Yes, there will be no living with him now.
After the game, the locker room is its own challenge. Trying to keep my focus away from Darren, or at least not to show it always drifts back to him. Trying not to let the image of the water cascading down his muscular back linger in my thoughts any longer than it has to, knowing he'd hate me if he knew it registered at all.
All I can do is hope I'm not as obvious as Aidan. The rookie has puppy eyes every time he looks Darren's way. They falter when Darren snaps a towel against his ass on his way by.
"Nice block on that play, rookie," Darren says, before taking a swig of his sports drink.
Aidan turns a few shades of red that clash with his orange jersey and grumbles a barely intelligible thanks.
But then we're all focused on Darren, gulping down the blue liquid, his Adam's apple bobbing as a few droplets spill down his chin. He stops and looks up, cocking an eyebrow. "What?"
"Nothing," Jax says quickly, eyes darting away right before mine do.
The game might have gone off without a hitch, but we're all fucked. That much is clear.
Chapter
Eleven
ZAYN
Another city, another win, same bullshit. I pull my suit jacket over my shoulders and check my reflection in the mirror. My undercut's a little long, but I don't trust anyone but my usual barber not to butcher it. I have circles nearly as dark as my eyes underneath from the shit sleep I've been getting lately, courtesy of one defenseman turned omega.
Everyone should be riding high after three consecutive wins, but instead, the locker room feels like we're attending a funeral where the corpse might sit up and do the fucking Macarena at any minute.
And it's all because of him.
From my corner of the room, I watch Darren finish his post-game routine. The way he folds his towel exactly the same every time would drive most people crazy, but now everyone's staring at it like it's some kind of fucking miracle. Look, the omega can fold towels just like he used to! Amazing!
I snort and turn away, adjusting my collar. The worst part is I caught myself doing it too. Watching him. Noting the way his shoulders move under his shirt, how his jaw tightens when reporters get too close.
Aidan can't stop staring at his ass in the locker room. Same with Dmitri, even if the not-so-gentle giant is subtler about it.
And Jax can't hide his protective instincts, even if he's good at brushing them off as a captain's responsibility.
It's pathetic.
"You coming tonight?" Dmitri asks, materializing beside me like a mountain shifting location.
"Wouldn't miss it." I paste on my media smile, the one that gets me endorsement deals and shitloads of Instagram followers. "Someone has to make sure you don't try to arm wrestle the entire bar again."
Dmitri's expression doesn't change—it rarely does—but there's a flicker of amusement in those ice-blue eyes. He follows my gaze to where Darren is now talking with Jax, their heads bent close together. Something sharp twists in my gut.
"He played well tonight," Dmitri says, his deep voice pitched low. "Back to his old self almost."
"Lucky bounces," I reply, the lie slick on my tongue. Darren played better than well. He was a fucking wall out there, same as always, but somehow even more graceful. Like the omega awakening enhanced what was already there. "The Stones aren't exactly a challenge."
"Hmm." It's impressive how much judgment Dmitri can pack into a single syllable. And annoying as shit.
I turn away, busying myself with my tie. I don't need the Russian's silent disapproval. I know what I'm doing. What I've always done. Channel anything uncomfortable into something I can control. Irritation. Sarcasm. Being the asshole everyone already thinks I am anyway.
It's simpler that way.
"Bus leaves in five," Jax announces to the room. Our captain's already dressed, as usual. Gray suit that matches hiseyes, and a neutral expression that doesn't fool any of us. He's been wound tighter than a spring since Darren's presentation.
We're all a fucking mess, if I'm being honest. A pack of scent-bonded alphas suddenly circling our newly-discovered omega like he's the last lifeboat on the Titanic. The suppressants and blockers mask his scent, but they don't change what we know. What we feel.
What I refuse to feel.
