She’s young, early twenties maybe, with a sleek red ponytail and a smile so dialed in it should have its own setting. It’s focused on the Alphas at this table, sweet with a shot of syrupy flirt. She clearly knows them, or at least knows of them, judging by the way she leans in just a little too close as she starts setting down the first dish.
“This one’s the pork-and-chive dumplings,” she says, placing the bamboo steamer in the middle of the table and giving Mason a subtle glance from beneath her lashes. “Still piping hot, so careful.”
Next comes shrimp and ginger. Then chicken and scallion. Her voice lowers slightly as she lists them off, like she’s readinga secret menu meant just for them. Is it weird that I feel strange, burning up, with her flirting with these men?
Scallion pancakes follow, still sizzling on the edges, golden and thin. Then spring rolls with plum dipping sauce. Dan Dan noodles drenched in chili oil. Orange chicken. Mapo tofu, its sauce bubbling slightly in the bowl. Finally, sesame green beans arranged in a perfect tangle.
She places each plate like she’s offering a gift.
“I told the kitchen to make sure everything came out extra hot tonight,” she adds, leaning forward as she sets the noodles down. Her hand brushes Mason’s arm briefly, and her laugh is soft. “You boys always look like you’re starving when you come in.”
With four broad-shouldered Alphas around one table, she’s not wrong. It’s a ridiculous amount of food, but I’d bet my fake ID they’ll clear the plates without breaking a sweat.
The smells hit in waves—ginger, garlic, chili oil, five-spice, toasted sesame—and my stomach chooses that exact moment to betray me. Loudly.
Dylan grins and flicks a glance my way. “Someone’s hungry.”
I shrug, trying to look casual. “Smells divine.”
That part is true, at least.
She lingers, her attention narrowing like a spotlight on Mason and Dylan. She bends slightly at the waist when she speaks, posture open, deliberate.
“Can I get you boys anything else? More drinks? Dessert menu?” She flashes a coy smile, simply overlooking me. Guess I’m not her type. “We just got in fresh mochi ice cream. I could bring out a few flavors to try?”
“We’re good for now. Thanks, darling,” Mason replies, polite but distant.
“You sure?” she asks. Her stare lingers just long enough to sayI’d stay if you asked.
Dylan chuckles, not unkindly. “Appreciate it. But we’re still working through all this. We’ll let you know, sweetheart.”
She beams at him, clearly pleased. Then she turns to Jasper. “And you? Need anything special?”
Jasper gives her a small smirk. Not quite a smile, but enough to make her visibly fluster. She fans herself lightly with her order pad, like she’s overheating just from the proximity.
“I’ll take that as a no,” she says breathlessly. “But you just let me know if that changes.”
Then she turns to Slater.
Her whole demeanor tightens. She’s not just being flirty anymore; she’swatchinghim. Eyes tracking over his face, his shoulders, his hands, like she’s memorizing details. Waiting. Hoping he’ll meet her gaze.
Slater doesn’t. He’s already dishing dumplings onto his plate, concentrating and completely uninterested.
She shifts her weight. Adjusts her stance. Angles her body so she’s more in his line of sight. Still nothing.
Eventually, she gives up and walks away, a little slower than necessary, her expression puzzled like she can’t figure out why she didn’t land the attention she’s used to catching without even trying. And she completely ignored me, which was rude.
I watch all of it from my seat and try not to roll my eyes.
And it’s not like I have a reason to be jealous.
I adjust my posture and reach for a spring roll, reminding myself that I amabsolutelynot here to flirt.
Not with them.
Not with anyone.
Dylan nudges Mason with an elbow, nodding toward the female server, who’s still lingering by the counter, pretending to refill soy sauce bottles.
