Page 51 of Pack Plus One (Sweetwater City Reverse Harem Omegaverse #1)

LEAH

M y apartment feels eerily quiet after the chaos of yesterday.

The pack insisted on seeing me home after the storm finally cleared, making sure I was safely tucked away with leftovers from the impromptu croissant-making session, takeout, and promises to check in this morning.

The goodbye at my door was lingering. Some part of me didn’t want to break the bubble of contentment we’d created at the bakery.

Now, surrounded by the echoing silence of my own space, I take a breath. Gaze shifting to my sourdough starter quietly living its life on my kitchen counter. I stare at it for a long while before another big sigh makes my shoulders rise and fall.

Will I see them today? I don’t even know.

We’d made no plans, and some traitorous part of me pangs with disappointment.

I run a hand through my hair, a groan leaving my throat as I plop back against my pillows, trying to resist burying my face into the sheets to catch the lingering notes of their scent.

What is wrong with me? Am I not the same omega that ran away from them convinced it was for the best? Now I’m lying here clenching my thighs and trying not to think about them.

My gaze shifts back to Fernando. “I’m pathetic, aren’t I, Fern?”

I’ve just brushed my teeth and barely washed the drool from my face when a knock at the door startles me. Probably Mrs. Finley. No. Most likely Zoe coming over to gloat.

I groan again, bracing myself, but when I open the door, he’s standing there with a small, neatly wrapped package tucked under one arm and an uncharacteristically nervous expression.

“Liam?” I blink, not really sure I’m seeing him right.

“I thought...” He pauses, giving me a slight smile that softens his features in that endearing way he does. “That is, we thought—the pack—that perhaps you might enjoy some... individual interactions.”

I blink at him, warmth blooming in my chest at the fact he’s here, all while trying to think straight so I can parse the formal phrasing. “Are you... asking me on a date?”

The tips of his ears turn pink. “Yes. That’s a more efficient way of stating it.”

A smile tugs at my lips as I lean against the doorframe. “And the others are okay with this?”

“It was actually Caleb’s suggestion,” Liam admits. “We’ve established a rotation.”

Of course they have a system. These ridiculous, wonderful men.

“So you drew the short straw for first date?” I tease.

His eyes meet mine, suddenly intense. “I volunteered.”

The simple statement knocks the breath from my lungs. Since meeting these men, Liam has never pushed forward or tried to claim attention. That he specifically chose to be first sends a warm flutter through my chest.

“Well then,” I say, willing my voice to stay steady despite the butterflies in my stomach. “I’d love to.” I glance down at my old t-shirt and yoga pants. “But I should probably change out of my disaster outfit first.”

Liam’s smile is small but genuine. “Take your time. I’ll wait downstairs.”

Twenty minutes later, after the fastest shower known to omega-kind and throwing on the first decent outfit I could find (dark jeans, a soft sweater, and boots that make me feel put together), I find Liam leaning against their SUV, two to-go coffee cups in hand.

“You look beautiful,” he says simply, handing me one. The warmth in his voice makes my cheeks heat before I can stop myself.

“So where are we—” I start to ask as I buckle in, but he shakes his head with that quiet smile.

“Surprise,” he says, putting the car in gear.

When we pull up to a tiny bookstore tucked between a laundromat and a vintage record shop, I can’t help the smile. “A bookstore?”

Liam’s fingers brush mine as he takes my empty coffee cup. “You’ll see.”

I’m ninety percent sure Liam’s trying to kill me with poetry.

“Skin on skin, a whispered sigh, no words needed, only you and I,” he reads, voice low and steady like he’s explaining a beer fermentation process and not pressing me against the Philosophy shelf. His thumb traces the spine of the book like it’s sacred.

“You brought me to the metaphysics aisle for this?” I whisper. The old beta at the register hasn’t looked up from her crossword in twenty minutes, but still.

Liam’s lips twitch. “Poetry is chemistry. Precision matters.”

“Uh-huh.” I pluck the book from his hands and flip to a random page. “‘A touch, a taste, a burning fire, no need for words, only pure desire.’” I smirk up at him. “That your pick-up line, doc?”

His ears go pink again. “No. That’s—” He exhales sharply when I step closer, my hip brushing his. “Yes,” he admits softly.

I laugh, but it catches in my throat when he cages me against the shelf, one hand braced by my head. His scent wraps around me like a soft embrace, familiar and thrilling all at once.

