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As soon as he was gone, I slumped against the closet door, my knees weak with a mixture of relief and despair. This was even worse than I’d thought. Not only was I fated to alphas who saw me as family, but I was also the wrong gender for them.

The universe really did hate me.

It took me a good twenty minutes to calm down enough to face everyone again. I dressed in my most comfortable sleep shorts and an oversized t-shirt, trying not to think about how the shorts revealed too much of my legs or how the shirt slipped off one shoulder. It didn’t matter. They weren’t looking at me that way.

When I finally made my way to the living room, the scene of domestic chaos that greeted me was almost enough to make me smile. Drew had sprawled across the main sofa, taking up far more space than should be physically possible for someone his size. Mochi had claimed the love seat, Pixel was perched on the back of the armchair, and Boba was snoring loudly from his dog bed in the corner.

“Where am I supposed to sit?” I demanded, hands on hips. “The floor?”

“There’s room here,” Cade said from the other end of the sectional, patting the space beside him.

My traitorous fox ears immediately perked up at his voice, and I silently cursed them. “Drew, move your legs,” I tried instead.

“Can’t,” Drew said without looking up from his phone. “Doctor’s orders. Need to elevate them after leg day.”

“You haven’t been to the gym in two weeks,” I pointed out.

“Mental leg day,” he replied, still not budging. “Very strenuous. Besides, the alphas have plenty of room. They’re just so big and strong and comfortable to lean against.” He winked at me so blatantly that I was surprised the brothers didn’t see it.

With a sigh of defeat, I moved toward the spot Cade had indicated. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to sit next to him. It was that I wanted to too much, which was the whole problem.

I sat as far away as the space allowed, tucking my legs underneath me and making sure my tail was firmly wrapped around my waist. No need to give away my emotional state more than these stupid ears already did.

Logan entered, carrying a bowl of popcorn that looked comically small in his massive hands. Our eyes met briefly, and I saw something flicker in his gaze before he quickly looked away. Without a word, he settled on my other side, effectively boxing me in between him and Cade. The couch immediately felt ten degrees warmer.

Keir was the last to arrive, dropping gracefully into the armchair and immediately having to negotiate with Pixel for space. “Who’s ready for some multiversal madness?” he asked, reaching for the remote.

“Hit it,” Drew said, finally looking up from his phone. “Did you know they originally planned to have the lizard guy from the second movie return as a villain in this one?”

“Drew, I swear to God, if you spoil this movie, I will end you,” I threatened, grabbing a throw pillow as potential ammunition.

“What? It’s not a spoiler if it didn’t happen,” he protested.

“It’s still ruining the experience,” Keir said, pointing the remote at him accusingly. “What’s the point of watching if you already know the plot?”

“It helps me understand the story better,” Drew defended. “I like to be prepared.”

“For a movie?” Logan asked incredulously. “It’s not a tactical mission.”

“You never know,” Drew said solemnly. “There could be pop quizzes.”

The pillow hit him square in the face before he could continue.

“Direct hit,” Keir applauded as Drew spluttered. “Nice arm, little fox.”

“Years of practice,” I said modestly, settling back against the couch. “Now start the movie before he reveals the ending.”

As the opening credits rolled, I tried to focus on the screen rather than the warm presence of the alphas on either side of me. It was nearly impossible. Every breath brought their scents to me, making my head swim and my fox parts tingle with awareness.

I was acutely conscious of Logan’s thigh pressed against mine, of the way Cade’s arm stretched along the back of the couch behind me, not quite touching but close enough that I could feel his warmth. The air between us seemed charged, heavy with something I couldn’t name but could definitely feel.

“Hey, Finn,” Drew called from his sprawled position, “remember when we were kids and you used to fall asleep during movies? You’d always end up using whoever was closest as a pillow.”

I shot him a warning glare. “I was eight, Drew.”

“Some habits never die,” he replied with a grin. “Like how you still curl up against people when you’re cold. Or tired. Or just because.”

“I do not,” I protested, though my cheeks heated at the implication.