21. Rowan
21
ROWAN
T he bar is packed, bodies pressed together, heat rolling off the crowd in thick waves.
The bass thumps through the floor, vibrating up my legs, and the air smells like sweat, spilled beer, and something sweet—her.
She moves ahead of me, hips swaying, confidence dripping from every step. I don’t even know if she’s doing it on purpose or if it’s just the way she moves. Doesn’t matter. I’m watching.
“Are you sure?” I lean in, voice low against her ear. “You haven’t gone into heat all day?”
She turns her head, smiling like I’m ridiculous. “I promise.” There’s a beat, then she reaches back, fingers brushing my wrist. “Last night worked. I’m fine.”
I exhale slowly, nodding, and follow her deeper into the crowd.
The place is a mess of flashing lights and too-loud voices. The Fang gang is here, the usual pack of arrogant bastards. A few firefighters, too.
But she isn’t looking at them. Her gaze flicks over the crowd until she spots Jake and Ash in a booth.
“There they are.” Her voice is light, eager. Then she’s slipping through the press of bodies, and I follow, watching the way heads turn as she moves.
Jake’s the first to react when she gets to the table. His grin is easy, hands already reaching for her. “Took your time.”
She leans down, kisses him slowly. Then Ash. My jaw ticks, watching her slip between them like she was made to fit there. And to think that was how this started for all of us—a fake bond to protect her from other Alphas.
“Did you wait long?” she asks, smoothing a hand over Jake’s chest.
Ash shakes his head. “Just got here.”
She slides into the booth, and I sit next to her, draping an arm along the back of the seat. The waitress barely has time to stop before she’s ordering beers and a round of tequila shots.
Ash raises a brow. “Starting strong?”
She grins, eyes bright. “It’s a celebration.”
The shots come fast, tiny glasses lined up in a neat row. She grabs the salt and the lime, then turns toward me.
“Hold still.”
I do. Mostly because I want to see what she’s planning.
She shakes a little salt on my throat, then leans in and licks it off. My jaw tightens. Jake chuckles, already reaching for a lime.
“My turn.”
Her head tips back, laughing, before she tilts toward him. He does the same thing—salt, lick, tequila. Ash follows. By the time she gets her own shot, her cheeks are flushed, lips curved.
“You good?” I ask, watching her tongue flick over the edge of the lime.
She nods, voice husky. “More than good.”
The night blurs after that into a little more drinking and a lot more touching. She’s got Jake’s hands on her waist, Ash murmuring something low near her ear. And then?—
“Dance with me,” she says, turning toward Jake.
He doesn’t hesitate. He just takes her hand and pulls her toward the floor.
I sit back, watching them move. She’s easy in his hands, laughing as he twirls her, pressing close, grinding against him with the beat. Ash watches too, sipping his beer, eyes dark.
“She’s something,” Ash mutters.
Yeah. She is.
By the time she comes back, she’s breathless, hair slightly messy, lips parted.
She flops onto the seat next to me, and I waste no time sliding my hand under the table for a little tease.
Her breath hitches. She swats at me. “Behave.”
I smirk. “Not likely.”
Another song starts, something with a deep, slow bass, and she shifts, turning toward me. “I want you all with me.”
Jake’s already standing. “Let’s go, then.”
Ash mutters something under his breath but follows.
The floor is packed, bodies swaying, the air warm. She moves between us, pressing her back against me as Jake grabs her waist. Ash is right there too, close enough that when she shifts, her fingers graze his.
It’s a blur of touches—Jake’s hands guiding her hips, my fingers tracing her spine, Ash leaning in, murmuring something low enough that she shivers.
And damn if she doesn’t take all of it, soaking it up like she was made for this.
By the time the song ends, her legs are probably jelly. But she just laughs, throwing her arms around Jake’s neck.
People are watching. She doesn’t care. None of us does.
Another drink. Another dance. Another long, lingering look that promises a hell of a lot more to come.
She’s laughing as we push our way back to the bar, her cheeks flushed, eyes bright. She tilts her head back, breathing heavily like she’s been running—like we’ve been chasing her.
Jake leans into her side, grinning. “You good, sweetheart?”
She nods, still breathless. “You always ask that. I’m great.”
Ash smirks. “We make sure.”
The shots arrive. She reaches for the salt, then pauses, looking between us. Something flickers in her gaze—mischief. Heat.
“Your turn,” she murmurs, and before I can process what she means, she’s tilting her head back, exposing her throat.
Jake’s already moving, running his thumb over her pulse before dragging the salt shaker over her skin. “Hold still,” he says, voice low.
She shivers.
I watch as his tongue swipes over the salted patch of skin, following it with the sharp burn of tequila.
Ash is next, going lower, licking the dip of her collarbone before handing her the lime.
Her eyes go hazy. She exhales slow, dazed, then shakes herself out of it. “What time is it?”
