Page 12 of Pack Plus One

“Apparently, I ‘incited chaos’ at a bake sale. The kids mobbed my table.” Her grin is pure mischief. “Worth it.”

I see the exact moment the alphas fall for her.

Jude leans in, his freckled nose crinkling. “Marry me.”

“No,” Caleb and Liam say in unison, their voices overlapping in a way that’s so unplanned it almost makes me chuckle.

Leah laughs. It’s a bright, startled sound that makes all three alphas twitch like they’ve been zapped. Liam recovers the fastest, snagging a petit four from a passing tray. The dessert is decorated within an inch of its life, drowning in gold leaf.

“Here, Ms. Sweet Tooth,” he says, sliding it toward her. “Try this.”

Leah’s fingers brush his as she takes it. “You’re my hero.”

The words are light, teasing, but Liam’s spine straightens like she’s pinned a medal to his chest. Pathetic. And yet—I watch as he shifts slightly, putting himself between her and a group of alphas who’ve been staring.

Caleb’s doing the same on her other side.

Do they even realize they’re posturing?

Caleb’s nostrils flare when Leah takes a bite, her lips closing around the pastry.

Then—

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

She’s got chocolate on her lip. A tiny smear, barely there. Caleb’s staring at it like it’s a personal challenge.

I kick his ankle under the table. Down, boy.

He growls quietly, but Leah doesn’t notice. She’s too busy licking the raspberry glaze from her thumb, blissfully unaware that all three of my packmates are now hyper-focused on her mouth.

Jude’s easygoing grin falters, replaced by something softer, almost reverent, as he watches Leah take another bite of the pastry. Liam, usually so composed, shifts restlessly, his gaze fixed on the way her lips curve around the fork. Caleb, ever the stoic, doesn’t move a muscle, but the subtle flare of his nostrils betrays a sudden, intense focus. Even I feel a strange pull, a tightening in my chest I can’t explain.

We’re supposed to be pretending.

So why does this feel… real?

I watch as the impromptu charade unfolds around me, each of my packmates falling into their natural roles with alarming ease. It’s like watching a play where only I know the script is being improvised.

When the omega looks up, finally catching them staring, Jude clears his throat so loudly, I have to resist facepalming. “That woman’s hat deserves its own zip code,” he murmurs,nodding toward someone wearing what appears to be a small garden on her head.

I’m sure she’ll see straight through his horrible attempt at diverting her attention, but instead Leah looks at where he gestures and stifles a laugh. I watch him register the sound again—his pupils dilating slightly, his scent warming. Fucking trouble brewing.

A server glides past with silver trays of hors d’oeuvres. Bacon-wrapped dates dripping with honey. Crostini piled high with whipped goat cheese and figs. Liam intercepts them with the quiet precision of a sommelier selecting a vintage, his broad shoulders cutting effortlessly through the crowd.

I’ve seen this look before. That hyperfocus he gets when optimizing barrel rotations at the brewery. His fingers hover over the tray like he’s mentally calculating flavor pairings before assembling a perfect bite: one smoked salmon roulade, two of the caramelized onion tarts.

“Here,” he murmurs, offering the plate to Leah. “The chef clearly spent actual effort on these.” His thumb brushes the edge of the porcelain as she takes it. And…did her breath just hitch?

Jude grins around a stolen canapé. “Careful, Liam. You’ll spoil our omega before dinner.”

Ouromega? I hope he knows this is temporary and that we’re still just pretending. Right?

A hint of a genuine smile plays at her lips as she stares down at the plate before her. “Uh…thanks. This is very…thoughtful. You didn’t have to.”

Despite her words, I notice how her shoulders drop another half-inch. How her scent, though still nervous, takes on notes of gratitude.

As we slip into a comfortable silence, the alphas all scan the room, sip their drinks, and pretend they’re not completely focused on the omega sitting with us. Hell.

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