I glance at the screen and immediately want to throw the damn thing out the bus window. Harrison Lockwood. My father, calling at 3:47 PM on a Sunday, which means either someone died or he wants something. Given that it's him, it's definitely the latter.
I let it go to voicemail.
It starts ringing again before I've even stood up.
"Fuck," I mutter under my breath, earning a curious look from Eli in the seat across from me.
"Problem?" he asks.
"Family," I say, which explains everything and nothing. I hit decline again.
Third call. This time I answer, if only to prevent him from calling the entire athletics department to track me down.
"Gray." My father's voice carries that particular brand of authority that's opened boardroom doors and crushed business rivals for three decades, even through the phone speaker. "Where have you been? I've been trying to reach you."
"Competing. You know, that thing I'm here on scholarship to do." I keep my voice low, but several teammates still glance over. Great.
"Don't be flippant. We need to discuss tonight."
Tonight. The family dinner with the Kincaids that I'd managed to push out of my mind until now. Katherine and her parents, another attempt at orchestrated matchmaking disguised as a social evening.
"I can't tonight. Team obligations."
"Cancel them." Not a request. Never a request with Harrison Lockwood. "The Kincaids are expecting us at seven. Katherine specifically asked about you."
Katherine Kincaid. Pretty in that porcelain doll way that photographs well but lacks any real warmth. Makes Kinsley Adams look charming by comparison, which is saying something. The one time I made the mistake of sleeping with her, she spent the entire encounter making these high-pitched, nasal sounds that killed my mood so completely I couldn't even finish. Worst lay of my life, hands down.
"I told you I'm not interested in Katherine."
"And I told you that your personal preferences are secondary to family expectations." His tone sharpens with the edge that's made opposing counsel wet themselves in depositions. "You'retwenty-one years old, Gray. It's time to start thinking seriously about your future. About appropriate partnerships."
Around me, the team is filing off the bus, shouldering bags and stretching muscles stiff from the three-hour drive. Reese passes my row, and I catch a hint of her scent—still tinged with heat despite Bo's best efforts, but controlled enough to function.
The contrast between her and Katherine Kincaid is laughable. Katherine, with her perfect pedigree and calculated ambitions, versus Reese, who commands eight Alphas through sheer force of will and strategic brilliance.
"Gray? Are you listening to me?"
"Every word." I watch Reese disappear through the bus door, something crystallizing in my mind. "But my answer remains the same. I'm not coming to dinner."
"Yes, you are." His voice drops to that tone that used to terrify me as a child. "The Kincaids have been patient about Katherine's interest in you, but patience has limits. This dinner is happening, and you will attend."
"What if I bring someone?"
The words escape before I've fully thought them through, but once they're out there, the idea takes shape with startling clarity.
"Bring someone?" My father's tone suggests I've just proposed showing up naked. "This is a family dinner, not some casual social gathering."
"A date," I clarify. "Someone I'm seeing."
Silence stretches long enough that I wonder if the call dropped. Then: "Are you seeing someone seriously?"
I think about Reese. About the way she looked at me yesterday when I found her crying in the bathroom. About how she fit against me in that cramped space, how right it felt to hold her. About the fact that I can't seem to stop thinking about her, heat cycle or not.
"Potentially."
"Well." He sounds thrown, which is satisfying. Harrison Lockwood doesn't like surprises. "Is she... appropriate?"
"Define appropriate."
