Page 101 of Eight Count Heat
The thought should terrify me. Instead, it makes anticipation curl low in my belly, already looking forward to whatever Tyler has planned for dinner. My body might be in crisis, but for the first time in years, I’m not scared of what that means.
chapter TWENTY-EIGHT
Reese
By the time wegather in the hotel restaurant at seven, the relief from the bus ride is already starting to fade.
The emergency suppressant continues its losing battle against my biology, and I can feel the heat building again beneath my skin. Not the desperate spike from earlier, but a steady simmer that threatens to boil over without careful management.
The restaurant is dimly lit and bustling with other teams celebrating their victories, the noise level perfect cover for any conversations we need to have. Long white tablecloths drape elegantly to the floor, providing exactly the kind of concealment we're going to need.
Coach Bennett has reserved two large tables for our group. The coaching staff claims one with some of the support crew, whileour boat gets the other. Perfect separation that gives us privacy to handle whatever the evening brings.
I slide into a chair with my back to the wall, careful positioning that lets me see the entire restaurant while giving me an escape route if things get overwhelming. Tyler immediately takes the seat to my right, while Beckett claims the spot on my left with his usual easy confidence.
"Convenient seating arrangement," I murmur to Tyler as the others settle around the table.
"Strategic positioning," he corrects, adjusting his chair closer to mine. "I can provide assistance without drawing attention."
Across the table, Gray settles directly opposite me, his steel eyes already tracking my every movement with predatory focus. Bo takes the seat beside him, both of them creating an imposing presence that somehow makes me feel protected and hunted at the same time.
The rest of the team fills in around us. Cameron is at the far end maintaining his usual watchful silence, Jackson at the other keeping careful distance while still remaining part of the group, Eli positioning himself where he can monitor both our table and the coaches, while Zane bounces between conversations with his typical golden retriever energy.
"How are you holding up?" Tyler asks as we look over our menus, keeping his voice low.
"Getting harder to concentrate," I admit, aware of every Alpha scent surrounding me. The medication is wearing off, leaving me more sensitive to their proximity.
"I can help with that." His hand finds my thigh under the tablecloth, touch light but purposeful. "Pressure points to regulate your nervous system. Very discrete."
The contact sends pleasant warmth through me, not sexual but calming in a way that helps center my scattered thoughts. "That works."
"Told you I knew what I was doing." His fingers find a specific point just above my knee, applying gentle pressure that somehow eases the restless energy under my skin.
"What looks good, Cox?" Beckett asks loudly enough to include the whole table, though his hand moves to rest on my other thigh under the tablecloth, gently pulling my leg towards his until they’re touching. The dual contact from both sides creates a buffer zone of calm that I need.
"Everything," I manage, though I'm finding it hard to focus on the menu with Tyler's skilled fingers working pressure points along my leg and thigh and Beckett's warm palm anchoring me on the other side.
"I recommend the salmon," Gray says, his voice carrying that commanding edge that makes my pulse quicken. "High protein content. Good for recovery."
The way he says it, eyes locked on mine across the table, makes it clear he's not just talking about post-race nutrition. Heat pools low in my belly despite Tyler's calming touch.
"Salmon sounds perfect," I reply, proud that my voice stays steady.
Our server approaches, a harried college student with messy hair and bloodshot eyes, who clearly wasn't told he’d be serving a table full of elite athletes. "Can I start you off with drinks?"
Orders go around the table. I ask for water, knowing alcohol would make my situation worse, while the guys opt for various sodas and energy drinks. When the server leaves, conversation flows naturally around race analysis and tomorrow's travel plans.
But underneath the normal team dinner dynamic, something else entirely is happening.
Tyler's fingers work along specific points on my thigh, each touch designed to regulate the biological chaos in my system. It's not overtly sexual, more like therapeutic massage, but the intimate contact in such a public setting sends little thrills through me regardless.
Beckett's approach is different. His hand stays still, just maintaining contact, but his thumb traces small circles against my skin. Soothing rather than stimulating, though the warmth of his palm against my bare thigh creates a constant awareness of his presence.
"So, Callahan," Bo drawls from across the table, his warm brown eyes fixed on me with an intensity that makes my breath catch. "How's it feel to be the first female cox to win Riverside?"
"Incredible," I answer honestly, though the way he's looking at me makes it hard to think about anything except the way he held me last night. "Best race of my life."
Gray's gaze sharpens, picking up on the subtext. "You called it perfectly. That turn at fifteen hundred, I've never taken it that clean."
