"I—I normally don't answer the door like this," she stutters, her voice slightly breathless. "But I have a phone call and I thought you were just the delivery driver and I didn't think—uh?—"
She stops, takes a breath, tries again.
"I still don't understand why you're here. Like, at my apartment. With my food."
I'm an idiot who does side gigs when I'm bored.
Because Grayson calls them 'side quests' like we're living in a video game.
Because I pick up delivery work sometimes just for something to do and I happened to see your address on the app and realized it matched and decided to intercept it personally instead of letting some random stranger deliver to you.
Because the idea of you not eating breakfast at two in the afternoon suddenly bothered me in a way that's completely irrational but I couldn't shake it.
Because I needed to see you again.
Because I wanted an excuse to show up at your door.
I try to speak. Open my mouth.
Nothing comes out.
My brain has officially abandoned ship. There are no words. Just the overwhelming scent of vanilla-caramel-citrus and the visual of wet skin and pink towel and legs I want wrapped around me.
"Did you decide to become a mime or something?" Theo's voice echoes from down the hallway.
Right. They followed me. Because apparently I can't do anything alone anymore without my pack deciding to tag along.
Footsteps approach—heavy, deliberate. Theo and Grayson rounding the corner from where they've been waiting by the elevator because Theo isn't good with stairs unless it's a literal life-or-death emergency.
.
They reach us. Round the corner. Take one look at Reverie standing in the doorway in nothing but a fuzzy pink towel with water dripping down her skin.
And both freeze completely. Like someone hit pause on their entire existence.
Theo's eyes go wide—comically wide for someone who's usually so controlled. Then they darken, pupils dilating so fast it's visible even from where I'm standing. His whole body goes tense, predatory, every line screaming Alpha-wants-Omega in the most primitive way possible. His nostrils flare as her scent hits him full force—probably just as overwhelming for him as itis for me, maybe more so since he fucked her last night and his hindbrain is screaming 'mine' on repeat.
Grayson makes a small choking sound. Like someone just punched him directly in the solar plexus and knocked all the air out of his lungs in one devastating blow. His hands clench into fists at his sides, knuckles going white with the effort of not reaching for her.
Yeah. That's about right. That's the completely appropriate response to Reverie in a towel with her scent flooding the hallway strong enough to make grown Alphas forget how to function like normal human beings.
Reverie groans, crossing her arms over her chest—which does absolutely nothing to help the situation. Just makes the towel ride up slightly and draws attention to how the fabric is molded to her curves.
"Why are you three all here at my place?" Her voice pitches higher with frustration. "Actually—how did you guys even find my place? Are you legal stalkers or something?"
"No," Grayson says immediately, his voice strained. Then adds helpfully: "Only Theo has the tactical training for that."
Grayson. Buddy. That was not the reassuring response you think it was.
Reverie tilts her head, one eyebrow arching in that way that makes her look simultaneously adorable and extremely unimpressed.
Grayson's mouth forms a perfect O of realization. "Oh... that comment was rhetorical, wasn't it?"
Theo grins—that dangerous, knowing smile that means he's enjoying this chaos way too much. His voice drops to that low rumble that he uses when he's being deliberately provocative.
"If I wanted to find our Sugarplum, I most certainly could. But following Nash was probably the smarter move. Less work."
Our Sugarplum. He's already claiming her with possessive pronouns and she doesn't even know about the fake pack arrangement yet.
