The wind picks up, tugging at the door again. He steps outside then looks back at us. “Stay here,” he orders Lakelyn, like he can’t help himself. Then he disappears down the darkalleyway. When he returns, he pulls the door shut with a hard pull, his muscles flexing beneath his shirt.
I’m about to make another joke—anything to break this tension—when Mason glances back at me, his expression sharper, more serious. “Whoever opened the door is gone, but we’re not taking chances. I’m going to secure it better tomorrow once the hardwood store is open. And tonight, I’ll get this cleaned up.”
Lakelyn crosses her arms, a shiver running through her. The moment from earlier, when we were tangled up in something much less dangerous, feels like it’s slipping away, replaced by the unease settling thickly around us.
“We can help,” she says, her voice soft but firm.
Mason shakes his head, already heading toward the mess. “I’ve got this.”
“Don’t be stubborn.” She shifts on her feet, clearly unwilling to let him take this on alone, and moves across the room to grab a box of heavy-duty rags. She carries it over to him, her chin lifted in challenge. “It’ll get cleaned up faster with all of us helping.”
He lets out a long sigh, running his fingers through his hair. It’s obvious he’s about to cave. “Fine.”
Without another word, we all get to work, using the rags to blot and scrub at the spilled paint. The silence stretches between us, broken only by the occasional squeak of fabric against the floor. When Mason fills a bucket with hot water and soap, handing us coarse brushes, the three of us settle into a rhythm. By the time we’re done, anyone who didn’t know better wouldn’t notice the faint streaks left behind.
Lakelyn straightens with a quiet groan, dropping her brush into the bucket. Her gaze drifts to the back door, her brow furrowing like she expects it to swing open at any moment.
I stand, grabbing the bucket and heading to the sink. The dirty water swirls down the drain as I rinse out the brushes and clean the bucket. When I turn back, she’s still staring at the door, her expression troubled.
“Come on,” I say, nudging her lightly. “Let’s get out of here. You don’t need to stick around and stare at locked doors all night.”
She blinks, snapping out of whatever spiral her thoughts have pulled her into, and gives a small nod. Her gaze flicks to Mason, lingering for a moment before turning back to me. “You’re right. Let’s go.”
I glance at Mason, who’s wiping his hands on a rag, his features tight but calm. “Thanks for letting us help, Alpha.”
He looks up, his green eyes locking onto mine for a beat longer than necessary before shifting to Lakelyn. “Be careful getting home,” he says, his voice low but steady.
Lakelyn steps closer to him, offering a small, warm smile. “You too, Mason. Don’t stay here too late.”
“I won’t,” he promises, his lips twitching into something resembling a grin. “See you both tomorrow.”
She hesitates, as if considering saying more, then simply nods. I motion for her to follow me, and we head for the door, the tension still humming faintly in the air behind us. If the interruption hadn’t happened, tonight would have had a much different outcome.
As we make our way out of the shop, part of me still hums with need for what could have been. The heat of it, so close to spilling over, now smothered by this stupid interruption. We were so close to our goal.
But before I can dwell on it too much, Lakelyn pulls me back to the present with a soft offer. “You don’t have anywhere to stay, right? If you want, you could crash at my place.”
I quirk the corner of my mouth up. “Crash at your place?” I repeat, teasing her a little. She blushes a pretty shade of pink. Nibbling on her lip.
“My bed’s big enough to share.”
“I’m afraid that you’ll no longer be innocent if we share your bed,” I reply.
Lakelyn’s blush deepens, but she doesn’t shy away. Instead, her gaze locks on mine, steady and sure, with a flicker of something darker, something bold behind those wide, innocent eyes. Her lip slips free from her teeth, and she takes a step closer, her voice soft but unmistakably confident.
“I’m not as innocent as you think, Chad,” she says, her words teasing but with an edge of truth. “And I’d be okay with that.”
My heart stutters, a mix of surprise and desire hitting me square in the chest. The way she looks at me—open, willing—it stirs something primal I didn’t know existed inside of me. But I can’t let this spiral out of control. Not like earlier.
I arch an eyebrow, trying to keep things light, even though her words, her whole stance, is making it hard to think straight. “You sure you know what you’re offering? ‘Cause once we cross that line…”
She steps even closer, her fingers brushing against my arm, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. “I know what I’m offering,” she murmurs, her eyes never leaving mine. “And I’m not afraid.”
Damn. I suck in a breath, the air between us crackling with tension, and it takes every ounce of willpower I’ve got to keep my hands at my sides.
The thought of claiming her, of finally closing that distance, is almost overwhelming. This beta is my everything. I can feel it down to my core.
But I don’t want this moment to be rushed. Not with her.
