Chapter 8 Beth
Beth
I'm halfway through another rosemary-honey bourbon smash when Knox walks in, followed by Mason.
They spot us immediately. Arthur, behind the taps, hits them with a casual two-finger salute without breaking his pour. Knox parts the sea of flannel-clad locals and slides into the booth next to Maren, who scoots without complaint. Mason drops into the seat next to me.
The booth was built for four average-sized humans, and Mason is not an average-sized human. My left side is now flush against approximately two hundred and twenty pounds of alpha, and my right hip is making acquaintance with the booth wall.
"Drink?" Arthur calls over the noise.
Knox holds up a finger. "One Bahama Mama."
Mason looks at my glass. "Whatever she's having."
Maren catches my eye across the table. I press my lips together.
She presses hers together. Two alphas who could probably deadlift a sedan, and between them they've ordered a tropical cocktail and a honey bourbon smash with a rosemary garnish.
Somewhere, a lumberjack just felt a disturbance in the force.
Arthur grins and mouths what I'm pretty sure is "Coming right up." (since I sadly lack the sonar-like hearing of an Alpha, I'm forced to rely on lip-reading).
The door opens and Luna walks in. Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes are bright, and she's radiating the kind of energy usually reserved for people who've just been told their flight's been upgraded.
She squishes into the booth next to Knox, completely oblivious to him until he flattens himself against Maren to give her room.
"Oh!" She blinks. "Oh—hi!" Her gaze lingers on him for one second, then swings to Mason, then to me. "Did I miss something?"
"Arthur texted my other boyfriends to come hang," I say, winking, and take a sip of my drink.
Knox's mouth twitches. "Thought I saw you outside. Wasn't one hundred percent sure with another person's face attached to yours."
Maren's head whips toward Luna. "Oh my god!"
"Luna!" I gasp. "You kissed Derek??"
Luna smiles—wide, dazed, slightly unhinged. I guess the state of her lip gloss could've told me everything I needed to know.
"Sure did." She sighs happily. "He bounced to go find his cousin, but I'm thinking I might text him later. Have him walk me to my car."
Maren raises an eyebrow. "Just to your car?"
Luna turns the color of a ripe strawberry. "I am refusing to answer on the grounds that it might incriminate me."
"Look at you," I say, nudging her across the table. "Squeezing in an entire romantic subplot before last call."
Luna beams. "I'm nothing if not efficient."
Our booth is, and this is an understatement, crowded. I'm wedged between Mason and the booth wall. Luna, Maren, and Knox are hip to hip across from us. Arthur arrives with a Bahama Mama and a bourbon smash, and the grin he gives the five of us crammed into the booth suggests he's enjoying this.
"You all look like sardines," Arthur says, setting the drinks down. "Should I grab a chair for you?"
"Oh, yes please," Maren says, pressing a hand to her chest. "Thank god."
Arthur disappears and returns in seconds, and Knox extracts himself from the booth and settles into the chair at the end of the table. Then Mason makes a low, appreciative mmh sound as he takes his first sip of the bourbon smash.
Luna, who wasn't here for the ordering, looks from Knox's Bahama Mama to Mason's rosemary-honey bourbon smash. "Okay, not to be that person," she says, "but what's up with the pretty drinks?"
Knox looks down at his glass. "What? It's a Bahama Mama."
Mason glances at Luna's glass. Then at mine. Then back at Luna's. "We're literally drinking the same thing."
Luna looks at me. Then at Maren. Then all three of us dissolve into quiet giggles in front of what seems like two deeply confused alphas.
"By the way," Maren says, once the giggles have run their course. She turns to Knox. "I feel like I know approximately four things about you, and two of them are your first and last name."
Knox considers this. "What are the other two?"
"You're a software developer. And Beth says you color-code things."
"I do have a system," Knox says, with quiet pride. "I also read paranormal romance."
A beat.
"You what?" Maren says.
"It's a well-structured genre," Knox says, completely straight-faced. "Compelling world-building. Clear stakes."
"Clear stakes," I repeat. "Is that a vampire pun?"
"It wasn't intended as one... but I'll allow it." He offers a rare, conspiratorial smile.
Luna leans across the table toward Mason. "What about you? Any unusual hobbies we should know about?"
Mason takes a beat. "I restore trucks."
"He really does," Knox adds.
"Then how come the backseat in your truck doesn't actually fold down?" I ask. "I've been meaning to bring that up since I had to share the cab with half a hardware store."
Mason gives me a look. Flat. Unhurried. "It's a work truck. It's not usually an issue, because I don't normally chauffeur three people at once."
