Page 34 of Pack Giroux

"Long week?" he asks, throwing an arm around my shoulders as we start walking slowly back to the bench.

I reach out and take Emerson's hand, smiling at him, needing physical contact with them both before I answer, "You have no idea."

"Well, it's almost the weekend," Emerson supplies optimistically.

"That it is," I sigh.

Kinkaid hugs me tight against his body. "Well, we brought something that might cheer you up."

He holds up a brown paper sack, and I can only hope that he brought me a lava cake. Sure enough, when we get to the table and he starts unpacking it, there's a chicken and veggie meal that I ate at lunch with them and my favorite, the cake.

"You're the best," I tell him digging in with the plasticware he was thoughtful enough to bring.

"Hey," Emerson cries. "What about me? I'm support buddy over here."

I laugh, hiding my mouth with my hand. "Yes, you're the best, too."

"What are you doing out here in the dark?" Kinkaid asks, looking around.

I glance around with him, not realizing until now that it is actually pretty dark here. The bench falls directly between two light poles. I try to get away with telling them that I just neededair, but it doesn't work. Eventually, I end up spilling the beans about my roommates.

"Marnie, love, that is not okay," he tells me with worry in his tone.

Emerson rubs the top of my bare thigh. "You really should talk to your coach or housing advisor or something. I'm sure they can work out other arrangements."

"They offered," I admit. "But they're all so pissed at me already. I don't want the team thinking I'm getting special treatment."

"Mmm," Kinkaid hums in understanding.

Emerson squeezes my leg. "You can always come live with us. You've already got your room."

My heart feels like it swells at his offer. "I can't do that, because the commute would be awful. I don't have a license and can't rely on you guys to get me to and fro."

"Of course you can," Kinkaid argues. "That's how packs work. If you don't think we don't rely on each other for things on the daily, you're wrong."

"Who do you think does all our cooking?" Emerson asks making a silly face at Kinkaid.

"And our laundry." Kinkaid adds, laughing with me.

"I figured Grady did," I admit.

They laugh again before saying together, "He does."

Sitting here like this has healed a wound I didn't even know that I needed to be nursing. At least that's what it feels like. I'm sad when they tell me that they need to go so I can get rest for the game tomorrow. Which they ask the time and place for since it's an away game. They tell me they'll all be there as we stroll slowly back to my dorm, something they leave no argument for.

When we make it there and come to a stop, Kinkaid reaches out to pinch his hoodie between his fingers. "This thing can't possibly have my scent on it anymore."

"I haven't washed it," I admit quietly, making him chuckle. "But it's not on there anymore."

"Here," he says, whipping the one he's wearing over his head. For a moment there's a sliver of skin that gets exposed as his shirt gets caught, and I reach out to run my finger across it, sneaking it into the hem so that I'm able to pull him toward me. His breath hitches as we come flush against each other. When his head comes out of his hoodie, his expression is one that makes me wish we were back at their place right now.

Voices echo off the side of the building like someone is coming from the other direction, but I don't care. I'm going to get a goodnight kiss from him. Emerson the sweetheart that he is, steps closer and over a smidge so that we're blocked from whoever is coming our way.

But it also means that he gets a front row seat to Kinkaid ravaging me. Like a man starved, he kisses me like he never has before. It's deep, and I literally have to come up for air. When we finally pull away, he gives me one more short quick kiss on the lips.

Turning to Emerson, I see that he didn't look away during the exchange and has fire in his eyes waiting his turn. He's the only one I haven't kissed now since I laid one on Jameson the other day. Testing his reaction to my touch, I reach out to press my palm against the rock-hard planes of his stomach. He leans into it, getting closer until the three of us are in one big huddle.

"If you want it, you're going to have to take it," I tell him. "I'm short and can't reach that high."

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