Chapter 8 #4
Slater looks up slowly. No smile. No warmth. Just those sharp eyes, cutting through the light like a blade. “You’re still here.”
I meet his stare and lift my glass. “Lucky for you, I’m excellent company.”
Dylan leans forward, grinning like he’s watching live entertainment. “She says, while comparing us to potential murderers.”
“I’m just saying,” I reply, shrugging. “This town has energy. The kind that makes you check your locks.”
“Don’t tell me you’re scared of a few fishermen,” Jasper says.
“Not afraid,” I say. “Cautious. Like those slasher movies. Or a secret society. Or maybe one of those midnight cooking competitions where the loser gets shivved.”
Dylan barks a laugh. “You watch way too much TV.”
“Or maybe I’ve just got good instincts.”
Slater still hasn’t looked away. “And what do those instincts say about us?”
“That you’re hiding secrets,” I say, holding his gaze.
There’s something magnetic about the way they all watch me, like I’ve already been claimed whether I agreed to it or not.
I should be more cautious. I’ve known them for less than a day.
But instead of warning bells, all I hear is the steady hum of curiosity.
I feel lit up, like I’ve stepped into something I don’t understand yet but somehow already want.
I grab another dumpling and shoot them a grin.
Mason smiles. “Maybe we’re just naturally mysterious.”
“Or guilty,” I counter. “That’s the vibe I’m getting.”
Dylan leans in with a mock whisper. “She’s onto us, boys. Abort mission.”
I snort. “Too late. I already know at least one of you is trouble.”
Slater reaches for his drink. “Good,” he says. “Don’t waste that fire on anyone who can’t handle it.”
I take a prawn dumpling and pop it into my mouth. Rich and so delicious. My eyes close involuntarily as I chew, savoring every note of flavor. When I open them, all four Alphas are staring at me.
Mason swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing.
Dylan wordlessly pushes another steamer basket toward me.
Jasper’s eyes are intense, his jaw tight.
Slater’s hands grip his chopsticks hard enough that I’m worried they might snap.
“That good?” Jasper asks.
“I might have been very wrong about not liking dumplings,” I admit, laughing to break the sudden tension. “These are incredible. Where has this restaurant been all my life?”
“Told you,” Dylan says triumphantly. “Though, I tried making dumplings once at home. Total disaster. Kitchen looked like a war zone.”
“They tasted decent,” Mason adds, but I catch the amused glance he shoots Dylan.
“You’re such a liar,” Dylan says, but he’s grinning. “They were terrible. I used salt instead of sugar in the dough. Don’t ask me how.”
Everyone laughs.
“I’m not a great cook either,” I admit, reaching for another dumpling because they’re right there and I have zero self-control.
“But I once made kung pao chicken that was actually a masterpiece. Like, genuinely the best thing I’ve ever cooked.
Ate the entire thing myself in one sitting.
It was so good that I haven’t been able to re-create it since.
I think I used up all my cooking luck on that one dish. ”
“That’s how it works,” Jasper says. “One perfect meal to prove you can do it, then a lifetime of trying to match it.”
Dylan glances across the restaurant with a frown. “Where’s Ash? He’s been gone for a while. You think he drowned in there?”
My heart stops.
Shit. I got so caught up in enjoying their company that I forgot my mission.
“Oh, I’ll go find him,” I say quickly, already standing. “He probably got distracted by his phone or something. You know how guys are with bathrooms.”
“You won’t be able to go into the men’s bathroom,” Mason points out logically.
But I’m already moving, slipping away from the table before they can stop me or offer to check themselves.
I rush to the hallway, my heart pounding, and grab my bag from behind the trash can.
The men’s room. I need to get in there and change back into Ash.
I’m reaching for the door handle when it swings open and a guy walks out, young, maybe mid-twenties, buzzed hair, cocky smirk.
His eyes widen when he sees me standing there.
“Wrong bathroom, gorgeous,” he drawls, grinning in a way that makes my skin crawl. “Unless you’re looking for some company? I’m happy to show you around.”
“No, thanks,” I say shortly, stepping aside and away from him.
He steps closer. “Come on, don’t be like that. I don’t bite. Unless you want me to.”
“Leave me alone,” I say firmly.
He laughs but moves aside. “Your loss.” Then he walks away. Once he’s gone, I duck into the men’s room.
The door swings shut behind me, and I’m alone, thank God.
The bathroom smells like urinal cakes and industrial cleaner and vaguely of beer. Not a fan. But I don’t have time to be picky.
I dive into the nearest stall and work as fast as I possibly can.
Dress off in one smooth motion. Chest binder adjusted back into proper position. Ash’s clothes pulled from the bag. Everything goes on in a flurry of movement.
I’m sweating from the exertion and the stress, overheated in the warm restaurant and the layers of clothing.
Wig secured back on my head. Facial hair reapplied. I’m getting faster at this, my hands moving quickly even though they’re shaking. Contacts are in, then I change my flats for boots.
I step out of the stall, breathing hard, and check the mirror.
Everything looks right. Hair is straight. Facial hair is secure. Clothes are in order.
Except—
I still have lipstick on.
The pink lipstick I applied as Anita is clearly visible in the bathroom lighting.
Fuck!
I grab a tissue from the dispenser and start wiping frantically just as the door swings open with a bang and a drunk guy stumbles in, eyes unfocused, movements uncoordinated.
He crashes into me, sending me stumbling sideways into the sink.
The tissue smears lipstick across my cheek instead of removing it cleanly.
