“Polite but distant,” he says under his breath in a mocking tone. “Classic Slater shutdown mode.”
I lean toward Slater with a grin. “I think she was into you.”
He doesn’t even blink. Just grabs another spring roll, drops it on his plate like he didn’t hear me. “Not interested.”
Jasper snorts. “There it is. The Slater mantra.” He leans back in his chair and gestures dramatically. “Women could show up naked and hand him a condom, and he’d ask if they’re lost.”
I laugh, but Slater doesn’t flinch. He just dips the spring roll in sauce and takes a bite like we’re discussing the weather.
“I notice,” he says finally, deadpan. “I just don’t give a shit.”
Mason shakes his head, grinning as he spoons some Dan Dan noodles onto his plate. “He’s still in his monk era.”
“Monk?” I echo.
“Yeah,” Jasper says, wagging his chopsticks. “No touching, no flirting, no smiling. Just brooding and judgment from the mountain.”
Slater lifts a brow. “If you’re done projecting your kinks onto me, can we eat in peace?”
“Oh, he speaks more than a few words,” Dylan mutters with a grin. “Careful, you’re gonna get the table pregnant with all that charisma.”
Mason chuckles, then turns to me. “His last pack left some scars. He’s not really looking for anything right now.”
Slater stabs a dumpling. “Let’s not start romanticizing my disinterest.”
I glance over at the server, who’s pretending not to stare our way from behind the bar. “Well, she wasn’t throwing herself at you, Mason, but she was definitely looking to start something.”
“She can stare all she wants,” Mason says casually, twirling his noodles. “I’m not exactly in a chasing mood tonight.”
“That’s a first,” Dylan says. “Mason turns down attention? Mark the calendar.”
Mason shrugs with that slow, easy smile that makes it hard to tell if he’s being modest or just messing with us. “I didn’t say I’d turn it down. Just said I’m not chasing.”
“Translation means he’s waiting for her to trip and land in his lap,” Jasper adds with a chuckle.
“She’d be lucky,” Dylan adds with a wink. “You seen the man’s forearms?”
Mason raises his hands like he’s surrendering. “Can we not make me sound like a trophy?”
“You are a trophy,” Jasper says. “A wholesome, emotionally available, safe-bet Alpha trophy. Mothers love you. Dogs follow you. Old ladies try to set you up with their granddaughters.”
“First of all, I hate how accurate that is,” Mason mutters.
“Second of all,” Dylan adds, “he’s still the one they pick after Slater emotionally devastates them.”
Slater exhales slowly, like he’s debating whether to stab us or just leave. “You done?” he says to no one in particular.
“Not even close.” Dylan grins.
But Slater is already refocusing on his food, unmoved by the entire conversation.
I lean back and watch them all with growing amusement. The dynamic between them is sharp-edged but warm, the kind of bond forged from tough days and a hundred shared meals just like this one. Teasing, sure, but there’s an undercurrent of loyalty that runs deep.
Mason notices me watching and tips his glass in my direction. “You good?”
“Yeah,” I say, smiling as I raise mine back. “Just enjoying the show.”
Slater doesn’t glance up, but I catch the smallest twitch of a smirk at the corner of his mouth. Maybe he’s not totally dead inside after all.
