Chapter 17
CINDY
T he festival grounds pulse with October energy.
Strings of orange lights crisscross overhead like fire against the darkening sky, the smell of fried everything mixing with woodsmoke from the bonfire that’s already drawing moths and teenagers in equal measure.
Kids shriek on carnival rides that look one bolt away from disaster while their parents clutch beer in plastic cups.
Our brewery’s booth sits between a taco truck pumping out mariachi music and a delicious-smelling churro stand.
Harper is wrestling with our banner while I arrange sample cups, but her purple-tipped black hair keeps whipping into her face with the evening breeze.
“Son of a—” She spits out hair for the third time. “Should’ve brought hair ties.”
“Here.” I dig one out of my pocket, always prepared because anxiety means always having backup everything.
“You’re a goddess.” She yanks her hair into a ponytail. “Okay, now explain again, and slowly, what the actual fuck happened to Hot Holt’s eye?”
I glance over at the food truck where he’s helping Luke and Arrow set up.
The medical eye patch is stark black against his skin, making him look like a dangerous pirate who might rob you blind and then cook you the best meal of your life.
He catches us staring, and his good eye narrows in a way that leaves me grinning.
God, even injured he radiates that sinful power I love.
“Did someone finally punch him for being too hot?” Harper continues, not bothering to lower her voice. “Because I’ve considered it. It’s honestly unfair to the rest of us mortals.”
“Arr, me hearty!” Arrow’s voice carries from the truck in that horrible pirate accent he used back at their mansion. “The scallywag be recoverin’ from a fearsome battle with a ladder that won, may it rest in pieces!”
“Very funny,” Holt growls, but I spot his lips twitching. “Fuck you, Luke, very much for this.”
Luke doubles over laughing, nearly dropping the box of supplies he’s carrying. The movement makes his shirt ride up, exposing a strip of skin and those V-lines that disappear into his jeans. I’m gawking. “Worth the concussion!”
Harper grabs my arm hard enough to leave marks. “Excuse me, what? Concussion? Ladder? Luke? I need details immediately. Like, Emergency Broadcast System immediately.”
I lean in close, keeping my voice low even though the guys are too far to hear over the festival chaos. “So remember my accidental vibrator incident I told you about?”
“How could I forget? That was the highlight of my whole month.”
“Well, Holt told Arrow about it. Then Arrow told Luke.”
“Okay, following so far.”
“Luke happened to have a squishy dildo from some bachelorette party, and he threw it. At Holt. While Holt was on a ladder.”
Harper’s mouth drops open. Then closes. Then opens again. She looks like a fish having an existential crisis. “A dildo? And it caused him a concussion?”
“Holt fell off the ladder. Hit his head. Hospital. The whole thing.”
“This all started with your accidental throwing of a vibrator?” Harper’s voice rises to a pitch that makes nearby dogs concerned. “This is better than any Netflix show. This is premium cable!”
“Can we please not?—”
“No! We cannot move on from this!” She’s practically vibrating with glee, bouncing on her toes. “There’s a whole soap opera here, and you’re going to tell me everything while we set up. Every. Single. Detail.”
She drags me behind the table at our booth, positioning us far enough from the guys that they can’t hear but close enough that I can still see them.
And God help me, I can’t stop watching. Luke’s arms flex as he lifts equipment, muscles moving under ink.
Arrow’s shirt rides up when he reaches for something high, showing abs that could grate cheese.
Holt moves with the grace of a god despite the injury, every motion deliberate and somehow sexual even when he’s just carrying boxes.
My body feels too warm, oversensitive. Every breeze has me shivering. Every accidental brush of Harper’s arm has me flinching. It’s like my skin is two sizes too small, and the only thing that would help is letting those three men put their hands?—
“Stop eye-fucking them and start talking,” Harper demands. “Start from the beginning. And include the dinner from hell. Your Satan’s spawn of a mother. Everything.”
So I tell her everything while we work.
“And she gave you two weeks to prove your relationship is real, or she’ll drag you home?” Harper stops in the middle of adjusting our banner. “Like, physically drag you? Is she the mafia?”
“She might as well be,” I say, half smiling at how stupid it sounds, yet I know she will do anything in her power.
“Fuck!” Harper shakes her head. “And then what?”
“Well, the guys asked me to move in.”
Harper drops the stack of coasters she’s holding. They scatter across the grass like confetti at the world’s saddest party. “You didn’t?”
