Page 23

Chapter

Sixteen

AIDAN

Earlier

T he steering wheel feels slick under my palms as I navigate through evening traffic.

I adjust my grip, trying to look casual despite the hurricane of nerves in my chest. Next to me, Darren stares out the passenger window, his profile sharp against the city lights.

He's been quiet since we left the house, lost in thought or maybe just nervous about tonight.

I'm nervous too, but for completely different reasons.

"You sure the others are coming?" I ask, breaking the silence.

Darren glances at his phone, typing out a quick message. "Jax says they're on their way. Whether Zayn actually shows is another question."

"Yeah, well, when has Zayn ever done what he's told?" I try for light-hearted, but my voice comes out strained.

Darren snorts. "True. But Jax promised to drag him there by his perfectly styled hair if necessary."

I chuckle, the sound hollow even to my own ears. The truth is, Zayn isn't the only one I'm worried about behaving tonight. I'm not sure I trust myself either.

These past few weeks have been a special kind of hell.

Ever since Darren presented as an omega, everything's shifted.

The way the team looks at him. The way he holds himself, like he's constantly braced for judgment.

The way I can't stop noticing things I've always tried to ignore.

The breadth of his shoulders, the stubble darkening his jaw, the woodsmoke scent that leaks through even the strongest blockers by the end of the day.

It's not like I didn't know I was attracted to him before. I just buried it deep, filed it under "inappropriate rookie crush" and focused on hockey. But now? Now it's like someone's taken that carefully buried feeling and set it on fire.

"You okay over there?" Darren's voice cuts through my thoughts. "You look like you're plotting world domination."

"Just thinking about what I'm going to order," I lie, flipping on my turn signal. "I hear they have amazing steaks."

"Hmm." He doesn't sound convinced, but he doesn't push. That's one of the things I've always liked about Darren. He doesn't pry. Unlike some people. Cough, Jax .

"So," I say, desperate to fill the silence with anything other than my thoughts, "tell me about her. Lexie."

Darren's expression softens immediately, and my chest twists. "She's... different. Crazy smart. Runs her own clothing business. Makes these amazing sweaters."

"Sweaters, huh?" I try to picture the kind of woman who would capture Darren's interest. Someone soft, probably. But also strong-willed. "She sounds nice."

"She is." He shifts in his seat, looking almost shy. It's a strange look on him. Darren "The Brick" Malloy, notorious for making opposing players think twice about crossing our blue line, suddenly uncertain. "But she's also wary. Had some bad experiences with packs before."

"Great, so we're already starting at a disadvantage."

"Pretty much." He shoots me a sidelong glance. "Which is why I need you guys to not be weird tonight."

I swallow hard. "Define 'weird.'"

"You know. Alpha weird. Territorial. Overprotective." He gestures vaguely. "Just normal human behavior would be nice."

"I'll do my best," I promise, and I mean it.

Even if "normal human behavior" feels increasingly out of reach where Darren is concerned.

I owe it to him for bailing the first time.

I can't even remember what excuse I came up with, but the truth is, I didn't trust myself not to be every bit as weird as he's afraid I'll be tonight.

I just assumed they wouldn't miss me. I wasn't counting on the others bailing, too.

Can't say if it was or wasn't for the same reason. Zayn probably bailed because he's a dick. Dimitri has always been harder to read. Either way, we owed our teammate—and this woman he's clearly got his heart set on bringing into our pack—better than what we gave that night.

We pull into the hotel's valet line, the sleek glass tower of The Terrace looming above us.

A uniformed attendant opens my door, and I step out into the cool evening air, straightening my jacket.

I went with dark jeans and a forest green button-down that my sister once told me brings out my eyes. Not that I'm trying to impress anyone.

Much.

Darren rounds the car, looking unfairly good in dark jeans and a charcoal shirt that stretches across his broad shoulders. The suppressants mask most of his scent, but there's still a hint of woodsmoke that catches in my throat when he passes close by.

"Ready?" he asks, checking his watch.

I nod, not trusting my voice. As we enter the lobby, my phone buzzes with a text from Jax.

JAX: Running 10 min late. Traffic. Keep things smooth until we get there.

Great. Just me and Darren and his potential... what? Girlfriend? Pack addition? The terminology feels inadequate for whatever this situation is.

