Page 40 of Pack Plus One

Not my bed. Not my sheets. And definitely not my shirt—this oversized cotton is all wrong, smelling faintly of sandalwood and something crisp.Mason’s.

The memories hit like a freight train.

The wedding. The pack.Four pairs of hands on my skin.

Oh my God. Oh my actual God.

I bolt upright so fast my head spins, clutching the sheet to my chest as if someone might be watching. The room is mercifully empty, but evidence of last night’s activities is everywhere. My dress lies discarded near the footboard. One strappy heel peeks out from under the bed. The other is...God, I don’t even want to know.

Jude’s belt is looped through the headboard slats. When did that happen?

I press my palms against my burning cheeks, mortification flooding every cell in my body. What was I thinking? I’ve known these men for exactly two days, and I?—

You let them touch you everywhere. You begged for it. You came four times while they watched.

My thighs clench at the memory, and I hate myself a little for the way my body reacts despite my brain’s panic alarm blaring at maximum volume.

This isn’t me. I don’t do one-night stands. I definitely don’t do one-night stands withfouralphas. I mean, three alphas and a beta, but the details don’t matter. I’m the sensible omega who runs a bakery and has a sourdough starter named after her childhood pet cat. I’m thirty-minute documentaries and early bedtimes, and practical shoes.

Except, clearly, I’m not. Because practical-shoes Leah wouldn’t have fake-dated a pack to spite her ex. And she certainly wouldn’t have ended up naked in their bed.

Focus. I need to focus.

Oh my God, Zoe is going to have a field day with this.

Operation GTFO commences in 3...2...

I scan the room for my underwear. No luck. Great. Perfect. The universe really wants to ensure my walk of shame is as complete as possible.

I slide from the bed, wincing slightly at the delicious soreness between my thighs, and adjust Mason’s shirt. It falls to mid-thigh—decent enough to make my escape. I grab one shoe, shoving my foot into it while hopping toward the door, the rest of my belongings clutched to my chest.

The door creaks when I open it.

Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.

Caleb sleeps like a fallen sentry outside my room, bare-chested, one arm slung over his eyes. Morning light streams through a nearby window, catching the stubborn set of his jaw. Even asleep, he looks ready to fight someone.

Why is he sleeping outside the door? Was he afraid I’d run? Or—more likely—that I’d rob the place? Nobody normal sleepson the floor outside a bedroom door. No matter how good the sex was.

No. Don’t think about the sex. Thinking about the sex leads to remembering the sex, which leads to imagining more sex, which is the opposite of leaving.

I hold my breath and lift one leg carefully over his outstretched form.

Step one: Don’t wake the alpha.

Step two: Don’t trip over his stupidly perfect abs.

Step three:—

“Leaving so soon, doll?”

I nearly jump out of my skin, clutching my dress to my chest like a shield. Jude lounges against the hallway wall, tousled strawberry-blond hair catching the light, wearing nothing but low-slung pajama pants. His citrus-and-woodsmoke scent wraps around me before I can dodge it.

Seriously, what is wrong with this pack? Do none of them sleep in actual beds?

“I—” My voice cracks embarrassingly. “I have a bakery to open.”

Liam appears like a blond specter at Jude’s shoulder, his rain-and-old-books scent deceptively calm. Unlike the others, he’s at least wearing a T-shirt with his sweatpants. “It’s Sunday…and I thought your bakery wasn’t officially open yet.”

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