The alpha football team wants me

Nova

I never meant to start my first day at Ravensworth University with a full-out sprint, but the bus was late, the campus was huge, and I had exactly seven minutes to make it to athlete orientation before Coach Ramirez, my new coach, who according to the rumors I’ve heard, was strict and unforgiving, marked me down as unreliable.

That wasn’t happening, not after everything I’d done to get here.

So I ran.

My sneakers pounded the sidewalk, duffel bag bouncing against my hip with every stride I took.

My lungs pulled in the cool morning air that was sharp and clean, tasting faintly of pine and something else I couldn’t place.

My long dark curls whipped across my face, sticking to the sweat already beading on my golden-brown skin, and I shoved them back impatiently.

It didn’t matter to me what I looked like. It only mattered that I got there on time.

Ravensworth was beautiful in a way that made my chest tight, with the old brick buildings that were covered in ivy, wide green lawns, and mountains rising blue and hazy in the distance.

It felt like the kind of place where important things happened, and I still couldn’t believe that I actually belonged here.

I was on a full scholarship for track and field, which was a fresh start far away from the cramped apartment and the worried lines around Mom’s eyes every time the rent was due.

I cut across the main quad, dodging groups of students with backpacks and coffee cups.

Some of them turned to stare, probably because I was running like my life depended on it, but I didn’t slow down.

The athletic complex was on the far side of campus, and the map on my phone said the fastest route was straight across a massive open field.

I hopped a low chain-link fence without breaking stride, and the turf felt perfect under my shoes, springy, and brand-new.

The farther I ran, the more the air smelled like fresh-cut grass and something sharper, almost spicy, which was weird, but whatever.

I focused on getting to where I needed to be until I noticed the goalposts towering at both ends which made me realize that this was an empty football field.

Or so I thought.

I was halfway across when voices hit me, deep, loud, and most definitely male. A whole group of guys in black practice jerseys were spread out near the fifty-yard line, stretching, tossing footballs, and laughing like they owned the world.

Which, from the size of them, they probably thought they did.

I tried to veer left, but one of them, out of nowhere, stepped right into my path, causing me to skid to a stop with my chest heaving.

The guy in front of me was tall and tan with dirty-blond hair that fell into sharp gray eyes, and there was also a thin scar cutting through his left eyebrow, giving him a permanent half- smirk. He looked like a bundle of trouble with way too much muscle, and that smirk told me that he knew it.

“Lost, track girl?” he asked, his voice low and lazy. “This isn’t your playground.”

I was initially confused on how he was able to guess that I was a track athlete until I looked down at the Ravensworth University Track team jacket I forgot I had on, and realized that I was basically announcing myself.

Behind him, the rest of the team had gone quiet, and I felt every single pair of eyes land on me.

There had to be thirty guys out here, but only five of them stood out like they were under spotlights.

The one who’d spoken, Beckett, as I had heard someone mutter after he stopped me, folded his arms and waited for me to apologize or back down, like that was ever going to happen, and judging from his teammate’s reaction, he was most probably used to intimidating girls with his height, and looks.

I straightened up, slinging my bag higher on my shoulder.

“I’m only just taking a shortcut, buddy. Didn’t realize I needed a hall pass to cross grass.”

A couple of low laughs rippled through the group, and Beckett’s smirk widened. “You’re fast. I’ll give you that, but this field belongs to the football team. So maybe stick to the little baby tracks from now on.”

Baby tracks.

The words lit a fire under me. I’d heard stuff like that my whole life, with people telling me I’m too short, too small, and too female to hang with the serious runners, and every time, I’d shut them up by leaving them in the dust.

I looked past Beckett to the end zone which was about eighty yards, maybe ninety, then back at him.

“Tell you what,” I said, keeping my voice even.

“Race me to the goalpost. If I win, I get to cut across whenever I want, but if you win, I’ll stay on the baby tracks forever.”

His eyebrows shot up, and the laughs from the rest of the guys only got louder.

From the back of the group, a guy with jet-black hair and storm-gray eyes watched without smiling.

He had the vibe of a team captain written all over him, broad shoulders, arms crossed, and a presence that made everyone else shift a little when he moved.

Next to him was a blond with sun-bleached curls and a dimpled grin that made him look like he’d just won free tickets to the best show on campus. His green eyes sparkled with so much amusement it was almost embarrassing.

A bigger guy who had tattoos covering his thick arms, short dark hair, and piercing blue eyes, muttered something that sounded like “This is dumb,” but I ignored him since my pride was on the line.

And then there was the quiet one, who was leaner than the others, and had longish dark brown hair falling over silver-rimmed glasses.

His golden eyes never left me, not once, and it was intense in a way that made my skin prickle.

Beckett peeled off his practice jersey and tossed it to the grass.