I glance at my watch. “Midnight.”
She laughs like that’s the best thing she’s heard all night. “I’m starving.”
Jake grins. “I know a place by the beach.”
She claps her hands together. “That’s the plan, then.”
Ash knocks back the rest of his drink and stands. “Let’s go.”
Outside, the air is thick, warm, carrying the scent of salt from the ocean.
“We took Ash’s car,” Jake says.
I jerk my head toward my truck. “We’ll all fit.”
They don’t argue. She slides into the backseat, sandwiched between Jake and Ash, while I take the wheel. As I start driving, she exhales, head tipping back against the seat.
“I had fun,” she declares.
Jake chuckles, draping an arm over her shoulders. “We’re just getting started.”
She hums, turning toward him, her lips grazing his jaw. His hand tightens on her thigh, and she shifts, pressing closer, her chin up.
Jake doesn’t hesitate—his mouth is on hers, deep, lazy, like he’s got all the time in the world.
Ash watches quietly, eyes dark.
Her fingers tangle in Jake’s hair, pulling him closer. The truck fills with the sound of their breaths, soft gasps, the rustle of fabric.
Then Ash moves. His hand slides up her leg, under her dress, and she jolts, a sharp inhale breaking the kiss.
Jake grins against her lips. “Relax, sweetheart.”
She doesn’t argue. She just melts against him as Ash’s fingers stroke higher. I glance in the rearview mirror, catching the way her lashes flutter, the way her lips part on a breathy little sound?—
I laugh. “Damn, you really are spoiled.”
She doesn’t even open her eyes. “You guys always take care of me.”
Jake kisses her again, swallowing whatever else she was about to say. Ash keeps going, his movements teasing.
By the time I pull up to the beach shack, she’s wrecked. Jake’s grinning. Ash is smug. And she—she’s breathless, cheeks flushed, legs unsteady as she tries to sit up.
I twist in my seat, smirking. “My turn.”
She groans. “I’m not a damn ball to be passed around.”
I reach for her, pulling her into my lap, fingers gripping her thighs. “Never thought that.” Then I kiss her, deep, hard, swallowing her next breath.
She gasps against my mouth, nails digging into my shoulders. I shift beneath her, pressing her down, dragging my teeth over her bottom lip before pulling back just enough to see her face.
“You good?” I murmur.
She nods, dazed. “Yeah.”
Jake chuckles. “Drink water before you pass out.”
I reach behind me, grabbing a bottle, and press it into her hands. She grumbles but drinks, tipping her head back.
Ash opens his door. “Let’s eat before Rowan gets any more ideas.”
I grin, helping her out of the truck. The beach shack is small, tucked between dunes, the ocean just beyond it. The sign is faded, the wooden deck a little warped from the salt air.
“I’ve never been here,” I admit, looking around.
The second we step inside, a burly guy behind the counter looks up and grins. “Jake.”
Jake lifts a hand. “Hey, Marco.”
Marco gestures toward the kitchen. “You need the usual?”
She raises a brow at Jake. “The usual?”
Jake smirks. “Trust me.”
We settle into a booth, and a few minutes later, plates hit the table—grilled shrimp, garlic butter fries, fried plantains, and some kind of seafood stew that smells like heaven.
She takes one bite and groans. “Okay. You were right. This is ridiculous.”
Ash nods. “Yeah, what the hell, man? You’ve been holding out on us.”
Jake hesitates, then sighs, pushing his plate back slightly. “I used to come here with Lila.”
Silence.
Ash leans back, watching him. “Lila?”
Jake nods, fingers tracing patterns on the table.
“My sister.” He exhales. “I grew up in Driftwood Cove. Youngest in a family of five. My parents ran a bakery. Lila was an Omega—artistic, soft. She loved books, and she was my best friend.”
Grace reaches for his hand and he lets her hold it.
Jake swallows, voice quieter now.
“When I was nineteen, she was upset about something. Parents had an argument with her. I took her hiking along the cliffs, trying to cheer her up. There was a storm warning, but I thought we’d be fine.”
His jaw tenses.
“We weren’t. It hit fast. The rocks were slick. She slipped.” His voice drops. “I tried, but I couldn’t get to her. Afterward, my family fell apart and kind of left me here.”
A beat of silence. Then?—
“Fuck,” Ash mutters.
She squeezes Jake’s hand. “You have us too, you know.”
His mouth twitches, something close to a smile. “Yeah, I know.”
We finish eating in silence, letting the sound of the ocean fill the spaces where words don’t fit.
Then she stretches, sighing. “Swimming?”
In her condition? With my curse? I am not letting her near the sea, not under my watch.
I shake my head. “If we go back to your place, we can play drinking games.”
Ash catches the meaning instantly. He nods. “Yeah, we should do that.”
Jake tilts his head. “My house is bigger.”
She grins. “Even better.”
We head out, the night still stretched wide open in front of us.