as if my scent had caught his attention, too.

But after Spencer talked to his coach, he never looked my way again, and the scent faded too quickly to search for another source, especially with so many other alphas on the field. I can't imagine Spencer would so easily go back to focusing on the game if he thought he caught a whiff of a scent-match omega. I know athletes are supposed to be super disciplined or whatever, but c'mon. This is biology we're talking about.

Maybe one of my scent-matches was out there somewhere in the stands watching the game. Maybe not. I have been known to have a vivid imagination, so it's not entirely impossible that I imagined the whole thing.

Sandalwood and sea salt would make for a great combination, though.

"You can rest your arms." Milo nudges me. "Coach Lamb will congratulate his guys before he decides who to send over for interviews while the crowd dies down."

Aside from keeping a tight grip on the expensive camera, I let my arms fall limp by my sides. My muscles are so relieved that I groan appreciatively.

"Cameras are heavier than I remember." I pout at my brother, hoping he'll take pity on me and take a turn holding the damn thing.

He's too busy jotting down notes in his little reporter's notebook. He hums under his breath, acknowledging me but not really listening.

A split-second later, I see something furry rushing toward me out of the corner of my eye. I turn my head just in time to see the Sloth's mascot gunning right toward me. There's no time to react as the crowd of reporters around me gasps, people stumbling over each other to avoid being barreled into.

The sloth stops short of running into me, and while I'm busy gawking, yanks the camera out of my grip.

"Hey!" I protest.

"What the hell?" Oh, now Milo decides to start paying attention.