Page 57 of The Alpha's Runaway Mate
The banter goes on for a while, light and familiar. These are my people, loud, loyal, the kind that make a place feel like home. I spent years thinking leadership meant distance, that I had to stay a step above everyone to keep order. Turns out it’s not about distance, it’s about connection. Trust.
Jessica’s hand finds mine under the table, her thumb brushing lazy circles against my skin. The touch pulls me back down from whatever thoughts I was drifting into. She gives me that small smile, soft, private, the one she doesn’t share with anyone else.
I squeeze her hand, leaning closer. “You okay?”
“More than okay,” she says, voice low enough just for me. “I love seeing you like this.”
“Like what?”
“Relaxed,” she teases. “Almost human.”
I laugh quietly. “Careful. You’ll ruin my reputation.”
She leans in, eyes sparkling. “I think you’re doing that all on your own.”
Before I can respond, Paige groans dramatically. “Ugh, you two are disgustingly cute. Can you at least pretend we’re not all single?”
Jessica laughs, cheeks flushing. “You’re not all single.”
Paige tilts her head toward Mason and Brooke. “Yeah, but they’re boringly married. You two are in the fun stage. Give it a few years.”
Brooke swats at her with a bar napkin. “Don’t listen to her. It gets better with time.”
Mason winks. “Depends on the day.”
The table erupts in laughter again, and for a moment, everything feels easy. Simple.
Outside, thunder rumbles low, distant, not threatening, just a reminder that the mountains have a heartbeat of their own.
Jessica leans into me, resting her head against my shoulder. “This is nice,” she says softly.
“Yeah,” I murmur, my hand finding her thigh. “It is.”
And it is. The laughter, the warmth, the smell of beer and smoke and home, it’s everything I didn’t realize I’d been missing.
By the time we step outside, the night air’s cool and still. The rain earlier has left the pavement slick, reflecting the glow of the neon sign like a ripple of firelight.
Jessica’s cheeks are flushed, her eyes bright from laughter. She looks up at me, smiling that soft, knowing smile that makes my chest tighten every damn time.
“Are you good to drive?” she asks, teasing, even though she knows I’ve only had one beer.
I nod. “Are you doubting me already?”
She grins. “Never.”
We climb into the truck, doors shutting with a solid thunk that cuts out most of the noise from the bar behind us. The cab fills with quiet, just the hum of the engine, the faint patter of rain dripping from the trees, and the low rhythm of her breathing beside me.
I glance over at her. She’s watching the road, but her hand’s resting on her thigh, fingers brushing the hem of her jeans. It’s such a small thing, but it pulls my attention like gravity.
Halfway down the road, I reach over and slide my hand over hers. She turns her palm up, threading her fingers through mine without looking away from the windshield. That little spark of contact runs straight through me.
She finally glances over, her smile quiet but full of heat. “You’re staring.”
“Can’t help it,” I say, voice rougher than I intend. “You’re hard not to look at.”
Her cheeks flush. She leans a little closer, her scent curling around me, vanilla, pine, the faintest trace of whiskey from earlier. I can feel her watching me now, the tension between us thick and easy all at once.
At the next red light, she shifts in her seat, her knee brushing mine. Her hand drifts to my arm, fingers tracing along the edge of my sleeve.
