The implication hangs in the air between us.Unlike us, she means. Or is she referring to herself? The Zoe who showed up tonight certainly seems different from the woman who fled our penthouse.
Before the silence can stretch too long, a harried-looking beta with faded blue hair and an impressive collection of ear piercings that glint under the bar lights appears at our table.
“What can I get you?” they ask, their tone suggesting they’d rather be anywhere else.
“Five beers,” Rett says automatically. “Whatever’s on tap.”
The server blinks slowly. “We have twelve things on tap.”
“The house special, then,” I suggest, offering a smile.
This earns me an unimpressed stare. “The Anchor Ale. Got it.” They start to turn away. “Anything else?”
“We’re good for now,” Zoe cuts in smoothly before any of us can respond. “Thanks, Sam.”
The server, Sam, nods, their expression softening for Zoe before they disappear back into the crowd.
“Friend of yours?” Tristan asks.
“Regular,” Zoe corrects. “I come here a lot.”
“Why?” The question slips out before I can stop it. The placeisn’t terrible, but it’s loud, crowded, and smells like the underside of a dock.
She shrugs one shoulder. “It’s real. Unpretentious. Nobody cares who you know or what you do. It’s just... normal people having normal drinks after normal days.”
The emphasis on “normal” isn’t lost on any of us.
“And it’s the last place you’d expect to find us,” Dane adds quietly. It’s the first thing he’s said since we sat down, and Zoe’s eyes flick to him, a flicker of surprise crossing her features.
“There is that,” she admits.
An awkward silence falls over our table, made more noticeable by the cacophony surrounding us. Jukebox Arctic Monkeys has given way to what sounds like Post Malone, and someone at the bar has started an impromptu singing competition.
Rett clears his throat. “We should?—”
“You have my planner?” Zoe interrupts, cutting straight to the chase.
Dane reaches behind him and pulls the teal planner from the waistband of his jeans, where it had been tucked securely against the small of his back. He sets it on the table between us. It looks almost comically out of place against the sticky, beer-stained wood.
Zoe’s throat moves, but she doesn’t reach for it immediately. Instead, she studies it, then raises her eyes to meet each of ours in turn. “You read it.”
It’s not a question, but I answer anyway. “Yes. I did most of the reading.” I feel a flush creep up my neck. “I’m sorry. That was... invasive.”
“Yes, it was,” she agrees, but there’s no heat in her voice. Just a cool assessment. “What else did you do that was invasive?”
Tristan shifts uncomfortably on his stool. “Define ‘invasive’...”
Zoe rolls her eyes. “Let’s start with claiming me without any discussion of what that might mean. For any of us.”
Sam returns with our beers, each one landing on the tablewith a wet thud. Foam sloshes over the rims, adding to the stickiness of the table. None of us moves to drink.
“That’s fair,” Rett says once Sam has left. “The claiming was... unplanned.”
“Unplanned,” Zoe repeats, her voice flat. “Four claiming marks, and you’re telling me it was ‘unplanned’?”
“It was instinctive,” I explain, leaning forward slightly. “For all of us. Something we’d never experienced before.”
“But you asked,” Tristan adds quickly. “And we asked. There was consent.”
