Chapter 25
GRACE
When the last, syrupy notes of the Reverie finale fade and my skates crunch to a stop at center ice, the only thing I’m thinking about is a bottle of ibuprofen.
Instead, forty minutes and a half-assed shower later, I’m standing on the curb outside my apartment building staring at the three alphas who have decided to make Bars & Games my our after-show date.
Bars & Games. In a city with a thousand options, they picked the one place where the floors stick to your shoes and every third machine is either rigged to eat your tokens.
But apparently this is what passes for a date night when you’re the Reverie Pack: nothing serious or too precious. Simply casual
Connor catches me looking at the sign, lips pressed together like he’s trying not to smile. “You said you like air hockey. And Zev’s been banned from more than a few bowling alleys, so. Bars & Games it is.”
I don’t respond right away. Zev, for his part, stands a little off to the side. He’s pretending not to watch me, which means he’s watching me twice as hard.
Fowler flicks his keychain against the thigh of his jeans and makes a little bow. “Your chariot.” He waves at the ride-share with a weird flourish. “Shall we?”
I slide into the back between Connor and Zev and let my body relax against the heated seat. The omega part of me wants to curl up like a cat in a sunbeam.
The drive is short. I breathe in the cocktail of alpha scents—peppermint, chocolate, and campfire smoke. Their collective warmth is like a second heartbeat, drawing me in with comfort without much effort on their part. Their alpha presence soothes my inner omega simply by existing nearby.
It was like this before, too. But I ignored it. Fought it.
No longer.
Bars & Games is actually not as grimy as I expected given the twin nature of bars and arcades. The ambient glow from the machines inside the dimly-lit space is pretty soothing after full days under blaring lights. Pounding EDM music pours out of speakers in every corner.
The four of us move straight for the bar before gaming. Zev pays for my G&T and the guys’ beers. The bartender than hands over a huge bag of tokens that come as some sort of package deal with the drinks.
Zev holds out the bag to the group. “Who wants first pick?”
Fowler snatches the bag. “Ladies first.” He dumps a pile of tokens into my hand. His fingers brush my palm and linger. I grin and pocket the tokens.
Three drinks and two rematches of a fighting game later, I am somehow winning. I have also decimated Zev at air hockey. I suspect they are letting me win at least a few of these rounds, but not all of them. They didn’t know I used to spend entire summers in Cape Cod at a beach arcade.
They do now.
Each round, the alphas instinctually move closer.
At first, I think Connor perches close simply because of how crowded the space is.
But when Zev hovers behind me, sometimes with a palm lightly resting at the back of my neck, I realize it’s far more than that.
Fowler circles us casually, never standing still.
He occasionally breaks off to trash-talk a random bystander before snapping right back to our group.
It feels so normal. Like we were never apart, but in fact have been together for years.
But then Zev’s hand lingers and my body snaps to attention.
My heartbeat thunders in my ears at the simple contact.
And then there’s me, caught in the undertow, pretending I haven’t noticed my own scent thickening in the air like rose syrup.
The omega in me purrs and my scent spikes. Being this close to my alphas is everything I’ve been missing.
At the pinball row, Zev leans into me, his body heat like a blanket. “You know you can tilt it, right? The whole upper deck is loose.”
I roll my eyes. “So, cheat?”
He shrugs, grinning. “Call it what you want.”
He reaches over my shoulder to show me. His chest presses flush to my back, pinning me to the machine so very gently. My breath catches at the contact of his hips against my back. My heart flutters and a hot blush creeps up my cheeks.
I swallow hard. “I’m not taking pointers from a guy who got banned from bowling alleys.”
Zev just grins. “That was a misunderstanding.”
“Yeah?” I ask refusing to turn around because I know if I do, I’ll be an inch from his mouth. Which in itself isn’t a problem, but the very public nature of this place and what I’d suddenly like to do with Zev is. “What’d you do, tackle the staff?”
“No,” he says, feigning hurt, “I tackled the pins.”
There’s no way he’s serious. “Zev!”
Zev laughs.
Connor watches us. He hasn’t touched his drink in ten minutes and his foot bounces madly under the table.
When I finally break away from Zev, Connor’s waiting, hand out and palm up. “Dance game?” His ears are pink.
I snort a laugh. “I’m not drunk enough for that.”
“Not yet,” Fowler calls, dropping four more beers onto the edge of the table.
I groan, but the truth is, if I knew it could be this good with these three men, I might have let them back into my life sooner. I kind of want this night to last forever.
