Page 6

Chapter 5

Horace

I ’m starting to think eating is going to be a challenge.

Not because I’m not hungry—I’m starving, again —but because my appetite is currently competing with a whole mess of feelings I should not be having over a woman I just met.

This curvy little goddess who moves around her pizzeria like she owns the world, flashing smiles that could bring a man to his knees.

I should know better.

But then she goes and offers to drizzle hot honey over my well-done meat lover’s pie like she’s reading straight from my damn soul.

Put a fork in me. I am done .

Has any other woman ever understood me so well?

My Bear—the other part of me, the part that’s always just beneath the surface, watching, waiting—is already stirring.

Scratching at my insides like the restless animal he is. Like he’s seen what he wants and doesn’t give a damn about logic or consequences.

But I should know better.

Because relationships? They don’t work out for me.

And this one? It could have disastrous consequences.

“As I was saying, Horace,” Uncle Uzzi says, dabbing at his mouth with a napkin like he’s discussing the weather and not potentially upending my entire life,

“I’d really like your input on how to make the app more user-friendly. But also, I’m wondering if perhaps you wouldn’t like to try it out?”

I drag my attention away from Carina—who has just disappeared back into the kitchen, her scent still lingering in the air—and focus on Uncle Uzzi. I narrow my eyes. The old man is up to something.

“Oh, I’m happy to work on the app,” I say, taking a sip of my sweet tea, because priorities.

“The coding is… strange. Unlike anything I’ve encountered before.” I sip and swallow and lower my voice slightly. “But as for using it? I’m not in the market for a mate, Uncle Uzzi.”

I whisper the word mate , barely more than a breath.

It doesn’t matter. He hears me anyway.

Uncle Uzzi hums, eyes twinkling in that knowing way of his. Like he sees more than he should.

More than I want him to.

“I see. Well, that is to be expected about the code. You see, I have a connection in a parallel dimension who did most of the mapping for this app.”

I freeze mid-swallow.

Goddamn, this sweet tea is addicting.

I blink. Once. Twice. Slowly.

Then I set my glass down very carefully, because I must have misheard him.

“Pardon me?” I say, staring at him. “Did you just say parallel dimension ?”

“Indeed,” he replies, completely unbothered, taking a sip of his tea like this is an ordinary conversation and not the single most insane thing I’ve heard in, well, ever .

“But I suppose you could call it another plane of existence. An alternate reality. However you phrase it, it all boils down to the same multiverse.”

He says it so casually. Like this is just standard pizzeria talk.

Meanwhile, my entire world is recalibrating.

I look at the mural on the wall. Then back at him.

Then back at the mural, because I’m going to need a minute.

“Uh, excuse me,” Carina interrupts.

She’s holding Uzzi’s salad and something else I know I didn’t order.

But goddamn, it smells fantastic.

“Since you two are technically our first customers, I thought you might like to try this hot antipasto platter on the house,” Carina says, setting down an absolute feast of bite-sized Italian delicacies.

Golden, crispy arancini.

Melted mozzarella wrapped in prosciutto.

Sautéed mushrooms glistening in olive oil.

Garlic knots so perfectly baked they look like they might just melt in my mouth.

My stomach growls its approval.

But my brain? My brain is malfunctioning.

Because Carina is clearly puzzled by whatever bits of conversation she overheard, and it’s just another reminder of why humans and supes don’t mix.

And yet, here I am. Staring at her like an idiot. Frozen solid, like some kind of overgrown deer in headlights.

Worse? My traitorous gaze drops—completely unbidden—to her tits.

Shit.

Not my fault. It’s just her shirt stretches just right when she leans forward, and it’s got me wondering.

Are her nipples hard right now?

Because mine sure are.

I mean—No!

That’s not what I meant. That’s not even how that works .

I clear my throat, mortified, suddenly hyperaware of how much blood has been diverted from my brain at the worst possible moment.

My cock thumps behind my zipper, and I swear I go cross-eyed.

“Thank you, Carina. This looks incredible!” Uzzi says, all warmth and appreciation, completely oblivious to the fact that I’m in the middle of a full-blown crisis.

His voice yanks me back to reality.

“Thanks,” I mutter, barely stringing together the one syllable.

Carina nods, that gorgeous smile still lingering on her lips, before she moves away.

And I experience two very conflicting emotions.

1. Relief —because I desperately need oxygenated blood to return to my brain.

2. Deep, gut-level disappointment —because I want her to stay.

I exhale and rub a hand down my face. I need to get a grip.

Good idea. Take her some place quiet and grip away , my unhelpful and very naughty Bear supplies.

Meanwhile, more customers start trickling in, and I watch as Carina seamlessly switches gears, taking orders, handing out menus, offering samples and coupons, and charming the absolute hell out of everyone.

I should be listening to Uzzi.

I should be focusing on the fact that he just casually dropped the phrase parallel dimension into conversation like it’s nothing extraordinary.

But instead?

The other half of my brain—the half that is fully compromised at this point—is hyper-focused on one thing and one thing only.

Her. Carina.

Her sisters come out to help every now and then, and yeah, they look alike—same dark curls, same lively eyes, same confident energy.

But where they’re cute?

Carina is stunning.

And worse?

I don’t even think she knows it.

“So,” Uzzi’s voice cuts through my thoughts, his tone far too knowing, “will you do it? Add some functionality and maybe test the app yourself?”

I drag my eyes away from Carina— again —and force myself to focus on the actual reason I’m here.

Multiverse coding.

Parallel dimension developers.

The kind of tech that shouldn’t exist.

You know. Just regular afternoon things.

I pick up a garlic knot, take a bite, and chew slowly, using the moment to pretend like I haven’t just spent the last few minutes mentally spiraling over a woman who is absolutely off-limits.

A neighbor, for fuck’s sake.

Finally, I swallow and answer nonchalantly.

“Yeah. Sure. I’ll do it.”

And why will I do it? Because I’m an idiot.

And because, against all logic, I kind of want to see where all this leads.