Chapter 8 #2
“There was an Omega in our orbit, someone we worked with, and she…” He pauses, jaw clenching so hard I can see the muscle jump. “She left us.” His voice drops lower, rougher. “Anyway, I left and came here to figure out what the hell I was doing with my life.”
The guilt in his voice is raw and real. I’m surprised he’s being so candid and open about his past.
“Mason offered me a place,” Slater continues after a moment. “A second chance I didn’t feel I deserved.”
Mason’s hand reaches across the table, gripping Slater’s forearm briefly. A gesture of support, of forgiveness, of pack.
“And I’m the hometown golden boy who came back from college completely disillusioned with city life. I missed the ocean, missed this place, missed the community. Saw them initially struggling with the business, and signed on,” Dylan adds.
“You never stop talking,” Mason says, but he’s grinning. “Pain in my ass.”
Dylan barks out a loud laugh.
“And, Jasper?” I prompt.
“Came last to the pack. Had some shit to work through. These three wouldn’t leave me alone.” He shrugs. “I was born in Mistberry, but I left for a while, then returned. Been here ever since.”
The silence stretches for a moment, and it’s clear that’s all he’s offering.
“Eight years together,” Mason says, moving the conversation forward smoothly. “Built this whole damn business from almost nothing.”
I’m staring at them, genuinely moved. This isn’t what I came here expecting to find. These aren’t privileged Alphas who had everything handed to them on silver platters. They’re not the stereotypical pack of dominant assholes who think they’re entitled to everything.
They’re men who’ve been broken, lost things, or made mistakes and been hurt and somehow found each other in the wreckage.
They chose each other. Built something together from nothing.
“That’s incredible,” I say. “Really.”
Before anyone can respond, a pretty server approaches with a tray of several large platters balanced expertly on her arms.
“All right, boys, here are your usual meals,” she states.
She’s young, early twenties maybe, with a sleek red ponytail and a smile so dialed in it should have its own setting.
It’s focused on the Alphas at this table, sweet with a shot of syrupy flirt.
She clearly knows them, or at least knows of them, judging by the way she leans in just a little too close as she starts setting down the first dish.
“This one’s the pork-and-chive dumplings,” she says, placing the bamboo steamer in the middle of the table and giving Mason a subtle glance from beneath her lashes. “Still piping hot, so careful.”
Next comes shrimp and ginger. Then chicken and scallion. Her voice lowers slightly as she lists them off, like she’s reading a secret menu meant just for them. Is it weird that I feel strange, burning up, with her flirting with these men?
Scallion pancakes follow, still sizzling on the edges, golden and thin. Then spring rolls with plum dipping sauce. Dan Dan noodles drenched in chili oil. Orange chicken. Mapo tofu, its sauce bubbling slightly in the bowl. Finally, sesame green beans arranged in a perfect tangle.
She places each plate like she’s offering a gift.
“I told the kitchen to make sure everything came out extra hot tonight,” she adds, leaning forward as she sets the noodles down. Her hand brushes Mason’s arm briefly, and her laugh is soft. “You boys always look like you’re starving when you come in.”
With four broad-shouldered Alphas around one table, she’s not wrong. It’s a ridiculous amount of food, but I’d bet my fake ID they’ll clear the plates without breaking a sweat.
The smells hit in waves—ginger, garlic, chili oil, five-spice, toasted sesame—and my stomach chooses that exact moment to betray me. Loudly.
Dylan grins and flicks a glance my way. “Someone’s hungry.”
I shrug, trying to look casual. “Smells divine.”
That part is true, at least.
She lingers, her attention narrowing like a spotlight on Mason and Dylan. She bends slightly at the waist when she speaks, posture open, deliberate.
“Can I get you boys anything else? More drinks? Dessert menu?” She flashes a coy smile, simply overlooking me. Guess I’m not her type. “We just got in fresh mochi ice cream. I could bring out a few flavors to try?”
“We’re good for now. Thanks, darling,” Mason replies, polite but distant.
“You sure?” she asks. Her stare lingers just long enough to say I’d stay if you asked.
Dylan chuckles, not unkindly. “Appreciate it. But we’re still working through all this. We’ll let you know, sweetheart.”
She beams at him, clearly pleased. Then she turns to Jasper. “And you? Need anything special?”
Jasper gives her a small smirk. Not quite a smile, but enough to make her visibly fluster. She fans herself lightly with her order pad, like she’s overheating just from the proximity.
“I’ll take that as a no,” she says breathlessly. “But you just let me know if that changes.”
Then she turns to Slater.
Her whole demeanor tightens. She’s not just being flirty anymore; she’s watching him. Eyes tracking over his face, his shoulders, his hands, like she’s memorizing details. Waiting. Hoping he’ll meet her gaze.
