Page 4 of Pack Plus One (Sweetwater City Reverse Harem Omegaverse #1)

MASON

C aleb, Jude, and Liam are already laying it on thick, and we’ve barely made it to the bar.

I hang back, observing our unexpected companion as Jude flags down a server with his usual excessive charm. The omega looks like she’s ready to bolt—shoulders tight, fingers clutching her purse like it might try to escape. But beneath the tension, there’s something else there too. Relief, maybe.

The server arrives, and Jude doesn’t miss a beat. “Surprise me. But make it pink.”

Liam gives him an unimpressed side-eye before ordering a dry martini.

“Old Fashioned,” Caleb says simply, his tone clipped but polite.

I, ever the responsible beta who might have to drive these idiots back home, ask for a sparkling water with lime. Then I glance at the omega, Leah, the groom had called her. She’s been quietly scanning the room like she’s expecting an ambush. “And you?”

She blinks like she’s startled that I’ve addressed her directly. “Oh, um... another champagne would be great.”

Her voice is pleasant—just a touch higher than usual, probably from nerves.

And her scent... it hits me like a warm loaf of bread fresh out of the oven.

Vanilla, spice, and something underlying that’s sweet.

Not at all like the cloying perfume-heavy scent profiles we’ve been reviewing all week, trying to find a PackPlus date.

Caleb shifts behind her, casually positioning himself like a sentry.

It’s the kind of move that would usually make me roll my eyes—classic overprotective alpha flex—but in this context, it seems..

. appropriate. Especially with the groom still watching us from across the room God knows why.

But as I shift my gaze back to the omega standing with us, I think I know the answer to that.

“So,” I say quietly as the server delivers our drinks, “how do you know the groom?”

She freezes, fingers tightening around the stem of her glass. For a moment, I think she’s going to dodge the question entirely. But then, impressively, she downs the rest of her champagne in one go and gestures for another.

“Eric and I used to date,” she finally admits, her voice dropping just enough that only our small group can hear. “It didn’t end well.”

“Ah.” I let the syllable hang between us. Her scent shifts slightly, souring enough for even me to pick up. I want to ask more, but I know better than to press.

She sighs, giving the server a tight smile as he hands her another flute. “We were together for two years. Then he decided I wasn’t... ‘pack material.’” Her lips twist into a humorless smile. “Apparently, that’s a thing.”

The moment the words leave her mouth, she squeezes her eyes shut like she didn’t mean to say so much. Her nose scrunches, and my God, if it isn’t the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.

She recovers quickly, taking a sip of her new champagne.

Jude makes a sound that’s half laugh, half scoff. “Not pack material? You? What an idiot. Has he seen you?”

His arm settles around Leah’s shoulders like he’s done it a hundred times before. She stiffens for a heartbeat, but then something curious happens.

Her breathing evens out.

Not relaxed, exactly, but... accepting. Like some part of her recognizes this should feel safe, even if her brain hasn’t caught up yet.

Interesting.

Jude catches my eye over her head, grinning like he’s just won a prize. Idiot. If he leans any closer, he’ll literally be nuzzling her in public.

“Sorry to have invited you into this nightmare, doll,” he tells her, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “But don’t worry, I make excellent backup.”

The way he says it draws a slight huff of humor through her nose and a genuine half-smile from her.

Liam raises his martini in a silent toast. “To new friends,” he says, his tone warm. Measured. Clearly trying to put Leah at ease.

She hesitates for half a second, then lifts her champagne flute with a faint smile. “To survival,” she counters.

Jude clinks his glass against hers with a laugh. “I like her already.”

Caleb, who’s been quiet so far, finally speaks. “We should find somewhere less crowded.” His green eyes flick toward the groom, who’s still stealing glances at Leah from across the room. What a creep.

Leah follows our gaze, her jaw tightening. “Gladly.”

We settle at a high-top table in the corner that gives us a view of the room while keeping us somewhat out of the spotlight.

The seating arrangement happens naturally: Jude and Liam flanking Leah, Caleb standing just behind her like a silent sentinel, and me across from her with a clear line of sight of all four of them.

“So,” Jude begins after a long sip of his ridiculous pink drink, “tell us about yourself... other than being what’s-his-name’s?—”

“Eric,” Liam supplies quietly.

“—Eric’s ex,” Jude finishes with a dismissive wave.

Leah winces slightly, but Jude’s easy tone seems to soften the blow. “Not my best conversation starter,” she admits.

