Page 4 of Traded

His lips brush my ear. “We’re finally making it official. A proper mating.”

Something light and fluttery bursts to life in my chest as I stare up at them. “But… the season—are you sure?”

Three years of waiting while they—we, I remind myself, because fuck knows I want it just as much as they do—chased the Everly Cup every season. Three years of gettingso damned close.Playoffs every year, finals twice, every defeat accompanied by the knowledge that the words I wanted more than anything would take a little longer.

Instead, I’ve survived three seasons on a promise and a half-filed registration with the Northeast Omega Commission.

Status: Co-habitation only.

They’re my alphas. And this is my pack. It’s just notofficial.

But they’ve said the words so much, I could recite them in my sleep.

When we lift the Everly Cup, we’re gonna have the biggest mating ceremony Blackwater’s ever seen.

And we’ll finally be a proper pack.

We’ve done the test run. I have a pack house—well, penthouse, but you won’t catch me complaining. I have three wonderful pack alphas, and everything that I want. It’s a perfect life. Except for the glaring absence of their mating bites in my neck and a missing (M)next to my name in the NOC register that denotes an official, forever pack bond.

I want the Cup. But I want this too. My eyes well up, and Jonas makes a distressed noise in his chest. “Don’t go soppy on us now. You know I can’t do tears.”

I half-laugh, half-sob, and drop my face into my hands. “I thought it would be bad luck.”

At some point, our mating became entwined with them finally lifting the Everly Cup. And there’s nobody on this planet more superstitious than hockey players in their third season. Liam won’t even change the order of products lining his shower shelf once the first game kicks off. I replaced them all yesterday and hid the giant replacement bottles in the corner snack cupboard of my nest so I can top them up without him seeing.

“I hate that we made you think that.” Carter peels my hands away and keeps hold of them. “Nothing about you could ever be bad luck. Whatever way this goes, we’re setting a date as soon as the season’s done. No more waiting.”

“Well.” Jonas shifts. “If you still want us.”

All three of them pause. Carter’s head whips from Jonas to me. “What the fuck? Of course she does.”

“We didn’t even ask her properly,” Liam mutters. He rubs his hands over his face. “Jesus, Carter.”

Carter’s face flushes, and I lean in to brush my palm over the faint golden scruff already lining his face. “I will expect aproperproposal after the season. Deal?”

Ideally with some sort of flash mob. Lots of jazz hands. Eighties music blasting, some synchronized dancing.

An omega can dream. And send plenty of video nudges to the pack chat. Including links to flash mob bookings and a carefully curated online quiz:Name Rosie’s Favorite Eighties Track.

Subtlety, thy name is not Rosie.

It’s been a really long three years. Relief breaks out on Carter’s face. “Best one ever. It’s a promise, Ro.”

My sweet summer child. He has no idea what’s in store.

“Okay, then.” Flustered, I tuck my hair behind my ear before I notice the time. “Showers, all of you. Season starts now.”

I cross my fingers on both hands, and add my toes for good measure as the three of them head to their rooms to prep. And I manifest the shit out of all the thoughts in my head.

It’s going to be their season.

It’s going to bemyseason.

I can feel it.

Chapter two

Smells Like Team Spirit