For the next twenty minutes, the alphas are constantly flagging me down. Coffee refills. Water spills. Two dropped forks. Maybe I’m not cut out for customer service. I don’t say a word. I just slap things on the table.
I bus the table and cringe at the three dollar tip. Money’s money, right? I crouch behind the counter and pull out my handbag to get to my wallet. The plastic drugstore bags slither and dump half their contents on the floor. Estelle kneels next to me to help.
“My all-time favorite.” She picks up the mascara and tucks it back into the bag. Her nose wrinkles at the contour stick.
“What?” I say, a little too harshly.
“This isn’t really a great choice for you.”
“It was on sale.”
“Babe.” She looks at me like I just stepped out of a cabbage patch or something.
I take the product from her and shove it back in the bag, double-checking that the receipt is still in there.
I sigh, shaking the bag of makeup products I don’t know how to use. “I have a big date and I need to look less like… this.” I make a messy gesture to encompass everything about me.
Estelle takes the bag and dumps it out on the counter to sort the items.
“These you can return. You have killer cheek bones, so you just need a bit of color on them. And you don’t need full-coverage foundation.” She looks something up on her phone, takes a screenshot, and sends it to me. “Get this tinted moisturizer. Your skin is pretty flawless, but everyone needs moisturizer.”
Flawless. Ha. That’s a lie.
“Okay,” I say, chewing on a nail while I read the product reviews.
“Do you?” She pauses and puts a hand on her hip. “I know you don’t really like me, but do you want help getting ready for the date?”
“What makes you think I don’t like you?”
“Ash, you snap at people and you never smile.”
“I-I…” I stutter because I don’t really have a response to that. “I kind of thought no one ever noticed me.” I can’t look at her, so I separate the makeup into two bags, one with the receipt to return. “I’m sorry.” I say, mortified. “My brother says…” I choke on the rest of the sentence.
“Apology accepted. When’s the date? What are you wearing? And we should do something about your hair.”
“What’s wrong with my hair?” My hands go right to my messy bun.
“Nothing. But I can tell you haven’t cut it in like three years.”
I snort. It’s been longer than that. A flicker of panic ignites in my stomach. Changing my hair is a good idea.
The last time I saw Pierce and Liam, I still had braces on. I barely recognize myself in the one picture that Papa saved when wemoved. They haven’t changed one bit. Well, they got a little taller and broader, but mostly the same.
“Do you think I could pull off bangs?” I ask.
“Oh, babe. Those cheekbones and a smoky eye with curtain bangs? Your date will be falling over himself.”
Beckett can fall down and die for all I care, so long as he gets me to Pierce and Liam.
Chapter eight
LIAM MORALES
Butterfliesarebouncingoffmy insides like they think they are going on a first date. I twirl the room key card in my hand. I feel guilty about having it. When I spoke to the concierge and showed proof that I was Beckett Hansen’s packmate, she was giddy and gave me a room card without me even asking. I had just wanted to know the room number.
I shift the duffel to my other hand and knock on room 1019.
“Oh man, thanks for taking care of my suit so fast,” Beckett says as he flings the door open.
