River and Seth.
River's watching from his booth, that easy smile gone—replaced with something intense. Seth's across the square, concern clear even from here.
They're both looking at me.
Then River's gaze flicks past me—toward the alley I just left. Back to me.
Seth's doing the same thing. Following sight lines.
I turn around.
Grayson's still there. Leaning against the alley entrance, arms crossed, eyes on me. Not hiding. Not pretending. Just watching.
And they can all see him. Can see exactly where I just came from.
Oh fuck. They know.
Ben finds me in the crowd. Takes one look at my face. "Come on. I'm driving you home."
"Ben—"
"Not up for debate." He's already steering me toward the parking lot. "You look like you're about to bolt, and it's freezing."
I don't argue. Can't argue. My brain's not working right.
In his truck, Ben turns the heat on full blast and doesn't say anything for a full minute. Just drives. Then:
"So... you into them?"
Heat crawls up my neck.
"All three?" he adds, glancing at me.
I open my mouth. Close it. Open it again.
Nothing comes out.
"That's a yes," Ben says, almost amused. "You smell terrified, by the way. Like full panic mode."
"Shut up."
"Just saying." He turns onto our street. "Could be worse. They're good guys."
I don't respond. Can't respond. Because he's right and I hate it.
At home, I practically throw myself out of the truck. "Thanks for the ride."
"Bea—"
I'm already inside. Door locked.
I can still smell all three of them on my skin—pine and sawdust, rain and cedar, ink and leather and spice.
I climb into bed, pull the covers over my head.
Three alphas.
And when Ben asked if I was into all three of them, I couldn't answer.
