Page 63 of Pack Plus One

She swings open the door with a flourish.

And there they are.

Standing shoulder-to-shoulder in my narrow hallway like some kind of alpha boy band, dressed in coordinating shades of blue and gray that can’t possibly be accidental. The air instantly thickens with their combined scents, wrapping around me like a possessive embrace despite the industrial-strength neutralizer I’ve been spraying all afternoon.

Oh, this was a mistake.

“Well, hello, gentlemen,” Zoe purrs, eyeing them like they’re an all-you-can-eat buffet. “Aren’t you all a sight for sore eyes?”

Jude grins, holding up a balloon bouquet that reads“Sorry We Stole Your Panties”in glittering cursive. Where the hell did he even buy that? “We come bearing gifts!”

Behind him, Caleb’s jaw flexes, his massive frame practically vibrating with restraint. He’s holding a slow-cooked lamb shank in a glass container, the meat so tender it looks like it will fall off the bone. “You mentioned liking Mediterranean,” he rumbles, and my stupid omega hindbrain purrs at the evidence that he remembered such a tiny detail.

Mason steps forward, his usual calm demeanor slightly strained. He offers a bottle of cinnamon-infused whiskey. “For dessert,” he says, then adds, quieter, “Or panic relief.” His dark eyes scan my face with an intensity that suggests he knows exactly how close I am to the latter.

Liam—sweet, gentle Liam—holds out a hand-carved wooden spoon, the cherrywood polished to a warm gleam. “For your bakery,” he mumbles, his ears turning pink. “I, uh. Made it.”

I blink. “Youcarvedthis?”

He nods, suddenly fascinated by my doormat.

“He has a whole woodworking setup back at the brewery,” Jude offers helpfully. “It’s very sexy. All those power tools. Very alpha.”

Liam’s blush deepens to alarming levels.

Before I can process this—Liam carves? Liam made me something with his hands?—Mrs. Finley’s door creaks open from wayyy down the hall. I hear her distinct shuffle as she heads our way, probably to visit another neighbor on my side of the apartment block.

“Well, well,” the elderly omega purrs, her eyes twinkling as she turns the corner and takes in the parade of males at my door. “Four strapping young men for dinner? Save some for the rest of us, dear.”

Jude winks at her. “We’ll bring you leftovers.”

I grab Caleb’s sleeve and yank them all inside before the building’s gossip mill explodes with speculation about the omega in 3B and her harem.

“Thanks for having us,” Mason says formally as he passes, as if this is a normal dinner party and not some kind of intervention for inappropriate underwear theft.

Zoe slips out behind them, mouthing “Call me later!” with an exaggerated wink that promises detailed interrogation.

The door closes with an ominous click.

My apartment shrinks by approximately three hundred percent the moment she leaves. What was a cozy studio for one suddenly feels like a sardine can stuffed with testosterone and dangerous pheromones.

Jude immediately claims a spot on my couch, his lanky frame somehow taking up twice the space a normal person would. CRACK. The wooden arm splinters under his weight.

“Whoops,” he says, sliding to the cushion with a grin that’s not nearly apologetic enough. “That was already loose, right?”

“Sure it was.” I huff a laugh through my nose. “Just like my sanity.”

“Hey, at least your sanity and I have something in common,” he quips, setting the ridiculous balloon bouquet on my side table.

My eyes slide to Mason, who is standing quietly, taking in the space with polite interest. He gives me a soft smile once we meet eyes.

“I like your place,” he offers simply. “It feels like you.”

As I nod in thanks, I notice Liam hasn’t ventured far from where he stood. He’s still holding the wooden spoon he carved, his fingers tracing the smooth handle.

“I wasn’t sure what kind of wood you’d prefer for baking,” he admits softly. “Cherry has a nice balance of hardness and flexibility.”

The unintentional double entendre hangs in the air for a moment before Jude snickers.