Chapter 7
Bea
"So," Ben says as he drops me off in front of Brooks Hardware, that infuriating smirk plastered across his face. "How was your NOT-date last night?"
I grab my bag and don't look at him. "It was dinner. Two people eating food. Very revolutionary concept."
"Uh-huh. That why you spent twenty minutes picking out your outfit this morning?"
My hand freezes on the door handle. "I did not—"
"You did. I heard you reorganizing your closet at six-thirty." He's enjoying this way too much. "For someone who keeps insisting she's not interested in anyone, you sure seemed concerned about your appearance."
"I was picking a professional outfit for my FIRST DAY OF WORK." I shove the door open. "You know, like a responsible adult?"
"Right. Professional." His eyes sweep over my fitted jeans and the forest-green sweater that—fine, yes—happens to bring out my eyes. "That's why you're wearing makeup."
"It's MASCARA, Benjamin. One coat. I'm not—" I stop myself before I finish that sentence, because wherever it's going, he'll use it against me.
"Not what?" Pure innocence in his voice. "Not trying to impress anyone? Not hoping a certain tattooed alpha might walk by? Not—"
I slam the truck door in his face.
Through the window, I can see him laughing. He rolls down the window. "Have a good day at work, Bea! Say hi to River for me! And if you see Grayson—"
"I hate you!"
"Love you too, sis!"
He drives off, still laughing, and I'm left standing on the sidewalk trying to calm my racing heart and the heat crawling up my neck.
I did not spend twenty minutes on my outfit.
It was fifteen. Maximum.
And the makeup was just—everyone wears a little mascara to work, right?
It's normal. Professional. Has nothing to do with the fact that Grayson's tattoo shop is literally visible from here, or that Seth might patrol past during his shift, or that River has really nice forearms that I absolutely have not thought about.
Not even once.
Liar.
I push open the door to Brooks Hardware, and a bell chimes overhead. The smell hits me immediately—wood, metal, that particular scent of a hardware store that's somehow both industrial and comforting.
And underneath it, something else. Something that makes my omega sit up and take immediate notice.
River looks up from behind the counter, and his whole face brightens. "Bea! Right on time."
He comes around the counter, and oh.
Oh no.
I'd forgotten how tall he is. How broad his shoulders are under that navy flannel.
How his jeans fit just right, worn in all the places that draw the eye.
His dark hair is slightly messy, like he's been running his hands through it, and there's a streak of sawdust across his forearm that shouldn't be attractive but absolutely is.
"Thanks for having me," I manage, proud that my voice sounds mostly normal. "Ready to learn the ropes."
"Perfect. Fair warning though—it's gonna be a lot less glamorous than it sounds." He gestures around the store, and I catch his scent fully for the first time.
Pine. Fresh sawdust. Something warm and woodsy that goes straight to my hindbrain.
My omega responds like someone just rang a dinner bell.
Want. Mine. Yes.
I shut that down immediately, but not before I feel the first hint of slickness between my thighs.
Absolutely not.
He's my boss. I've known him for all of five seconds. I am NOT doing this.
"—been doing stocktake for the past week, but I'm only halfway through. Turns out running a store solo means inventory gets... creative."
I blink, realizing I missed half of what he said because I was too busy trying not to inhale like a creep. "Creative?"
"I found a box of Christmas lights labeled 'misc plumbing.
'" He grins, and there's something self-deprecating about it that makes my stomach flip.
"So yeah. I could really use your help sorting through the chaos this morning before we dive into the marketing stuff.
That's really why I hired you—to help get this place's social media and branding sorted.
But first, we need to know what we actually have to work with. Sound good?"
"Sounds perfect." And I mean it. Organizing, creating systems—this is exactly my kind of challenge. Plus it's what he hired me for. "Where do we start?"
He leads me to the back room, and I'm definitely not watching the way he moves. Not noticing how his flannel stretches across his back when he reaches up to flip on the overhead lights. Not thinking about what all that alpha strength would feel like pressed against me, pinning me—
Professional thoughts only, Bea.
The back room isn't big. Maybe twelve by twelve, stacked with boxes in complete chaos.
Which means when River and I work, we're constantly in each other's space.
Not on purpose. Just... limited room.
But every time he reaches past me for a box, I get another hit of that pine-sawdust-alpha scent. Every time our hands brush, my skin feels too hot. My body is a traitor—each accidental touch, and I feel myself getting slicker.
