Page 106 of Pack Frenzy
Her mouth twitches—caught—and color rises in her throat. Rowan’s grip on the scorecard goes white-knuckled.
Maybe if we all stop pretending this is simple, we’ll finally figure out what the hell we’re doing.
By Hole Fourteen, it’s not even close. Jess is wiping the floor with all of us.
Eli’s having too much fun to care—keeps high-fiving her like they’re teammates. Rowan’s pretending it’s about probability and not pride. I’ve stopped pretending anything.
Rowan double-checks the scorecard at the final hole, pencil neat, movements clipped. “You won,” he says, like it’s an equation he doesn’t trust.
Jess plants a hand on her hip. “You sound disappointed.”
“Not at all. Just surprised.”
I hear the pause he doesn’t mean to leave in the middle. Surprised, maybe, that he enjoyed it. Or that she beat him. Hard to tell with him.
Eli leans in, grin wide. “Rules are rules. Winner gets the prize.”
Jess’s eyes light up when the kid behind the counter hands her a mini pirate flag—black fabric, skull and crossbones painted in white. She spins it once, then aims it at us like she’s calling for surrender.
“Captain Jess,” I say, saluting with my putter. “First of her name, conqueror of fiberglass seas.”
Eli laughs, handing her a mini carton of ice cream he snatched from the vending machine in the corner. “Captain deserves the spoils.”
She tucks the flag into her back pocket, hips cocked, grin like she staked a claim on the whole damn town—and maybe on us too. It hits me—how damn good it feels watching her own the space. She’s not just surviving anymore; she’s steering the ship.
Eli slings an arm around her shoulders. “Captain Jess and her merry men.”
She laughs and leans in. Not much, just enough that it looks easy. Natural. Like she’s done it a hundred times.
Rowan’s jaw tightens. He turns his head, pretends to check the scorecard he’s already tallied twice. I shouldn’t notice. I do anyway.
I could make a joke to cut it, but I don’t. I just watch him fight to keep it together, and for once, I don’t feel like laughing.
He wants her bad enough to strangle in it. And I get it. Because if I didn’t already know how that restraint feels—how close it burns under the skin—I’d think he was calm too.
Jess turns, catching us both watching her. She tilts her head, amused and maybe a little suspicious. “What?”
“Nothing,” I and Rowan say together.
Eli snorts. “Smooth.”
Jess waves the pirate flag between us, shaking her head. “You guys are weird.”
“Occupational hazard,” I tell her.
She grins and heads toward the photo booth near the exit, sunlight catching her hair. Rowan follows a step behind, not quite touching. Eli jogs ahead to hold the curtain open.
I hang back, a few paces behind them, and let myself look for one extra second—just enough to feel it. The sun, her laugh, the stupid little flag she’s already claimed as hers.
The wind shifts and I catch her scent: jasmine and vanilla with that hint of citrus that cuts through everything else. Makes my chest tight and my hands itch to pull her close.
Feels like a memory I’m not ready to lose yet. And I’m counting how many times Jess laughs and pretending it doesn’t matter.
Because it shouldn’t.
And because if I let it matter, Rowan’s not the only one who’d start looking at her like she’s the only real thing left.
Just because I fucked her doesn’t make her mine. Doesn’t make any of this safe. She could change her mind tomorrow. Decide we’re not her pack after all. That she doesn’t want to be claimed by three guys who can barely keep their shit together around her.
