Page 60 of Pack Plus One

“One page literally said ‘Your needs are our priority,’” I point out, mimicking his precise pronunciation. “And you included three different font choices for our combined logos. Withsample business cards.”

“That’s just good business strategy!”

“You color-coded potential ‘scent-pairing options’ for the menu,” Mason adds flatly.

Liam’s face turns an impressive shade of scarlet. “That was... market research.”

“Sure it was, Shakespeare,” I pat his hand. “Just own it. We’re all pathetic.”

“Four alphas—” Mason clears his throat. “Three alphas and a beta,” he corrects, “reduced to fighting over underwear like teenagers.”

Caleb’s expression darkens. “What do we do with... these?” He gestures to the sad, stretched remains of Leah’s once-sexy panties.

“We could return them,” I suggest, waggling my eyebrows.

“Absolutely not,” Liam and Mason say in unison.

“We establish a rotation system,” I propose, earning three identical glares. “What? It’s democratic!”

“We are not implementing a panty rotation schedule,” Liam states, voice dripping with disdain. “We’re not animals.”

“Speak for yourself,” I mutter.

“I have a solution,” Liam announces, standing abruptly. He disappears down the hall, returning moments later with a small metal box. “My fireproof safe. Twelve-digit code, tamper-proof, and I’m changing the combination nightly.”

“That’s... excessive,” Mason observes.

“Is it?” Liam challenges. “Is it really?”

Given the last twenty minutes, none of us can argue.

The panties—what’s left of them—now reside in Liam’s fireproof safe, protected by a twelve-digit code and what I suspect is a prayer to whatever deity might listen to alphas with trust issues.

As we disperse for the night, I catch Caleb’s arm in the hallway. “Made copies,” I whisper, flashing him the photo I sneakily took on my phone—her delicate emerald lace stretched across my palm, captured in all its glory before the Great Panty War of Tuesday evening.

His eyes darken instantly, the green almost swallowed by his dilated pupils. “Delete that.”

“Make me,” I challenge, dancing backward.

He lunges for my phone with a growl. I sprint down the hall, cackling, Mason’s long-suffering sigh echoing behind us.

“Children,” Liam mutters from the kitchen. “I live with actual children.”

Halfway up the stairs, my thumb slips on the screen as Caleb grabs the back of my shirt. I glance down in horror as my photo app opens, my finger accidentally hitting “share” and then?—

Oh holy fuck.

My phone pings with a confirmation.

Image sent successfully to: Leah

I skid to a stop so fast that Caleb plows into my back, nearly sending us both tumbling down the stairs.

“What the—” he starts.

My phone pings again. All four of our phones chime simultaneously with an incoming message.

Leah

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