9. Meggie

9

Meggie

" A lright, listen up." The man speaking is gorgeous and his voice has this particular tone to it that makes me feel a little weak in the knees. It doesn't help that he's an alpha and smells like a summer afternoon, like freshly cut grass and oak trees. Like running barefoot, catching fireflies. My body responds to his scent like it's nostalgic for a home it misses.

Not what I need right now.

To make it worse, he's tall and ripped, with a rich dark complexion. His hair is shaved close to his head, and he's got an Olympic rings tattoo on the side of his bare chest. I wonder if he's been to the Olympics before or if it's aspirational.

He introduces himself as Dante and scowls down at the ten female betas gathered around me. They're each incredibly fit, and from the way they talk, it's clear they've been playing this sport for a while.

"We're going to start with drills," Dante says, continuing his instructions. "Then we'll—" He cuts off and snaps his head to a younger alpha covered in tattoos and whispering in the ear of a beta at the back of the group. "Oz! Keep your hands to yourself."

His pack mate glares at him, but there's a smirk on his lips. "You got it, coach."

Oz. Emily told me he was the dangerous looking one. He's not as tall as Dante, but he's bulkier. His hair is cut short, really short, and nearly every inch of him below the neck appears to be covered in black tattoos. A rose on the back of his hand blends into something that covers his forearm and wraps around his sizeable biceps. Emily's right about him. Not the kind of guy I want, but when his eyes lock with mine, my body doesn't seem to agree.

A light sweat breaks out on the back of my neck, and my nipples tighten. I imagine those eyes staring me down as he slams me against the wall and dominates my mouth with a kiss that's so passionate it's nearly angry.

Which is so not the thought I need to be having right now.

"Alright." Dante tucks his clipboard under his arm. "In the pool, betas."

I cringe, momentarily feeling guilty about letting them think I'm a beta. Joining a team means risking more than just myself and my reputation if I get caught. They'd have a lot to lose, too.

The guilt clogs my throat. If I wasn't on blockers, every alpha in a mile would smell my emotional turmoil.

A head whips in my direction. Another alpha, this one standing off to the side of the other two. He's not in swim gear, instead opting for jeans and a thin grey Henley. He's got a clean cut look about him, even though there's a bit of stubble growing across his chin. His dirty blonde hair is a shade darker than Ellis's and his eyes are piercing, though I'm too far away to tell what color they are. He has a presence so commanding that just having him look at me makes me want to whimper like a good little omega submissive.

I recognize him as Harrison Hart from my research, Pack Hart's head alpha. I can see why.

He frowns at me. Probably because I'm still not in the pool.

I hurry to put on my cap with the protective ear gear and buckle the strap under my chin. Soothing my guilt, I tell myself everything will be fine as I slip into the water.

No one is going to find out. Em and I are going to live our Olympic dream together, and it's going to be amazing. Something we'll never forget.

But first, I need to make this team.

"Woohoo! Go Megs!" Em yells from where she's watching with her brother and another of his pack mates on the opposite side of the pool. This one is Nils, if I remember right.

The men of Pack Hart are all way too gorgeous. It's beyond the alpha appeal. They're individually scrumptious. Nils's complexion is lighter than the other men's, and his hair is jet black. It's cut into a near mohawk with longer tresses hanging just above his ear.

His eyes meet mine, and I rip my gaze away and wave back at Emily. She's why I'm doing this. Her, and all the omegas out there being told they can't compete in the Olympics. I refuse to give up on this dream.

Thanks to Emily and Ellis, I've spent weeks getting a crash course on all things water polo. We lived and breathed it. I ran drills every morning, played pickup games every afternoon, and studied the rules every evening. Every time I walked around our apartment, Emily threw balls at me, trying to catch me off guard and give me practice catching them one handed.

I feel confident in everything I've learned. Or I did. Before now. These women have clearly been playing this sport for a long time. I'm the obvious underdog here.

At least Dante has us swim timed laps first. Which I excel at. Then they see how long we can tread water with eggbeater kicks. I don't do as well at this, but I hold my own and last longer than some of the other girls. We end by playing catch one handed, and then trying to score against their goalie, McQuinn.

McQuinn looks like he could be a bestie. His laugh is effortless, and he has these dimples that make him appear immediately friendly. But I remember Emily's warning about his temper. His auburn hair and cute freckled cheeks offset the determined glint in his eyes as he blocks our efforts. His passion is immediately evident. This is someone you want on your team, not against you.

I don't make any goals, but I don't drop the ball when it's thrown to me either like one girl did. I'm not great, but I'm clearly not the worst.

Whenever my outlook dips, and I doubt myself, Em cheers all the louder, like she can tell I need it.

So I fight harder. Determined not to let her down.

I just hope it's enough.