Is he flirting? Is this flirting? This feels like flirting. Oh god, he's definitely flirting. On camera. With five thousand people watching. What do I say? How do words work?
Before I can formulate any kind of response that isn't just incoherent stuttering or embarrassing swooning, my phone is suddenly plucked from my grasp with lightning speed.
Grayson and I both turn our heads in perfect synchronization—like we're in some kind of choreographed dance—to see who dared to interrupt what was clearly becoming a moment.
Theo stands there looking like he just walked off the set of a fitness magazine photoshoot.
He's wearing a gym-shredded black tank top that shows off arms that could probably bench press a car without breaking a sweat. Maybe two cars. The fabric clings to his chest and abs in ways that should probably be illegal in public spaces. His gym bag is slung casually over one shoulder.
A towel is draped around his neck. He's clearly fresh from a workout—there's a light sheen of sweat on his skin and his dark hair is slightly damp.
His olive-green eyes are impossibly amused as he looks at my phone screen, then at Grayson and me standing way too close together, then back at the phone with a knowing smirk that suggests he knows exactly what he just interrupted.
He turns the camera around to face himself with practiced ease, giving the five thousand viewers a perfect view of his angular features, sharp jawline, and that intense stare that probably makes Omegas across the internet collectively swoon and lose all higher brain function.
The comments explode into absolute chaos. I can see them scrolling past in my peripheral vision.
ANOTHER ONE???
HOW MANY ALPHAS DOES SHE HAVE
im dead this is too much
GRUMPY GYM ALPHA YES PLEASE
"And until the next live," Theo says, his voice in that deep, commanding tone that absolutely brooks no argument and makes it clear the live stream is ending whether anyone likes it or not.
Then he taps the screen with one finger.
The red indicator disappears.
The stream ends.
Five thousand viewers. Gone. Just like that. No warning. No countdown. Just darkness.
I stare at my now-dark phone screen in Theo's large hand, then slowly drag my eyes up to his face, then glance at Grayson who looks equally surprised by the abrupt ending, then look down the street at Nash who's wandered back to see what all the commotion is about and is watching the whole scene with obvious amusement written all over his stupid handsome face.
All three of them. All three Alphas in one place.
Together.
In Millbrook.
And I just declared on live stream to five thousand people that Grayson is exponentially hotter than Nash by scientifically measurable amounts while standing in the middle of a small-town street having what can only be described as a complete mental breakdown.
This is fine.
Everything is completely fine.
My life is totally normal and not at all spiraling into absolute chaos.
"Can I have my phone back now?" I ask weakly, my voice coming out smaller than I intended.
Theo hands it to me with a slight smirk, his expression unreadable but somehow conveying both amusement and exasperation.
"You're welcome."
"For what exactly? Ending my most successful live stream ever without warning?"
