Page 9 of Pack Plus One (Sweetwater City Reverse Harem Omegaverse #1)

“A power play,” Mason finishes for her, his voice quiet but certain.

“A pathetic one,” Jude adds, deliberately loud enough to be heard at nearby tables.

Leah laughs, though it sounds slightly forced. “It’s the same one he’d ordered at dinner the night he broke up with me. He knows I hate that champagne. Too sweet.”

“What an ass,” Liam says with bluntness that’s unusual for him.

I watch her carefully, noting how she’s recovered her composure with impressive speed. “You okay?”

“Fine,” she says. But her face drops.

I shoot a glare at the head table, only to find that shitfaced idiot of her ex smirking. Fucking bastard. When my gaze shifts back to my pack, they’re all equally glaring at him, too. Good. We’re all on the same page.

I turn to Leah, hoping I can find the right words to make her feel better when I see something unexpected. The dejected look that had come over her face has transformed into something else. Her shoulders stiffen as her jaw tightens.

She lifts her head, eyes unreadable. “I think I suddenly need to visit the dessert table. Care to escort me? It’s right past the head table.”

A slow smile spreads across my face as I understand her intention. “It would be my pleasure.”

As we stand, Jude raises his water glass in a mock toast. “To pettiness. The underrated virtue.”

“My favorite kind of spite,” Mason agrees with a rare smile.

I offer Leah my arm, and she takes it, her touch sending an unexpected jolt through me. We make our way toward the elaborate dessert display, deliberately taking a path that leads us right past Eric, his pack, and his new bride.

“Don’t look at him,” I murmur close to her ear. “Let him look at you.”

She nods almost imperceptibly, then turns her face up to mine with a smile so genuine it momentarily steals my breath. “You’re good at this game,” she says, just loud enough not to be overheard.

“It’s not entirely a game,” I admit, the words escaping before I can stop them.

Something flickers in her eyes—surprise, followed by something warmer—before she looks away, focusing on the towering display of petit fours and chocolate fountains ahead of us.

As we pass the head table, I feel Eric’s gaze burning into us. Good. I’ve never been the petty type but, for some reason, for her , I feel the urge to do this.

Without looking directly at him, I allow my hand to drift from Leah’s elbow to the small of her back, my fingers meeting bare skin where her dress cuts low, exposing the dip of her spine.

The contact jolts through me like electricity.

Her breath hitches, skin pebbling under my touch, and I can’t stop myself from tracing a slow circle against that warm skin, feeling the ridge of her spine beneath my fingertips.

Even through the scent blockers, I catch something—just a hint of her breaking through.

Raw. Real. Fuck. My cock hardens so fast it’s almost painful, straining against my pants.

I have to shift my stance, grateful for the tuxedo jacket as I lean closer, my breath stirring the loose strands at her neck.

I wasn’t lying when I said this wasn’t entirely a game anymore.

“That wasn’t necessary,” she whispers once we’re safely at the dessert table.

“Wasn’t it?” I ask, watching as she selects a chocolate-dipped strawberry.

She meets my eyes, long lashes making her look like a siren, challenge and confusion mingling in her gaze. “This is all pretend, remember?”

“Is it?” The question hangs between us, heavier than it has any right to be.

Before she can answer, Jude appears at her other side, snagging a miniature éclair. “The bride’s aunt is telling everyone you two have ‘unmistakable chemistry,’” he informs us with obvious delight. “Apparently, you two are catching eyes.”

Leah clears her throat and averts her gaze from mine, but the redness that creeps up her neck is telling. “People at weddings are desperate for drama.”

“Oh, absolutely,” Jude agrees, way too cheerful. “And you’re giving them quite the show.” He winks at me over her head, earning a warning glare in response.

We make our way back to the table with our dessert plates, Leah’s step noticeably lighter now. The small victory over Eric seems to have restored something in her—a spark of confidence that makes her even more captivating.

“Mission accomplished?” Mason asks as we sit down.

“Spectacularly,” Jude confirms before either of us can answer. “The groom looked like he swallowed a lemon.”

Leah’s smile is small but satisfied. “Then my work is done.”

“Not quite,” Liam says, nodding toward the head table. “He’s still watching.”

“Let him,” she says with a shrug, then turns to Liam with a sparkle in her eye. “Now, about those beer and pastry pairings…”

The conversation flows from there. Leah describes her bakery with an infectious enthusiasm, her words painting a vivid picture of the cozy space she’s creating.

I imagine her there…and then I imagine us there, too. Which is bad. Isn’t it?

Mason catches my eye and shakes his head slowly with a sigh, as if he knows exactly what I’m thinking. I shrug. I can’t help it.

We’ve built something good together, the four of us.

Five years of turning a struggling microbrewery into one of the most respected craft operations in the region.

We work well as a unit—Liam’s business acumen, Mason’s steady reliability, Jude’s creative flair, and my ability to pull it all together. We’ve always had each other’s backs.