Is that crazy?
The music swells and we and the four of us end up tangled together at a four-player shooter as the buzz from the various drinks wear off.
At the end of our run at this arcade machine Zev slings an arm over my shoulder. I let myself lean into it. “Can I tell you a secret?”
“Sure.” I don’t trust myself to look at him. Buzzed Grace might play some DDR, but sober Grace is liable to make out with all three alphas right here, right now. Tell me which is more dangerous.
Maybe that’s why I put up as many walls as I did. To protect myself from falling so easily.
“I missed you,” Zev says. “All three of us did.”
Tears prickle at the corner of my eyes. “Then why—”
But I don’t finish. Because Fowler has wedged himself between us, hands splayed wide like he’s refereeing. “Zev means to say that we’re going to do everything to prove to you that this is the right choice.”
Connor slides into any space he can find and then puts a finger under my chin. “Starting with this.” He tilts my head up and kisses me.
It’s not like the first time. That gentle and relatively quick. This kiss with Connor is much slower. Connor’s hand cradles my face. The world blurs out around us, save for the presence of my other two alphas. I’m breathless when he pulls back.
Fowler whistles, low. “Damn. My turn?”
He doesn’t wait for an answer. The kiss is different—Fowler is a furnace, and he kisses like he’s trying to drag the omega out of me with sheer force. It’s sincerely hot as hell.
And then Zev’s lips are at my ear. “Grace.”
I don’t know who moves first, but suddenly the four of us are a mess of arms and mouths with hands threading through hair and their teeth grazing my neck. The arcade has blurred into static. I have never felt more alive.
Zev breaks away. “We should go.” Thank god it’s not a suggestion.
Months of tension. This sweet release. All of this energy needs to go somewhere, and my inner omega is begging for it to be as soon as possible.
“Where?” I manage.
Zev looks at Fowler. “Ours is closest.”
Connor laces his fingers with mine and pulls me toward the exit. Zev and Fowler fall in behind us. We spill out into the night, but the cold can’t cut through the heat thrumming under my skin.
No more running from this, the most natural connection I’ve ever felt.
The ride from Bars & Games to Zev and Fowler’s is one long, frantic haze.
I spend the whole time pressed between Connor and Zev in the backseat with the sense of something building—hunger or inevitability.
Both. The first time Connor leans over and licks the curve of my neck, I whimper, and Zev’s grip on my thigh sends shivers of anticipation straight to my core.
Fowler, from the passenger seat, watches us in the rearview mirror and grins wide.
Minutes later, we barely make it past the entryway to Zev and Fowler’s place before Connor has his mouth on mine again. He’s rougher now, his teeth catching at my bottom lip as his hands sliding beneath my jacket to palm my ribs. My back thumps against the door.
Zev and Fowler don’t even pretend to be patient. Zev tugs my jacket off, then yanks my shirt over my head like he’s unwrapping a present. The motion drags my hair out of its ponytail. Fowler sweeps it aside to kiss the place where my neck meets my shoulder.
Our pheromones mix together now. I melt into the swirling combination of their scents and alpha presence. It’s all around me, under my skin, a wave building so fast I want to weep.
Somehow we end up in the living room. I’m wearing only my bralette and a pair of shorts. My alphas are still mostly dressed. Zev lowers me onto the coffee table scattered with coasters from breweries I’ve never heard of. My bare thighs stick to the wood.
The three of them stand above me. Their gazes run the length of my body, studying what I’ve not yet allowed them to see or touch. I expect the familiar wolf-pack jockeying, but instead it’s only reverence. I dig my teeth into my bottom lip. My fingers curl against the wood of the table.
“Is this okay?” Zev asks.
“Yes,” I whisper. My voice is ragged, unrecognizable. “Please.”
We’ve never been as intimate as we have been tonight. During prep camp, before they rejected me, we hung out just like the rest of the cast. Maybe a kiss or two with the initial realization of the scent-match.
But nothing like this.
Zev asking me if I’m okay is all it takes.
Connor is the first to touch me. His fingers ghost over my stomach as he memorizes every line and hollow.
He unhooks my bralette with one hand in one smooth motion and mouths at my breasts, his teeth grazing the swell before his tongue finds the peak.
He works in a maddeningly unhurried way that makes me want to scream.
He seals his lips around it and pulls. The sensation lances straight down through my stomach to the spot between my thighs and my spine curves off the table.