Page 113 of Pack Plus One

I squeeze past her into the apartment, making a beeline for the couch where I face-plant directly onto a cushion. “I’m an idiot.”

“No argument here,” Zoe says, but there’s no judgment in it. She tosses a blanket over me like she’s covering a particularly pathetic piece of furniture. “So. Did they fuck you or fight you?”

“Both,” I mumble into a throw pillow that smells suspiciously like popcorn and cheap wine.

“At the same time? Kinky.”

I turn my head just enough to glare at her. “Not what I meant.”

“You sure? Because you reek of satisfied omega and—” she sniffs the air dramatically, “—multiple alphas. Wait.” She leans closer, nostrils flaring. “Did you go into heat?”

I groan, burying my face back in the pillow.

“Oh my god!” She pokes me with the spatula. “You went into heat with them? All of them? The brewery guys?”

“It was a surprise,” I mumble defensively. “A short one. I didn’t expect it.”

“And they helped you through it.” It’s not a question. “All four of them?”

I nod weakly into the pillow.

“Holy shit, Leah.” Zoe sounds equal parts impressed and concerned. “That explains why you smell like you’ve been marinated in alpha pheromones.”

“And one beta,” I correct, finally turning over to face her. “Mason’s a beta.”

“Three alphas and a beta.” She waggles her eyebrows. “And here I thought getting you to use a dating app was ambitious.”

She pries the mug from my death grip, examining it with interest. “You stole a mug? Bold move, even for you.”

“It was an accident.”

“An accident,” she repeats, deadpan. “You accidentally packed up a specific mug belonging to one of your heat partners and carried it miles across town at dawn.”

“He’s not my—” I start, then stop, because what exactly is Mason to me? What are any of them? “And yes. Accident.”

Zoe snorts, then sniffs the half-melted chocolate in my other hand. “And this? Another ‘accident’?”

“It was... comfort chocolate.”

“Uh-huh.” She takes the candy and examines the wrapper. “Imported Belgian? Fancy. Which one does this belong to?”

“Jude,” I admit reluctantly. “He thinks no one knows about his stash, but it’s in the back of the pantry behind the protein powder.”

“Of course it is,” Zoe says, dropping into the armchair across from me. “You realize you’re basically a walking cliché, right?Omega steals alpha’s belongings post-heat? Textbook nesting behavior.”

I flip her off without lifting my face from the pillow.

“Oh, very mature,” she says, but I can hear the smile in her voice. “You wanna tell me what happened? I mean, I know I’ve been busy with work, but last I checked, you were determined to avoid all alphas until menopause. Now you’ve had a surprise heat with not one, but three of them, plus a bonus beta? That’s quite the escalation.”

I groan. “I hate how well you know me.”

“That’s what happens when you bail someone out of relationship jail this many times.” She gets up, heading to the kitchen. “I’m making coffee. And you’re telling me everything. Starting with how many of them you actually slept with.”

My face burns hot against the cushion. “All of them.”

“I’ll need more coffee for this,” she mutters.

The next hour devolves into what Zoe clinically refers to as “Leah’s Emotional Support Spiral.”

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