Jude’s the first to recover, his voice as smooth as the whiskey he’s not drinking. “What do you do when you’re not attending weddings with strangers?”

She hesitates, glancing down at her champagne flute, and once again, for a second, I think she’s going to deflect. But then she straightens her shoulders.

“I bake,” she says, and there—a spark of pride in her eyes. “Actually, I just signed a lease for my own shop. Opening next month if the permit gods smile upon me.”

“That explains the scent,” Caleb murmurs, his gaze warming as it settles on her.

Her eyelashes flutter, clearly caught off guard, as her cheeks flush slightly. “What?”

“Vanilla and cinnamon,” he elaborates, and I notice his pupils dilate slightly. “It suits you.”

The blush deepens, and she takes another sip of champagne to hide her reaction. But I catch it. The way her throat moves as she swallows, the flutter of her pulse beneath pearl-toned skin.

Gorgeous .

Dark hair cut in a sharp bob that kisses her jawline, the kind that makes a man fantasize about how it’d feel brushing his bare chest. Eyes like aged whiskey—warm brown with gold flecks that glow under the chandeliers.

And that mouth. Pink and full, currently worrying her bottom lip between her teeth in a way that has my own teeth sinking into my tongue.

If she’s not single, someone’s failing spectacularly at their duties.

Across the room, her ex watches us with narrowed eyes.

The way he tracks our interactions—lingering on Caleb’s hand at the small of her back, the way Jude leans in—suggests this is more than casual curiosity.

Isn’t he getting married tomorrow? So why the fuck is he so interested in us?

There’s something possessive in his gaze that makes my hackles rise.

Jude perks up, snatching my attention back to the conversation, and I take a sip of my drink to clear my thoughts. “A baker? What’s your specialty? Sugar or spice?”

She gives a tiny smile, even as her cheeks grow warm. Again. Cute. “Both. But I do have a sweet tooth. My cinnamon rolls have been called ‘illegal’ in three states.”

Jude chokes on his absurd pink cocktail. “Is that a challenge?”

“It’s a fact,” she says, her chin lifting with mock pride. “I’ve got cease-and-desist letters from a PTA in one state to prove it.”

Caleb’s lips twitch like he’s fighting a full grin. “Why?”

“Apparently, I ‘incited chaos’ at a bake sale. The kids mobbed my table.” Her grin is pure mischief. “Worth it.”

I see the exact moment the alphas fall for her.

Jude leans in, his freckled nose crinkling. “Marry me.”

“No,” Caleb and Liam say in unison, their voices overlapping in a way that’s so unplanned it almost makes me chuckle.

Leah laughs. It’s a bright, startled sound that makes all three alphas twitch like they’ve been zapped. Liam recovers the fastest, snagging a petit four from a passing tray. The dessert is decorated within an inch of its life, drowning in gold leaf.

“Here, Ms. Sweet Tooth,” he says, sliding it toward her. “Try this.”

Leah’s fingers brush his as she takes it. “You’re my hero.”

The words are light, teasing, but Liam’s spine straightens like she’s pinned a medal to his chest. Pathetic. And yet—I watch as he shifts slightly, putting himself between her and a group of alphas who’ve been staring.

Caleb’s doing the same on her other side.

Do they even realize they’re posturing?

Caleb’s nostrils flare when Leah takes a bite, her lips closing around the pastry.

Then—

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

She’s got chocolate on her lip. A tiny smear, barely there. Caleb’s staring at it like it’s a personal challenge.

I kick his ankle under the table. Down, boy.

He growls quietly, but Leah doesn’t notice. She’s too busy licking the raspberry glaze from her thumb, blissfully unaware that all three of my packmates are now hyper-focused on her mouth.

Jude’s easygoing grin falters, replaced by something softer, almost reverent, as he watches Leah take another bite of the pastry.

Liam, usually so composed, shifts restlessly, his gaze fixed on the way her lips curve around the fork.

Caleb, ever the stoic, doesn’t move a muscle, but the subtle flare of his nostrils betrays a sudden, intense focus.

Even I feel a strange pull, a tightening in my chest I can’t explain.

We’re supposed to be pretending .

So why does this feel… real?

I watch as the impromptu charade unfolds around me, each of my packmates falling into their natural roles with alarming ease. It’s like watching a play where only I know the script is being improvised.

When the omega looks up, finally catching them staring, Jude clears his throat so loudly, I have to resist facepalming. “That woman’s hat deserves its own zip code,” he murmurs, nodding toward someone wearing what appears to be a small garden on her head.