The elevator ride to the top floor is silent, both of us lost in our own thoughts. When the doors slide open, a hostess greets us with a practiced smile.

"Good evening, gentlemen. Your party is waiting in the Blue Room."

She's already here. My pulse kicks up a notch as we follow the hostess through the main dining area. Darren walks with the easy confidence of someone used to commanding attention, while I trail behind, trying not to look as nervous as I feel.

The hostess leads us to a frosted glass door, sliding it open to reveal a private dining room with a view that could sell for millions. Glass walls that showcase the city spread out like diamonds below us. But it's not the view that catches my attention.

It's her.

She stands by the windows, her back to us, a curvy silhouette against the city lights. Reddish-brown hair falls in soft waves down her back, and the burgundy wrap dress she's wearing hugs curves that immediately make my mouth go dry.

Darren makes a small sound, something between appreciation and relief, and she turns.

Oh.

She's beautiful. Not in the iPhone-faced Instagram model way that Zayn usually goes for, but in a real, warm, touchable way that hits even harder.

Big brown eyes, full lips, a scattering of freckles across her nose.

When she smiles at Darren, her whole face lights up, and I immediately understand why he's so taken with her.

"Lexie." Darren crosses the room in a few long strides, taking her hand in his. The familiarity of the gesture makes my soul ache. "You look amazing."

"Thanks." Her voice is warm, with a slight huskiness that's oddly appealing. "So do you."

They stare at each other for a moment, and I feel like an intruder witnessing something private. Then Darren steps back, gesturing to me.

"This is Aidan McKinney, our rookie goalie and one of my packmates."

I step forward, extending my hand. "Nice to meet you."

And that's when it hits me.

Pumpkin spice.

Not artificial or cloying, but warm and intricate notes of cinnamon, nutmeg, and clove. The scent wraps around me like a blanket fresh from the dryer, familiar and warm and right in a way that makes my head spin.

Holy shit.

She's our scent match.

I freeze, my hand still extended, brain short-circuiting as I try to process what this means. Darren elbows me subtly, and I snap back to reality, taking her offered hand. Her skin is soft and warm against mine, and the contact sends a jolt up my arm that has nothing to do with static electricity.

"You too." She smiles, but there's wariness in her eyes as she studies me. I realize I'm staring and try to arrange my face into something less... whatever it's doing right now.

This can't be happening. We can't have found another scent match so soon after Darren presented.

The odds are astronomical. And yet here she is, smelling like my favorite guilty pleasure: the pumpkin spice lattes I secretly order when no one from the team is around, because I'd never hear the end of it if they knew my sugary autumn secret.

I drop her hand like it's burning me, taking a step back. Get it together, McKinney.

"Aidan's our star rookie," Darren says, filling the awkward silence. "Came straight from college and is already breaking records."

"That's impressive." Lexie's smile is genuine, but I can tell she's picking up on the weird vibe I'm putting out. "I don't know much about hockey, but I'm learning."

"It's pretty simple," I manage, finding my voice. "Keep the puck out of our net, put it in theirs."

"I think I can remember that." She laughs, and the sound does something warm and sinful to my insides.

This is bad. This is very, very bad. Or good. My brain isn't computing at the moment.

Darren gives me a look that clearly says what the hell is wrong with you? before turning back to Lexie. "The others should be here any minute. Traffic's a nightmare tonight."

"No rush," she says, though I can see the tightness in her shoulders. She's nervous about meeting the rest of us. Can't blame her, considering how weird I'm being. And she hasn't even met Zayn yet.

Oh, God. Zayn. How is he going to react?

A waiter appears with a tray of drinks, some kind of specialty cocktails in elegant glasses. "Compliments of the chef," he explains. "A house specialty to start your evening."

We each take a glass, and I'm grateful to have something to do with my hands. The drink is strong, with notes of bourbon and citrus. I take a larger sip than I should, hoping the alcohol might steady my nerves.

"So, Lexie," I say, desperate to act normal, "Darren mentioned you design clothing?"

Her face lights up at the question, her passion evident as she describes her business. "Mainly sweaters and accessories. I started small, just selling to friends, but now I have customers all over the world."

"That's awesome." I mean it. There's something compelling about her enthusiasm, the way she talks with her hands, the pride in her voice when she mentions a recent feature in a design magazine.