“Hey there,” he slurs, leaning way too close. His breath reeks of alcohol. “What the fuck you staring at?”
“Nothing,” I say firmly, trying to edge past him toward the door. Alarm bells are ringing in my head. This guy is drunk and dangerous.
“Move,” I say, dropping my voice to Ash’s register, trying to sound masculine and intimidating.
It doesn’t work. He just laughs.
I grab my bag from the floor at my feet and shove past him hard, using my shoulder to force space, and bolt for the door.
Just then, Dylan rounds the corner ahead of me, his boots loud on the old tile, when the waitress from earlier emerges from the kitchen, backing through the swinging doors with a tray of drinks held high.
“Oh! Sorry, coming through!” she chirps, nearly running straight into him.
He shifts quickly to catch the tray, hand brushing her elbow. “You okay?” he asks.
She giggles. “Yeah, all good! You’ve got quick reflexes.”
Dylan’s mouth curves into that easy grin, the one that softens everything about him.
Perfect.
I move.
I slide my backpack off one shoulder and wedge it behind the trash can in the corner of the hallway. My heart hammers as the zipper snags on something, but I force it down, tucking the strap out of sight.
Dylan laughs at something she says. I snap around. He hasn’t noticed.
Good. Then I hurry toward him to pass him, but he’s stepping in my path. “Coming to check on you.” He stares at me, head tilted to the side.
My heart is thundering. “I’m fine,” I say, deepening my voice, roughening the edges. “Just needed some air.”
I don’t give him time to study me too closely. I dip my head and move past him, pulse racing, forcing myself not to look back as I return to the table.
I drop into my seat heavily, trying to appear as casual as possible. “Fuck, I’m starving,” I mutter, reaching for food immediately. Dylan joins us within moments.
All four of them are staring at me.
Mason’s eyes are narrowed. Dylan’s gaze is wide with surprise. Jasper’s expression is unreadable. Slater is watching me carefully.
“What happened to you?” Mason asks.
I stiffen, my hand freezing halfway to the spring rolls. “Oh, I just got some fresh air.” I reach up to my hair, pretending to scratch but actually checking that the wig is straight. I glance down at my clothes quickly. Everything feels correct.
“You have lipstick on the corner of your mouth,” Jasper says flatly. “And some on your collar.”
My heart stops completely.
The smear. The drunk guy. The rushed cleaning job.
“Oh.” I force out a laugh that sounds completely unconvincing even to me. “Yeah, sorry. Was just making out with this girl. She was all over me. Very aggressive.”
They blink in perfect synchronization. Stare.
Four Alphas looking at me like I’ve just announced I can fly.
“Well,” Dylan says slowly, “good for you, man. Getting action even here. That’s… impressive.”
“In the bathroom?” Jasper asks, one eyebrow raised in a way that suggests he doesn’t believe a word of this.
“Nah, man. Just out back. In the alley. We snuck out.” I’m wiping frantically at my mouth with a napkin from the table, trying to remove the evidence. “You know how it is. Girls see a new face in town, and they get curious. Can’t help the Monroe charm.”
I’m channeling every manly, overconfident attitude I can think of, gesturing to myself like I’m God’s gift to women.
They’re still staring, looking stunned and slightly suspicious.
“Anyway, hope you didn’t eat everything while I was gone.” I grab dumplings and shove one in my mouth. “Oh, and Anita’s here somewhere. She’s on her phone, dealing with a client thing. She’ll be back soon.”
I eat, chewing mechanically, trying to act like this is all totally normal.
My next move needs to be getting Anita out of here. Urgent deadline. Emergency. Something.
No more being Mrs. Doubtfire because I am absolutely, definitively not made for this level of deception.
The guys start chatting again, slowly returning to normal conversation, when Dylan asks me, “So, who’s the lucky girl?”
“Oh, just one of the girls here for dinner. No biggie.” I wave a hand dismissively, like this is totally normal behavior for me.
There’s a pause.
“You don’t know her name?”
I shake my head.
“That’s a bit cruel, don’t you think?” Jasper adds, and he actually sounds disapproving. “At least have the decency to find out someone’s name before you…”
He trails off, but the implication is clear.
I’m chewing a dumpling, fighting the urge to laugh hysterically at the absurdity of four Alphas lecturing me—a woman pretending to be a man—about how to treat women with respect.
“You’re right,” I say, swallowing and trying to sound chastened. “That was shitty of me. Let me go find her and apologize properly.”
I wink, trying to salvage this with humor.
“Yeah, go make it up to her,” Dylan says with exaggerated emphasis and a matching wink. “Make sure she knows you’re sorry.”
Slater is shaking his head, but there’s amusement in his expression. The others are laughing, the tension breaking.
“You’re all terrible influences,” I mutter, standing up.
“We’re trying to make you better!” Mason calls after me.
This is spiraling. I retrieve my bag, already mentally preparing for another quick change, when I feel a hand on my back.
Not aggressive. Just… there. Firm. Stopping me.
“Hey. What do you think you’re doing?” a female voice demands.
I turn slowly, dread pooling in my stomach.
Nina from the café stands there, hands on her hips, those crystalline blue eyes narrowed with suspicion.
She’s wearing a black dress, dark stockings, her hair up and off her face.
“I’ve been watching you all night,” she says, stepping closer. “Going back and forth between the bathrooms. Carrying that bag. Changing clothes. What the hell is going on, Anita? Or is it Ash?”
Oh, fuck.