“For balance,” he murmurs, and kisses me so thoroughly I forget which way is up.

His mouth is careful against mine at first, as if we’re kissing for the first time instead of the dozenth. But there’s something different about this—about being alone with just Liam, about the way his focus narrows to me with such intensity that it makes my knees weak.

His free hand cups my face, thumb brushing my cheekbone with delicate pressure that makes me shiver. When I gasp, he takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his tongue meeting mine in a slow, deliberate exploration that has heat pooling low in my belly.

Somewhere in the distance, a book thuds to the floor. The beta clerk finally looks up.

“You two. Out,” she says, though there’s more resignation than actual outrage in her tone.

Liam pulls back immediately. His eyes are darker than usual, but his composure returns quickly as he straightens his blazer, which has gone slightly askew.

“Apologies,” he tells the clerk with such genuine politeness that her stern expression softens slightly.

“Just buy the book if you like it that much,” she says with a wave of her hand.

Liam does exactly that, purchasing not only that collection but also three other books he noticed me lingering over during our browsing. His thoughtfulness touches me more than I think he even knows.

Outside, the air has a crisp edge that feels refreshing against my flushed skin. Liam takes my hand as we walk, his long fingers interlacing with mine in a way that feels both casual and significant.

“Is this your way of saying I’m your muse?” I ask, bumping his shoulder playfully as I hold up the poetry book.

I expect him to deflect with some academic observation. Instead, he stops walking, turning to face me with an expression so open and vulnerable it steals my breath.

“Yes,” he says simply.

Just that. One syllable, delivered with such quiet certainty that it lands like a weight in my chest.

“Oh,” I manage, suddenly finding the sidewalk fascinating.

He places a finger under my chin, tilting my face up to meet his gaze. “Is that alright?”

When I meet his gaze, the look in his eyes is so raw, so genuine, that I’m left speechless. If he says I’m his muse, he means it. He has probably analyzed the statement from every angle before voicing it.

“I’ve never been anyone’s muse before,” I admit. “I’m not sure I know how.”

His smile is gentle. “There’s no manual.”

The sincerity in his voice makes my throat tight. “You’re really good at this,” I finally murmur.

“At what?”

“This dating thing...”

His expression softens. “That’s not a skill, Leah. It’s simply paying attention to what matters.”

Before I can respond to this casually devastating statement, my phone buzzes with a text. It’s from Jude:

Is Liam boring you with poetry yet? Blink twice if you need rescue. I’m outside the record store with donuts and ZERO academic intentions.

I laugh, turning the screen so Liam can see it. “Your pack is checking up on you.”

“Our pack,” he corrects mildly, and there’s a hint of alpha possessiveness in the way his hand tightens slightly around mine. “And they’re simply impatient for their own turns.”

“Well, they’ll have to wait,” I say, tucking my phone away without responding. “I’m not done with you yet.”

His pleased smile warms me more than the coffee he buys me from the shop next door, where we spend the next hour discussing everything from ancient brewing techniques to his grandmother’s secret cookie recipe.

When he drives me home that evening, I…don’t want to say goodbye.

Lingering in my doorway, I look up at him.

“Thank you for today,” I tell him, meaning it completely.

“The pleasure was mine,” he responds, and somehow the formal phrase doesn’t sound stiff coming from him.

When he leans in to kiss me goodnight, it’s gentle but thorough, a promise rather than a demand. As he turns to leave, I catch his wrist.

“Would you like to come in?”

His pupils dilate noticeably, but he shakes his head with obvious reluctance. “The others would never let me hear the end of it if I did.”

“I don’t recall asking about the others.” Aah! When did I get so bold?

Liam swallows visibly. “Leah...”

“Just for a little while,” I add, suddenly unsure. “We could have tea.”

The smile that spreads across his face is knowing. “We both know tea is not what would happen if I stepped through that door right now.”

The heat in his gaze makes me shiver. “Would that be so terrible?”

“No,” he murmurs, stepping closer despite his earlier restraint. “But I’ve waited this long to have you to myself. When I do, I plan to take my time. Hours, not minutes.”

The promise in his voice sends a cascade of anticipation down my spine. “I’ll hold you to that, doctor.”

His eyes darken at the nickname. “Please do.” He brushes his lips against my forehead, a touch so light it’s barely there. “Goodnight, Leah.”

I watch him walk away, already looking forward to whatever Caleb, Jude, and Mason have planned for their turns. If Liam’s courtship is any indication, I’m in for quite a week.