His chest and abs were ridiculous, tan and cut like he lived in the weight room his entire life, not that I was staring.

Okay, maybe I was staring a little.

“You’re on,” he said, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet. “Ready to eat my dust, track girl?”

I dropped my duffel at the curly blond’s feet, and he took it without a word, his dimples deepening.

We lined up side by side.

Then someone yelled, “Go!” and we took off.

The turf flew under me, and the wind roared in my ears. My legs stretched long and powerful, the way they always did when I ran for real. I didn’t look in Beckett’s direction as I never look sideways in a race. I just focused on the white line ahead and let my body do what it knew how to do best.

Ten yards in, he was right beside me, strong and fast, definitely way faster than any guy I’d raced before.

Twenty yards, and I could hear his breathing, and feel the heat coming off him as he pushed harder, but I’d trained for this.

Endless sprints, hill repeats until I wanted to cry, and stairs until my quads burned for days. I found another gear and pulled ahead.

Thirty yards… forty, and the gap widened, and I ended up hitting the end zone two full strides before he did.

I slowed to a jog, then stopped, hands on my knees, pulling in deep breaths. My heart hammered so hard I felt it in my throat, and when I straightened up, sweat dripping down

my back, the entire field was silent.

I mean dead silent.

Beckett stood a few feet away, bent over, with his hands on his thighs. Sweat darkened his hair, and he looked up at me, gray eyes wide, mouth actually open a little.

The cocky smirk was completely gone.

No one cheered. No one laughed.

The cute captain stepped forward slowly, his gaze locked on me like he was deciding between jumping me, or running away from me, and the others shifted restlessly, some taking half-steps closer without seeming to realize it.

The air felt different suddenly, heavy in a way I couldn’t properly describe, and the spicy scent

I’d picked up earlier but ignored was everywhere now, flooding my lungs, and making my head spin. I immediately knew that it was coming from them. All five of them with the invisible spotlights above their heads.

My skin tingled, and my pulse wouldn’t slow down.

Beckett straightened up slowly, his voice coming out rough, almost broken.

“What… the hell… are you?”

I forced a laugh, but it sounded shaky even to me. “A transfer student who just beat you?”

He took a step toward me, then another.

His pupils were huge and black, swallowing the gray.

“No. You’re…” He inhaled sharply, like the air hurt going in.

“Omega.”

The word dropped into the silence, and a couple of the guys actually growled, low, deep sounds that vibrated in my chest.

The captain’s jaw clenched so tight I saw the muscle jump, the tattooed one curled his hands into fists, and the quiet one with glasses adjusted them slowly, his golden eyes narrowed behind the lenses.

I took a step back. “Okay, that’s… a weird team thing, right? Secret handshake or whatever?

“Cool, but I’m just gonna…” I pointed toward the far sideline.

“Head to orientation.”

But they didn’t move.

They just stared at me like I was something they’d never seen before, or something they wanted to devour. Maybe even both.

The captain finally spoke, his voice was low and controlled, and it sent a shiver straight down my spine.

“You just made a very big mistake coming here.”

My stomach flipped, but I lifted my chin. I wasn’t about to let some overgrown jocks scare me on day one.

“I won fair and square,” I said. “Deal with it.”

I stepped around him, grabbed my bag from the curly blond, and started walking. My legs felt heavy, like I was moving through water, and that wild scent clung to my skin, sank into my lungs, and made my head fuzzy in a way I didn’t understand.

I didn’t look back, and I couldn’t because I could feel them watching me.

Five specific pairs of eyes were burning into my back like they wanted to brand me.

By the time I reached the track complex, my heart still hadn’t calmed down.

The building was modern with the glass walls, and banners with past championship years.

I dropped my bag for a moment and tried to force a smile on my face so it wouldn’t be obvious to anyone else that I wasn’t having the best morning, but my mind just wouldn’t settle.

Why had they looked at me like that? Why did the air suddenly feel different after the race, like a storm was coming, and most importantly, why couldn’t I stop smelling them every time I breathed in?

Nova

Orientation did not go well. I slipped into the track complex five minutes late, breathing a little harder than I’d liked with my curls sticking to my neck like they were out to get me. Coach Ramirez stopped mid- sentence as soon as he noticed me, and stood still with his arms crossed, and his dark eyes narrowing on me like I’d personally insulted him.

Everyone else, which was about twenty other scholarship athletes, turned to look in my direction, which was one of my worst nightmares, so I quickly mumbled an apology about the bus being late and took the only empty seat at the back.

For the next hour Coach drilled us on rules, schedules, and expectations, and every time his gaze swept the room, it stayed on me a second longer than everyone else.

When he handed out the practice calendars, he had practically slapped mine into my hand and muttered,

“Don’t be late again, Winters. We don’t hand out full rides to people who can’t tell time.”

Great.