Luna swoops in, her smile turning wicked. "Speaking of logistics and all, I've been wondering... what do you three do together? Like, as a pack? What are your pack activities?"
I feel the corner of my mouth twitch. Because Luna knows. And Maren knows. And the alphas know they know. But the people around us definitely don't, and if anyone's going to overhear us, we might as well give them something convincing.
"We eat dinner together," I say, injecting my voice with as much warmth as I can. "Sometimes we watch TV."
"Beth cooks sometimes," Mason offers.
"Yeah, she makes this thing with pasta... a very good sauce," Knox adds, and I genuinely cannot tell if he and Mason are being earnest.
I mean, it's literally pasta with sauce from a jar. That's the whole recipe. But I decide to take the compliment, because if I don't, I might honestly pout.
Luna props her chin on her hand, aiming a highly entertained look my way. "Your pack sounds romantic."
Maren, who is clearly enjoying this, adds, "So the big, intimidating Alpha pack lifestyle consists entirely of... sitting on the couch and eating jarred marinara?
"Hey, we get wild," I say, completely deadpan. "Sometimes I spring for the fancy rigatoni."
Luna laughs, leaning back in her seat. "Speaking of going wild, is anyone up for a yoga retreat in a few months? I accidentally signed up for one and I need people to go with me."
"How do you accidentally sign up for a yoga retreat?" Mason asks, and the surprise in his voice is so uncharacteristic that Knox actually turns to look at him.
"Long story involving a wrong turn and a very persuasive woman named Gail," Luna says. "She told me I had 'calming energy' and that I should bring friends."
"You know what, you do, weirdly, have that," I say.
"Thank you," she says. "I think it's the chaos. It wraps all the way back around."
"I'm not sure about that logic," Knox says, but he's almost smiling.
"I am," Luna says. "I'm like a stress ouroboros."
Mason squints. "A stress what?"
"Ouroboros," Knox says. "It's a serpent eating its own tail."
Mason stares at him for a long, flat second.
“How do you—” He stops there, deciding he doesn’t actually want to know.
He turns his attention to Maren instead, and the conversation naturally fractures.
Within minutes, Maren is asking Mason about his trucks, which somehow devolves into a full explanation of why American-made truck beds from the nineties are superior to anything currently on the market.
Meanwhile, Luna and Knox discover they share the same unhinged opinion about a reality TV called "Are You Hot? "
Around ten-thirty, Arthur's coworker (a guy with a braided beard I learn is named Trey) takes over the bar. Arthur pulls off his apron, grabs a chair, and drags it to the head of our booth, next to Knox.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he says, sitting down backwards on the chair, arms folded across the backrest. "I am officially off the clock."
"You look very pleased with yourself," I say.
"I just made eighty-six dollars in tips on a Thursday. I'm delighted."
Luna grabs her phone. "Okay, nobody move. I need a picture of this."
"Of what?" Knox says.
"Of all of us! When am I ever sitting at a table with Beth's pack?" Luna holds the phone up. "Everybody lean in. Arthur, can you stop making that face?"
"This is my face," Arthur deadpans for a second.
She takes four photos in rapid succession.
In the last one, Arthur has thrown an arm across the back of my chair, Maren is mid-laugh, Knox looks like he’s trying very hard to remember how human beings naturally smile, and Mason is staring at the camera like it just asked him to go take out the trash.
Luna shows me the screen.
We look quite good, if I dare say so.
"I'm posting this," Luna says.
"Tag the bar," Arthur says.
Maren finishes the last of her drink and sets the glass down with a decisive clink. "Alright, guys. As pleasant as this has been, I have to be at the bakery at four to proof the sourdough. If I don't go now, the mixture will die, and I will cry."
"Alright babe," I say. "Was great hanging out!"
"Good to actually talk to you properly," Knox says, raising his glass an inch. "Not just in passing."
"Likewise," Maren says. "Next time I'll quiz you on the paranormal romance thing. I have follow-up questions."
Luna pulls her legs up, Maren shimmies past, and there's a brief negotiation of elbows and tote bag straps before she's free. She hugs me, hugs Luna, gives a little wave to the three alphas, and heads for the door.
Luna checks her phone. Then checks it again, a smile creeping across her face.
"I think I'm going to call it a night too," she says, pocketing her phone with suspicious casualness. "Early start at the library tomorrow. Very busy. Lots of... books to organize."
I narrow my eyes. "You mean Derek just texted you back and he's free to"—I make air quotes—"walk you to your car now?"