“And it ended badly,” I say, letting out a bitter laugh. “Lots of unresolved tension. But enough about that. How wasyourexperience in his arms?” I take a long sip from my drink, masking the sting of my words with a smirk. I’d half convinced myself she’d pick him. But she’s here, with me, proving my insecurities wrong.
She captures her bottom lip between her teeth, thinking. It’s distracting—dangerously so—but I force myself to stay composed. When her lips finally curve into a slow, deliberate smile, it’s almost my undoing.
“It was—intense,” she admits, her voice soft but teasing.
I lift my cup to my lips again, hiding behind it, and nod. “Yeah. His kisses are intense. It’s like he puts his whole body into it.” My tone is light, even as my chest tightens. “Too intense for my innocent beta?”
She grins wide, her sky-blue eyes sparkling with mischief. “Yourbeta?”
“You’re here, aren’t you?” I shrug, feigning nonchalance.
Her smile softens, and the way she looks at me makes my heart stutter. “And I’m always going to be where you are. We’re a package deal now. I’m afraid you’re stuck with me.”
My breath hitches, and for a moment, all I can do is stare at her. The raw, blinding hope that swells in my chest is overwhelming, almost terrifying. It’s the kind of feeling thatmakes me want to hand her the world—everything she’s ever wanted.
“I like the sound of that, Lakelyn,” I say, my voice quieter than I intended.
She tilts her head, a playful glint in her eyes. “Well, you’re not the only one who reads into kisses.”
Her laughter spills out, light and unrestrained, and it hits me like a punch to the chest. Pure happiness threads through me, unfamiliar and all-consuming. I take a slow sip of my Peanut Butter Chia, savoring it, before leaning closer to her, my voice dropping low.
“I’m going to give you everything you’ve ever wanted,” I promise, my tone steady and sure. “Do you want Dean or Mason first?”
She laughs, soft and easy, like I’m joking. But I’m not. My eyes stay fixed on her, studying the way her amusement fades and her lips part as realization sets in. I watch the exact moment she understands I’m serious.
"Chad, I told Dean we were a package deal," she says, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “He thinks you’re playing games with him.”
“That’s because I am,” I reply, shrugging as I take another sip of my drink, savoring the sweetness.
She blinks, processing, then leans back in the booth, crossing her arms as she studies the side of my face. “That sounds like your defenses talking.”
I raise an eyebrow focusing on my hands, swirling the liquid in my cup. “Maybe. Or maybe it’s just me keeping things interesting.”
“You don’t have to pretend with me. I’m not going to hurt you,” she says softly, shifting closer to me in the booth. Her knee brushes against mine under the table, and her warmth seeps through my jeans.
I feel her gaze on my face again, and for a second, I almost look at her, but instead, I trace the rim of my cup with my thumb, avoiding her eyes. Her words settle between us, too heavy and too real, like she’s seeing straight through the armor I’ve worked so hard to build.
She waits, her fingers lightly tapping the edge of the table, patient but not pushing. I can feel her expectation hanging in the air, but I take another slow sip of my drink, hiding behind the taste.
I know she means it, but a part of me still wants to deflect, to throw up another wall. It’s easier that way.
The silence stretches between us, thick and heavy. My heart pounds harder than I’d like to admit, and I catch myself tracing the rim of my cup again, like it’ll somehow distract me from what’s happening right next to me. Her knee stays pressed against mine, grounding me in a way that feels... different.
I finally meet her eyes, and there’s no judgment there, just calm and something else—something I’m not used to seeing directed at me. Not from anyone.
“You don’t have to pretend with me,” she repeats, her voice soft, coaxing, like she’s daring me to believe her. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
I exhale, long and slow, like I’m deflating. I could deflect, joke it away, but I’m so tired of the game. And she’s still here, close enough that her warmth feels like something real, something solid, something I want. And she pickedme.
“I know,” I admit, the words leaving my mouth before I can stop them. My throat tightens as I drop my defenses. It feels vulnerable, too raw, but for once, I let it happen.
Her expression softens as she leans in a little more, like she’s encouraging me without saying a word. Her hand hovers for a moment before she rests it lightly on my arm, her fingers warm through the fabric of my sleeve.
I don't pull away.
“Chad…” she whispers, her voice careful, as if testing the waters. “You don’t have to be perfect. You just have to be real.”
“I don’t know how to do that.” My voice comes out quieter than I intended, like I’ve let her into a part of me I didn’t even realize I was hiding.
