Chapter 32 Thrift-Store Thirst & Changing-Room Shenanigans #2
All I want is more—more teeth, more tongue, more hands, more of this reckless, greedy pack dynamic that scares the hell out of me and yet feels safer than anything ever has.
I twist in their hold, desperate and pawing, and the tiny, forbidden space amplifies everything: the scrape of denim against my thigh, the drift of my own scent flooding their nostrils, the sound of my name in Luca’s rough voice.
Even the warbled mirror reflection makes me dizzy with how right it looks.
We're tangled in each other, half-rabid, when a sharp rap on the thin plywood door jerks us back to the realm of the living.
"You guys find her yet, or are we starting a pack fashion line?" Reverie's voice cuts through the tension like a bucket of cold water.
We freeze, all three of us, like teenagers caught by parents.
"Found her!" Levi calls back, impressively normal-sounding. "Zipper was stuck!"
"We fix it! We have seven more stores to hit!"
Luca's hands work the zipper properly this time, sliding it up smoothly like it was never stuck at all. But he takes his time, fingers trailing up my spine, making me shiver with each inch.
"There," he says finally, stepping back.
The loss of their heat is immediate and disappointing.
"All fixed," Levi adds, but he hasn't moved, still close enough that I can feel his warmth. "Though you should definitely buy it."
"The dress?"
"Everything." His grin is pure sin. "Buy everything."
They slip out of the changing room, leaving me standing there in the green dress, face flushed, body tingling, wondering what just happened and why I want it to happen again immediately.
"You okay in there?" Reverie calls.
"Perfect!" I call back, voice only slightly hysterical.
I change back into my regular clothes—boring jeans, safe sweater—but I can still feel their hands on my skin, their breath on my neck, their haunting lips.
I emerge from the changing room, dress in hand, to find Levi holding three more dresses, Luca with an armful of sweaters, and Reverie documenting everything.
"That green dress is perfect," she declares. "Very 'bakery owner by day, pin-up goddess by night.'"
"That's not a thing."
"It is now!"
We proceed to checkout, where I discover Levi never removed the tag from the firefighter jacket, Luca's bought me seven sweaters I didn't try on, and Reverie's somehow acquired a witch hat that lights up.
"This is excessive," I protest as we exit, bags in hand.
"This is just the beginning," Reverie threatens. "Six more stores!"
"Kill me now."
"After milkshakes," Levi insists. "Thrifting requires sustenance."
The diner is a five-minute walk, during which I try not to think about the changing room, fail spectacularly, and catch Luca watching me with dark eyes that suggest he's remembering too.
We pile into a booth—me squeezed between the twins because apparently personal space is dead—and order milkshakes like we're not adults with responsibilities.
"Strawberry," I order.
"Predictable," Levi teases, getting something called a "Monster Mash" that's seven flavors and probably illegal.
"Classic," Luca corrects, ordering vanilla with such seriousness you'd think it was wine selection.
"Boring," Reverie declares, then orders the exact same thing.
We drink our milkshakes, Levi stealing sips from everyone, Luca pretending not to notice, Reverie documenting the "aesthetic," and I realize something.
I haven't thought about town gossip once today.
Haven't worried about who's watching, who's talking, who's judging. Haven't cared that people definitely saw us leave the changing room looking disheveled. Haven't stressed about what Korrin might think or do.
When did I stop caring?
"You're thinking too hard," Luca observes, nudging my knee under the table.
"She does that," Levi agrees, stealing another sip of my milkshake. "Overthinks everything."
"I do not!"
"You alphabetize your spices."
"That's organization!"
"You have a spreadsheet for cookie rotation."
"That's efficiency!"
"You color-code your day planner."
"That's—okay, that might be excessive."
They laugh, and I'm laughing too, and the diner is warm and bright and full of people who definitely saw the "Hazel and her Alphas" show but I just... don't care.
I'm happy about that.
Actually, genuinely, surprisingly happy.
"Ready for store number two?" Reverie asks, finishing her milkshake with impressive speed.
"No," I say immediately.
"Too bad! The vintage boutique on Maple has a sale!"
"Everything's always on sale there."
"Exactly! Permanent bargains!"
We pay—or rather, Luca pays while I protest and Levi distracts me by putting whipped cream on my nose—and head back into the October afternoon.
"You know," I say as we walk, "I actually had fun."
"In a thrift store?" Levi gasps dramatically. "Alert the media!"
"Reverie is the media," Luca points out.
"Alert the other media!"
"I'm starting a newsletter," Reverie announces. "The Hazel Chronicles: A Pack Romance in Real Time."
"Please don't."
"Too late! Already bought the domain!"
And as we head toward store number two, bags in hand, Alphas flanking me, best friend documenting everything, I think maybe gossip isn't the worst thing.
Maybe it's just proof that something's happening worth talking about.
And the best changing room disaster in thrift store history.