Page 43

REMI

This is so embarrassing.

I let myself give in to the book one time.

One. Time.

It’s the one time the guys decide it’s best if they show up at my door bearing some delicious-smelling food. All the while, I’m trying not to stop myself from sliding my thighs together and spreading my slick.

Ugh.

And of course, they can scent it on me. Being my scent match mates means they’re as in tune with me as I am with them. The moment I answered the door and they got a good whiff of what I’d been doing, their alpha side reared its ugly head.

Now, all of them are staring at me like they’d rather eat me than the food they’re carrying.

I’m not saying it’s not hot. It is. However, what I am saying is that it won't work. Burn me once and all that …

“What are you all doing here?” I ask, closing the opening of my robe that’s showcasing my naked breasts.

Knox is the first to come out of his haze. He shakes his head and then smiles brightly at me. It’s a smile that seems to transform his entire face. From him being the stoic, asshole politician, it’s a big difference.

“We brought you dinner,” he says. “With the hopes that we can join you.”

I cock a brow. “Didn’t I refuse your request to join you for dinner?”

He clears his throat, barely stopping himself from shifting uncomfortably in front of me. “Yes. You did. But, we … We thought we … That you …”

I hate that I find his stammering so endearing.

I shouldn’t feel anything when it comes to Knox, Tripp, or Boone.

But I find, in their presence, I feel everything—my entire being lights up inside like never before.

There’s a charge in the air that surrounds us when we’re close.

It’s a feeling that’s hard to describe, yet simple at the same time.

We’re connected in a way that not many people are. We’re each other’s biological match. Upon birth, we were destined to be together. So, fighting fate’s design is tough. It’s taking a toll on me that I didn’t think it would.

I dream about them. I fantasize about them. Everything I do, see, touch, and scent reminds me of them and our connection to one another.

We may have only met, but the moment I took their scent into my lungs, and my eyes met theirs, I’ve been spiraling. Until the other night when Knox and Boone came and relieved me of Tripp, I didn't know it wasn’t worth it to become lost in them.

They hurt me. A lot. I’ve never felt a pain so hurtful as I did that night. It felt as if someone was clawing my chest open, relishing the blood sliding through their fingers.

But that night—when Tripp and I surrendered to the aching pull between us—I tasted something sweeter than longing and sharper than regret.

It should have been a memory of reckless abandon, the kind that lingers like an echo in my bones.

Instead, it is tainted, veined through with a sorrow I cannot shake.

Their betrayal was not loud or obvious, but subtle: a fracture in a trust that seemed unbreakable.

I feel it in the way their gazes linger, heavy with judgments they didn’t voice, and in the silence that descends afterward, the kind that is thick and suffocating.

Tripp’s touch was tender, and yet even in his arms, I was haunted by the absence of the others, by the knowledge that what should have united us had instead left us fractured.

Every gentle caress that night was underscored by a quiet ache, a sense of something precious slipping through my grasp.

The pain was not in the act, but in what followed: Knox and Boone, their presence a cold current against the heat of what I shared with Tripp. Their eyes did not meet mine; their words felt brittle. All the warmth I’d come to crave was replaced by an emptiness I hadn’t expected.

I lay awake most nights, my mind replaying every gesture, every unspoken accusation, until my chest aches with it. In that moment, the connection that once set me alight became a wound —a reminder that even destiny can sting when it is not met with honesty and acceptance.

I lean my head against the doorjamb. “You thought since I declined your dinner invitation that you’d bring the dinner to me. Is that it?”

He nods, looking like a scolded child.

Fuck. I wish I could hate him. I wish there were a part inside of me that could take over, allowing it free rein in protecting me from the people who want to hurt me.

But it’s hard to hate someone you’re biologically fated to love.

The need burrowing inside of me whispers that I want and need them in my life, that my world would be a better place with them by my side.

It just hurts. Their rejection of me and the games they played hurt me beyond all compare. Then, the turnaround is like whiplash. They go from not wanting me to wanting all of me.

I knew men were fickle, but I didn’t exactly know how fickle they were until just now.

“What made you think that?” I inquire, already know what he’s going to say.

“We want to make it up to you,” he whispers. “We acted like assholes, and we should’ve never done that to our mate.”

“Your match,” I interrupt.

