Page 37 of Pack Me Up

IS SECURITY FOR WORKING OMEGAS THE NEW DREAM ALPHA CAREER

April 24th

“Ready?” Saint asks from my doorway.

I nod, hugging my arms to my chest as I follow him downstairs to where the others are waiting to go nest shopping together.

All of them are standing around Saint’s car, waiting for me with big smiles on their faces.

Saint gestures to the car door. “We’ll take my SUV. Brittney, you can ride in the front.”

I would rather be close to the guys. “Can I ride in the back instead?”

Saint searches my face for something, then nods. “You can sit wherever you’d like. The back is more secure anyway.”

Saint’s SUV is less a car and more a rolling bunker with three rows of leather seats, tinted glass, and enough cargo space to smuggle a rock band and all their gear. I climb in last, wedged in the back between Fox and Hunter, the middle row occupied by the twins, who immediately start arguing over the air conditioning.

I notice that no one sits in the front row, and I hope it’s because they wanted to be closer to me, just like I wanted to be closer to them.

“Sixty-eight is the optimal temp,” Cody says, flicking the dial.

“You’re insane,” Colton replies, yanking it to seventy-two. “Any colder and we’re preserving corpses.”

“It’s called metabolism,” Cody shoots back. “Maybe if you ate less cake, you’d run hotter.”

“Cake is a superfood,” Colton says, absolutely deadpan.

Saint ignores them, sliding the SUV into traffic. Every few blocks, he checks the rearview, catching my eyes and nodding.

Fox leans in, voice soft as fabric. “Don’t mind them. Some days, I think they’d both die if they couldn’t argue.”

“Why does Saint always drive?” I ask, genuinely curious.

Fox shrugs. “Control issues, probably. Also, he’s the only one who would give up sitting by you right now. He’s too generous for his own good.”

Hunter’s arm is draped across the back of my seat, his thigh pressed warm against mine. He’s restless, tapping out complex rhythms on his knee, eyes tracking everything out the window. Every so often, he comments on the outside world.

Up front, the twins have escalated to a full-on debate about what nest supplies I’ll buy.

Saint sighs, but I see the smirk in the rearview. “Enough. We’ll get what Brittney wants, and you two can spar when we get home.”

Fox glances at me. “Nesting is personal,” he says quietly, so only I hear. “It’s not about what the books say. It’s what feels right to you.”

I nod, grateful for the translation.

We pull into the nesting store lot. It’s a gleaming building with soft blue glass and zero sharp edges. There are fountains out front, and the sidewalk is edged with planters of purplesage and ornamental grass. The store is three stories tall, the sign done in lowercase script that feels friendly and welcoming. There are only a few other cars in the lot. Saint parks at the end, away from the herd.

Colton opens my door, a sweep of his arm like a magician. “You ready to be ruined for regular bedding forever?”

I follow them inside, all five fanning out in a wedge, me at the center. The moment we cross the threshold, I’m hit by a wave of lack of scent. They do a good job of keeping the space neutral. The lights are low, the floors softly carpeted, every surface designed to muffle sound and ease your nerves.

It almost works.

I freeze at the threshold. I have never seen so much plush in my life. There are aisles of comforters, throw pillows in every color, bins of weighted blankets, and memory foam slabs as thick as mattresses. The walls are lined with photos of happy omegas in artfully tousled nests, all glowing skin and soft eyes. It’s like a different planet.

I’ve never been taken to a place like this. My parents would laugh if I had ever asked.

Colton and Cody break left, arguing about color palettes. Hunter slides off to check the exits, hands shoved in his pockets, head on a swivel. Saint hovers at my elbow, silent but solid. Fox is the only one who stays close enough to touch.