We’ve even tried dating before—set up “interviews” with omegas who looked good on paper.

Those evenings always started promising enough but inevitably fizzled out by dessert.

Jude would flirt relentlessly but never follow through.

Liam would mentally check out halfway through.

Mason would be polite but distant. And I’d be left making excuses about early morning deliveries.

No one ever even remotely fit.

Until now.

Plus, I’m not the only one daydreaming. I’ve seen how Mason’s been watching Leah when she’s not looking.

Jude, too. Right now, as the other guests mingle and the event winds down, he’s regaling her with exaggerated tales of brewing mishaps and eccentric customers.

But Liam steers the conversation away and begins talking collaboration with that intense focus he usually reserves for perfecting a new brew.

He’s sketching flavor combinations on a cocktail napkin, all animated about how we could make something to complement her dark chocolate tarts.

I’ve never seen him this eager to blend his creations with someone else’s before.

“A stout with your chocolate cake,” he muses. “Or perhaps a lighter ale with those cinnamon rolls you mentioned.”

She has no idea he’s completely serious.

And he’s a genius. If we worked with her…then we could see her again. And again. Because as the minutes turn into hours, it’s becoming increasingly clear that time’s moving too fast. This evening is going by too quickly.

I watch how she interacts with my packmates.

I’ve never met an omega who can match Jude’s energy without letting him dominate the conversation.

She listens to Liam with genuine interest, asking follow-up questions that show she’s really engaging with his ideas.

Even Mason. He’s always reserved with strangers, and yet he’s engrossed with her, offering quiet comments that make her laugh.

It’s... easy. Too easy to imagine her as a real part of our group. To forget that this is all pretend.

The DJ’s voice cuts through the chatter. “Ladies and gentlemen, it’s time for the bouquet toss! All eligible singles, please make your way to the dance floor.”

Jude nudges Leah. “You’re up.”

She shakes her head. “No way.”

“Come on,” he insists. “It’s tradition.”

“A stupid tradition,” she mutters, but Jude’s already pulling her to her feet.

“Consider it part of your revenge,” Mason says quietly. “Show him you’re moving on.”

I watch as she reluctantly joins the small cluster of betas and omegas. She hangs at the back, clearly hoping to avoid participation while technically participating. The bride turns her back to the crowd, bouquet clutched in her manicured hands.

One. Two. Three.

The bouquet sails through the air in a perfect arc—directly toward Leah. She reflexively reaches up, her eyes widening in horror as the flowers land squarely in her hands. A spotlight finds her instantly.

The guests cheer. Eric’s face darkens. Jude whoops loudly from our table, and I can’t help the satisfied grin that spreads across my face as she makes her way back to us, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

“Don’t,” she warns as she sits down, tossing the bouquet onto the table like it’s radioactive. “Not one word.”

She glares at all of us as we chuckle, but there’s no real anger in it. And that little pout on her lips…it does something to me. Makes my mouth go dry. Makes me wonder what those soft lips would taste like if I leaned across the table right now and claimed them.

Her pulse jumps at her throat when our eyes lock, and I know she can feel it too—this current humming between us, getting stronger by the minute. She breaks first, looking down at her napkin, but not before I catch the slight tremble in her fingers as she reaches for her water glass.

The toasts begin next. The maid of honor goes first, delivering a speech that’s equal parts sentimental and embarrassing for the bride. The best man follows with a series of inside jokes that fall flat for most of the room.

Then Eric stands, champagne flute in hand, and my attention sharpens.

“I want to thank everyone for coming today,” he begins, his gaze sweeping the room. “Finding your pack—finding the people who complete you—is life’s greatest adventure.”

Beside me, Leah’s scent shifts, a subtle note of distress breaking through the scent blocker she’s wearing.

“To those who’ve found their pack,” Eric continues, his gaze finally settling on our table, on Leah specifically. “And to those... still searching.”

The barb is unmistakable. I feel Leah tense beside me, her knuckles tightening around her champagne flute enough that she might break the thing.

That. Fucker.

Instinct takes over. I don’t think. I move.

My hand closes over Leah’s nape, barely squeezing—just enough pressure to make her gasp. My thumb strokes the vulnerable skin behind her ear as I lean down, lips brushing the shell of it.

“ Watch ,” I rumble.

Then I drag my teeth over the soft skin of her neck. Right where I would mark her.

Not a bite. Not even close. But the threat—the promise—hangs in the air as my scent explodes across her skin.

The room goes silent. A glass shatters. Someone screams. Eric’s chair screeches back as he stands so fast it topples.

Leah is motionless against me, her breath coming in shallow pants.

“ You didn’t ?—”

“ Had to ,” I growl against her pulse. My teeth ache. And something else grows uncomfortably hard. “ He was looking at you like you’re still his .”

Jude whistles. “Well. That happened.”