His eyes meet mine, and I see the pure honesty consuming them. “No. Mate.”

His word—mate—hangs between us, heavy and irrevocable, a truth I want to deny but cannot.

I weigh his offer, the apology nestled in his eyes, the longing that rides his every breath.

Part of me rebels, wounded pride urging me to turn away, to let the silence punish him.

But another part, softer and infinitely more fragile, wonders if this is the moment I let the past loosen its grip.

Can I trust them again? Can I trust myself around them?

Before I can decide, the universe betrays me: my stomach lets loose a long, plaintive growl that echoes between us. The spell breaks. Heat creeps up my neck, embarrassment warring with my misery.

Hunger, it seems, is more honest than I am willing to be. It causes the guys to smile, and the sight before me has me choking on a gasp. They’re so gorgeous when they smile, the uninhibited form of joy enveloping them as they continue to stare at me in wait.

Sighing, I push away from the doorjamb and take a step back. Opening the door wider, I gesture for them to come inside. I hear the sound of multiple, thudding footsteps as they follow me into the kitchen. The door creaks shut behind them.

I can practically feel their eyes running over me. I can only think of the thoughts running through their mind.

Boone caught the scent of what I was doing right before they showed up. With his words, I knew I was caught. But instead of being too embarrassed, I dismissed it. A woman has needs, and I don’t have a man to tend to those needs.

Even though I was imagining my night with Tripp when I was trying to bring myself to orgasm, it didn’t work. I was feeling frustrated and unsatisfied. The knock at the door was my only saving grace from beating myself up too badly.

“Just set the food on the counter,” I say, gesturing toward the island.

I go to grab plates, forks, and cups, but a warm, calloused hand stops me. I look over to see Tripp there, a small smile resting on his handsome face.

“Allow me. You go take a seat and relax.”

I stand there, stunned. Relax? Take a seat? Usually, I’m the one doing everything and taking care of everything for other people.

The words catch me off guard, unfamiliar and strange in my kitchen, in my life. I blink at Tripp, hesitating, as though he’s just suggested I sprout wings and fly. The urge to help, to fuss and busy my hands, itches at me, but his gentle insistence anchors me in place.

“Um,” I stammer, the confession tumbling out before I can swallow it back, “I don’t know how to do that.” The admission hangs in the air between us—equal parts awkward and raw. For a moment, I don’t know what to do with myself if I’m not the one taking care of everything.

Then, I feel hands fall softly on my shoulders. It startles me. I go to pull away, but the hands anchor me to them. I turn my head to see Boone standing there, watching me.

“Come over here and sit down, precious.”

Precious? Confusion swamps me as I allow Boone to lead me away from the cabinets. Knox pulls out my chair to the right at the head of the table. I sit down, silently, my eyes tracking them buzzing about my kitchen.

Knox uncovers what I now know is lasagna.

The scent permeating the air is delicious and has me salivating for a taste.

Its rich aroma teases my senses and transports me back in time to when my mother made this for me on my thirteenth birthday.

It was one of the last homemade meals my adoptive mother ever made me.

“I didn’t know Tesoro did take out,” I say, trying to start a conversation.

“They don’t,” Knox replies, giving me that devilish grin of his. “This is all homemade.”

My eyes widen in shock. “I know what this is.”

“What is this?” Tripp asks, craning his head to look past Boone and spot me.

“You’re trying to poison me. Yeah. I called it.”

Tripp’s laughter echoes through the room, followed closely by Boone’s chuckle and Knox’s kind smile. They all look between themselves before bringing their eyes back to me.

“No. This is step two.”

“Step two?” I let my head fall to the side, smiling, but no less confused.

Knox places the homemade lasagna down in the center of the table, fussing with it. He doesn’t meet my eyes, but I can tell thoughts are swirling inside his head. He has that pinched look on his face as if he’s trying to find the words he wants to say.

Finally, he says, “Step two in getting our mate back. We were assholes to you, but we want to show you we’re not those people. We’re actually pretty great.”

“Pretty great, huh?”

He nods, setting the cups and cutlery down on the table. “Yes. I’m not tooting my horn, but we’re not bad guys. I was just stupid in thinking …”

“Thinking what?” I ask, the curiosity eating at me when he doesn’t finish his words.