Page 138 of Pack Me Up

I lean in, lips brushing her ear. “It’s nothing compared to the actual game. Wait until the home team scores and the crowd goes nuclear.”

She rolls her eyes, but I can tell she’s a little impressed. When we hit the escalators, I let her go ahead, both for the view and safety. She tries to look casual, but I can feel her excitement through the bond.

At the top, the noise explodes: the field is a lit-up slab of green, the stands packed, a river of color and movement. Vendors holler, and security guys in orange vests bark orders. I steer us up a ramp marked VIP SKYBOX SUITE LEVEL, flashing my lanyard at the first dead-eyed worker with a radio.

Brittney clocks the sign, then glances at me. “We have a box?”

I grin. “Hell yeah, we do. If you’re gonna do it, do it right. We have to keep you safe, and this is the best way. But safety doesn’t mean you can’t have any fun. Especially when you’re mated to a security team.”

Inside, the world changes: no crowd, no noise, just a long hallway with thick carpet and the hush of expensive air. A suited guy hands us each a glass of something bubbly, barely making eye contact. The entrance to our box is a heavy door with our names printed on a plastic sign.

I open it with a flourish. “M’lady.”

She snorts, but steps inside, and for a second she just stares. The place is luxurious with leather seats, a private bar, glass walls, and a TV in every corner showing the same ten-second loop of pregame stats. The buffet is already set, silver domes hiding mountains of allergy-friendly food I specifically requested for my mate. The windows give a perfect view of the whole stadium, and when I close the door, the roar drops to a kind of pleasant thrum. Perfect for my omega.

Brittney wanders to the glass, pressed up close, nose almost touching. “I’ve never been to a professional sporting event.”

“First time for everything,” I say, but it comes out softer than I planned.

I drop my drink on a table, grab two sodas from the fridge, and join her at the window. I pass her a can, then sink into one of the oversized chairs, legs splayed wide.

Fox and Saint stay outside.

Brittney looks back at the door. “Are they staying out there?”

I nod. “This is our date. They’re here for security.”

She slides in next to me, pulling her knees up and hugging them like a kid at her first movie. She’s vibrating with nervous energy, but the longer we sit, the more she seems to soak up the stillness. She lets her hair down, shaking out the ponytail, and allows herself to relax.

“Okay,” she says, “you win. This is pretty cool.”

I nudge her with my shoulder. “Wait until you see the fireworks.”

We dig into the food, and it’s delicious. I got used to eating allergy-friendly quickly, and I love knowing I’m taking care of my mate.

When the game starts, she gets into it right away. She doesn’t pretend to know the rules, but she cheers when everyone else does, and when the home team hits a triple, she shouts so loud I nearly spill my drink. I crack jokes about the outfielders’ haircuts, she makes fun of the mascot’s weird, too-short tail, and after an inning, the knot of tension in her shoulders is gone.

I love it. I love her. I want to tell her, but at the right time.

Instead, I go for the classic. “Having fun?” I say, leaning back so I can watch her instead of the game.

She gives me this look that’s half-smile, half-dare. “Yeah. I mean, it’s not a concert, but it’s pretty great.”

I laugh. “Concerts are your job, this is for fun.”

She makes a face. “I guess that’s true.”

Then it’s just us, watching the game and trading stories. I tell her about the time Cody and I switched places at a family dinner and nobody noticed for a full hour. She tells me about her firstand only dance recital. The words come easily. It’s not like with anyone else, not even Cody.

I’m about to ask her something dumb, like her favorite color or if she wants dessert, when the lights in the stadium dim and the giant screen flashes to life. The camera pans to the crowd, and after a few seconds, I see us as big as possible, right in the center of the screen.

The text reads: CELEBRITY SPOTTING!

The crowd goes nuts.

Brittney goes red, then pale, then laughs, covering her mouth with her hand.

I can hear the stadium announcer through the glass: “Welcome, Brittney Ryan, in town for her show tomorrow night! Let’s give ‘em a round of applause!”