Slater doesn’t. He’s already dishing dumplings onto his plate, concentrating and completely uninterested.
She shifts her weight. Adjusts her stance. Angles her body so she’s more in his line of sight. Still nothing.
Eventually, she gives up and walks away, a little slower than necessary, her expression puzzled like she can’t figure out why she didn’t land the attention she’s used to catching without even trying. And she completely ignored me, which was rude.
I watch all of it from my seat and try not to roll my eyes.
And it’s not like I have a reason to be jealous.
I adjust my posture and reach for a spring roll, reminding myself that I am absolutely not here to flirt.
Not with them.
Not with anyone.
Dylan nudges Mason with an elbow, nodding toward the female server, who’s still lingering by the counter, pretending to refill soy sauce bottles.
“Polite but distant,” he says under his breath in a mocking tone. “Classic Slater shutdown mode.”
I lean toward Slater with a grin. “I think she was into you.”
He doesn’t even blink. Just grabs another spring roll, drops it on his plate like he didn’t hear me. “Not interested.”
Jasper snorts. “There it is. The Slater mantra.” He leans back in his chair and gestures dramatically. “Women could show up naked and hand him a condom, and he’d ask if they’re lost.”
I laugh, but Slater doesn’t flinch. He just dips the spring roll in sauce and takes a bite like we’re discussing the weather.
“I notice,” he says finally, deadpan. “I just don’t give a shit.”
Mason shakes his head, grinning as he spoons some Dan Dan noodles onto his plate. “He’s still in his monk era.”
“Monk?” I echo.
“Yeah,” Jasper says, wagging his chopsticks. “No touching, no flirting, no smiling. Just brooding and judgment from the mountain.”
Slater lifts a brow. “If you’re done projecting your kinks onto me, can we eat in peace?”
“Oh, he speaks more than a few words,” Dylan mutters with a grin. “Careful, you’re gonna get the table pregnant with all that charisma.”
Mason chuckles, then turns to me. “His last pack left some scars. He’s not really looking for anything right now.”
Slater stabs a dumpling. “Let’s not start romanticizing my disinterest.”
I glance over at the server, who’s pretending not to stare our way from behind the bar. “Well, she wasn’t throwing herself at you, Mason, but she was definitely looking to start something.”
“She can stare all she wants,” Mason says casually, twirling his noodles. “I’m not exactly in a chasing mood tonight.”
“That’s a first,” Dylan says. “Mason turns down attention? Mark the calendar.”
Mason shrugs with that slow, easy smile that makes it hard to tell if he’s being modest or just messing with us. “I didn’t say I’d turn it down. Just said I’m not chasing.”
“Translation means he’s waiting for her to trip and land in his lap,” Jasper adds with a chuckle.
“She’d be lucky,” Dylan adds with a wink. “You seen the man’s forearms?”
Mason raises his hands like he’s surrendering. “Can we not make me sound like a trophy?”
“You are a trophy,” Jasper says. “A wholesome, emotionally available, safe-bet Alpha trophy. Mothers love you. Dogs follow you. Old ladies try to set you up with their granddaughters.”
“First of all, I hate how accurate that is,” Mason mutters.
“Second of all,” Dylan adds, “he’s still the one they pick after Slater emotionally devastates them.”
Slater exhales slowly, like he’s debating whether to stab us or just leave. “You done?” he says to no one in particular.
“Not even close.” Dylan grins.
But Slater is already refocusing on his food, unmoved by the entire conversation.
I lean back and watch them all with growing amusement. The dynamic between them is sharp-edged but warm, the kind of bond forged from tough days and a hundred shared meals just like this one. Teasing, sure, but there’s an undercurrent of loyalty that runs deep.
Mason notices me watching and tips his glass in my direction. “You good?”
“Yeah,” I say, smiling as I raise mine back. “Just enjoying the show.”
Slater doesn’t glance up, but I catch the smallest twitch of a smirk at the corner of his mouth. Maybe he’s not totally dead inside after all.
I reach for a dumpling, one of the pork and chives that’s still steaming slightly, and take a bite.
Oh my God.
The flavor explodes in my mouth. Savory, perfectly seasoned, the pork juicy, and the chives adding just the right amount of sharpness. It’s perfect.
“Oh, wow,” I mutter around the mouthful, temporarily forgetting to be masculine. “These are incredible.”
“Shame your sister’s missing out,” Jasper says, watching me with obvious amusement as I reach for another dumpling immediately.
All four of them are staring at me as I eat the second one, and I realize I’m making small pleased noises in my throat without meaning to.