Thayer goes next, crisp as always.
“Competence.” He shrugs, unapologetic. “Watching someone do something well. Focused. Capable. In their element.” A corner of his mouth twitches. “That kind of mastery does things to me.”
Courtland’s grin is lazy when he turns his board. “Eye contact during a kiss.”
There’s a ripple of giggles from the omegas. Court doesn’t even pretend to be embarrassed. “When someone looks at you like you’re the only thing in the room.” His eyes lift—and damn him—they land on Florence before he can stop himself.
My jaw tightens.
My turn.
“Honesty,” I say. The word feels bare in my mouth. Important. I don’t dress it up, don’t soften it. After a second, I add, “Being true to yourself, not what you think someone wants to hear.”
The room quiets, just for a breath.
Then the omegas start answering, voices tumbling over one another.
“Dominance.”
“Kisses on the neck.”
“Being held down during sex.”
“A strong alpha bark.”
Expected. Easy. Performative.
Cleo’s eyes scan the boards again—and then snag. “Florence?” she says, eyebrows lifting. “Acts of service? What does that mean to you?”
Ren shifts, fingers curling around the edge of her board. I can see the hesitation, the way she debates whether it’s worth explaining herself.
“I mean…” She gives a small shake of her head, almost sheepish. “It’s not big things. It’s little ones.” Her gaze drops, then lifts again, steady. “Someone remembering how I take my coffee. Fixing something without being asked. Bringing an extra blanket because they know I get cold.” She shrugs. “Asking the server to add club soda because they know I like bubbles.” Her eyes flick toward me.
Fuck.
“I don’t know,” she finishes softly. “Just things that tell me they see me. That they remember what I like. That they know what I need. That they’ll take care of me.”
Something tightens in my chest.
It’s so soft. So Florence.
So fucking perfect.
Any alpha’s wet dream. At our core that is what our instincts drive us toward when it comes to a mate, providing, protecting, knowing what they need before they do. I picture myself handing her a mug of coffee first thing in the morning with the exact sugar to cream ratio she likes, the beaming smile she’d give me in response, and my chest gets tight. Too tight.
I want that more than fucking anything. That quiet soft moment of care.
Courtland makes a choked noise beside me, a half growl, half purr, that he cuts off with flaming cheeks. Like he’s imagining that with her too. Like he got caught up in the fantasy.
I get it. I’m right there with him.
If it was anyone else I’d say it was a calculated answer, something meant to show how good of an omega she is, but it's Florence, and so I know this is the truth.
Tristan is eyeing her like she’s too sweet to be real, and I get that too.
“What’s a red flag you ignore because it’s ‘kind of hot’?”
Everyone laughs, a bit uncomfortable, but game to answer, to use it as a flirting technique, to be specific about the red flags they see in us and how they’d be willing to overlook them for a chance to be our mate.