“Yep, Saturday night. Well, only for a night at first. Then I agreed to stay there at least until Halloween. I spent all of yesterday moving some of my stuff to their place and setting up the guest room as mine. They also insist on taking me and picking me up from work, so I came here with them straight after work.”
“That’s why—” Her eyes go wide. “I offered to pick you up, and you said you had a ride and—holy fucking shit, Cindy. You’re living with three Alphas? What happens when your heat comes?”
“Hell, I don’t know, but maybe it will stay away. And it’s just until after the wedding. To make it believable.”
“Uh-huh. Sure. Temporarily.” She air-quotes so hard she might dislocate something. “And how’s that working out? Platonically sharing space with three men who look at you like you’re a seven-course meal and they haven’t eaten in a year?”
I busy myself with arranging sample cups in obsessively perfect lines, my hands shaking slightly. “It’s fine.”
“Cindy.”
“It’s complicated.”
“Cindy.”
“Okay, fine! It’s torture!” The words explode out of me.
“They’re everywhere, being gorgeous and helpful and sweet, and they smell so good it makes my brain melt into my underwear.
Luke made me breakfast—pancakes shaped like hearts, Harper.
Hearts! Holt fixed my bedroom door that was squeaking without me asking.
Arrow brought me coffee exactly how I like it, and I never told him how I liked it! ”
“And?”
“And they want this to be real. All three of them.”
Harper fans herself with a coaster. “And you don’t?”
“I do. God, I do. So much it hurts.” I risk another glance at them.
They’re all watching me now, three sets of eyes that set my skin on fire.
Luke winks. Arrow smirks. Holt just stares with an intensity that makes me clench my thighs.
“But what if it gets ruined? Everything my family touches turns to shit. What if my mom finds some way to destroy this? I don’t think I could survive having them torn away from me. ”
“Okay, but what if—” Harper groans, cutting herself off, checking under the table.
“Damn it, I have to grab the kegs before the boss man shows up and gives me that look like I’ve failed at life.
” She lifts a brow at me as she turns toward the cooler.
“But we’re not done talking. If I were in your shoes?
I’d be paying those Alphas a visit in their bedrooms. Every night. ”
I blink. “Wow.”
“I mean, come on.” She pauses mid-step, grinning over her shoulder. “You know Alphas are beasts in bed. Can you imagine what they could do to you? Like, tied-up, can’t-walk-straight, rearranged-your-soul levels of good.”
“Harper.”
“What? You’re thinking it.”
She tosses me a grin and stares out toward the parking area, where the kegs are still sitting in the back of the van.
“I’m just saying,” she says. “If I had three Alphas in one house? I’d be rotating rooms like a damn tasting menu. One each night—hell, maybe double up.”
I shake my head, trying not to laugh. “Harper.”
“What? You know they’re probably insane in bed. Alphas don’t play. You’d be lucky if you could walk after.”
I open my mouth to fire back something equally inappropriate, but Harper is already halfway to the van, tossing a smug look over her shoulder.
A minute later, she’s trudging back toward the table, hauling the first keg against her hip with both arms, wobbling a little under the weight but determined not to ask for help.
She nearly reaches our booth when a male’s voice calls out, “Need help with that?”
Harper half turns toward the sound.
I catch the way her grip loosens, her head tilting slightly as she takes him in.
Tall. Lean. Striking, with dark hair pulled back in a messy knot that somehow still looks deliberate.
Sharp features, confident posture. There’s a faint resemblance to Arrow, not enough to draw attention, but something in the movement, the sharp-eyed stillness, the quiet edge under the charm.
Brown eyes flick over Harper like he’s reading a situation and enjoying every second of it. Is that his brother?
Harper is gawking now, still holding the keg like she’s forgotten what it’s for. “Absolutely. They’re in my van and it’s unlocked. I’m Harper, by the way.” She sets the keg down and extends her hand, batting her eyelashes hard enough to cause weather patterns.
“Mack.” He takes her hand and holds it a beat too long. “Beautiful name for a beautiful woman.”
Harper giggles. “You’re sweet. Come on, big boy, let’s see those muscles work.”
She dumps the keg near me, smiles crazily, and heads toward the parking area with Mack.
I watch Harper deploy every weapon in her flirtation arsenal—the hair flip, the accidentally-on-purpose brush of fingers, the laugh that’s pitched just right to stroke a man’s ego.
Mack is eating it up, flexing unnecessarily when he lifts the first keg, making sure his shirt rides up to show abs.
“So you met Mack.”