Alphas always know.
"You're really good at this," River says after the first hour, watching me create order from disaster.
I'm kneeling on the concrete floor organizing electrical supplies, hyper-aware that he's standing right behind me. "Business degree, remember?" My voice comes out breathier than intended.
"Right." He hands me another box, and his fingers brush mine. The contact sends heat straight to my core. "My mom's the same way. Omega. Runs our entire pack's finances."
"How many alphas?" I ask, trying to focus on stacking paint cans and not on how slick I'm getting.
"Three. Mom says she needed the extra help to keep them all in line." He grins. "They came from different packs originally, but once they found her, that was it. Your mom has two, right? I remember Ben mentioning it."
"Yeah. Dad and Papa. Mom keeps them from burning down the house on a weekly basis."
"Sounds about right." His laugh is warm. "Nice to meet someone else who gets it. Pack life—chaos and love in equal measure."
We share a grin, that moment of understanding—both of us knowing what it's like to grow up surrounded by that kind of devotion, that particular brand of organized chaos.
I stand, brushing dust off my knees, and reach for the clipboard on the shelf. At the same moment, River reaches for it too. Suddenly we're both standing there, his chest nearly pressed against my back, his arm extended past my shoulder. That scent surrounding me completely.
I freeze.
So does he.
For a heartbeat, neither of us moves. I can feel the heat of him, hear his breathing change. My omega is screaming at me to lean back, to press against all that strength, to tilt my head and bare my neck and beg—
"Sorry," River says, voice rough. He steps back quickly, and I catch the change in his scent. Darker. Heavier.
Arousal.
He's affected too.
The realization sends another wave of heat through me. I'm so slick now, and there's no way he can't smell it.
"It's fine." My hand trembles slightly as I grab the clipboard. "Just—small space."
I turn to face him, needing distance, but that doesn't help. Now I can see his flushed neck, the way his pupils are dilated.
"Yeah." He runs a hand through his hair. "Listen, if I'm making you uncomfortable—"
"You're not!" Too quick. Too desperate. "I mean. This is fine. Everything's fine."
His eyes meet mine, and there's heat there. Knowledge. He knows exactly what's happening to me.
For a long moment, neither of us moves. All he'd have to do is take one step forward. All I'd have to do is not step back.
The bell over the front door chimes.
We both jump apart.
"Customer," River says, voice still rough. "I should—"
"Yeah. Go."
The second he's gone, I lean against the shelving and try to breathe.
What the hell was that?
My body is still aching, still slick, still wanting things I absolutely should not want from my boss on my first day.
In the bathroom, I splash cold water on my face. My reflection shows flushed cheeks, dilated pupils, a neck practically begging to be bitten.
Get it together, Bea.
This is just biology. Stupid, inconvenient biology that doesn't care about logic or professionalism.
By late morning, we've made serious progress, and I've successfully avoided any more close encounters.
Except I keep catching River watching me. And every time our eyes meet, that heat sparks again.
The bell chimes.
"BEA!"
Oh god. Ben.
My brother leans against the counter, looking entirely too pleased with himself. "Lunch break. Thought I'd swing by."
"Hey, man." Ben nods at River like they do this all the time. "She giving you any trouble yet?"
"Not at all." River grins back, clearly comfortable with him. "Bea's been great. Already reorganized half my storage room."
"Course she has. She organized my sock drawer by color when she was eight." Ben's enjoying himself way too much. "Control freak since birth."
"I was helping—"
"You told me my system was 'chaotic and inefficient.'"
River laughs, and I want to sink through the floor.
"Anyway, just wanted to see how the first day's going." Ben looks between us, and I can see him reading the room—the slightly awkward energy, the way we're standing too far apart.
River turns to grab something from behind the counter, and Ben immediately mouths at me: You into him?
My face goes nuclear. I shake my head frantically.
Ben's eyebrow raises. He's not buying it.
"You know what, Ben should get going." I grab Ben's arm and start pulling him toward the door. "Don't you have to get back to work?"
"I've got time—"
"No, you don't. You're very busy. So busy." I'm physically shoving him now.
"Bea—"
"BYE, BEN."
I push him out onto the sidewalk. He's laughing.
"I'm not into him!" I hiss.
"You're definitely into him." He's grinning like he just won something. "Your face is doing that thing."
"What thing?"