Page 72 of Justice for Puck Bunnies

I debated over the choice entirely too long.

On the one hand, having his face stained with my lipstick is immensely satisfying. For Brad, of course. Superstition is a trendy restaurant, and someone is bound to post a photo of the guys.

The pictures are never of me, though. The bunnies rarely make it into those pap shots. If they are, they’re ignored.

Still, the night is young. We aren’t here for that. Mason was very clear in the group chat that he thought we needed to spend time out together before the advertiser’s fundraiser next week. Vin agreed and separately messaged me, too, to encourage it.

The mere suggestion of going out in public with all three of them triggered another anxiety spiral. It got so bad, I even texted Jolie for hype support. My emotions are on a hair trigger lately.

Jolie never texted me back, though.

I can’t really blame her. I’m sure she’s tired of hearing about my omega problems. There’s so much for her to do. Every conversation delves into wedding planning within the first thirty seconds. Bouquets, menus, and guest lists have consumed her life.

And maybe, a little, I can’t stand to talk to her about that right now. It’s a reminder of what I’m working toward—or lack thereof—and what I lose if I don’t succeed.

Standing here, wrapped up in Mason, makes the rest fade away, though.

Kissing this man is like riding the most intense roller coaster in the park.

When we break apart, Mase steps aside to make way for Vin.

The beta eyes me up and down with that Mona Lisa smile on his face.

“What?”

“We match.”

“Of course we match. Were you expecting less?”

Vin snakes an arm around my waist to hold me close and kisses me soft and slow. After the initial press, he skims his lips over mine and his nutty, earthy deliciousness fills my thoughts with salacious ideas.

“I think you like pretending we’re together more than you admit,” he murmurs.

Danger, danger.

I’m going to have to do so much better at concealing my reactions.

“Don’t read so far into it. I grew up in a pack, remember?”

“Sure. I’ll let you pretend that’s it.”

Vin releases me without question, but his hands linger on me. I shouldn’t leave it at that, but also I don’t have the fortitude right now to argue with him over something I’m already arguing with myself about.

Mason and Vin escort me to the hostess stand and inform me Trick is parking the car.

The U-shaped corner booth they seat us at overlooks astonishing views of Addevale. Glittering lights stretch into the beyond, and the arena is visible in the distance. To the south, windows intermittently light up the office buildings in the financial district.

Extra wide banquettes with deep seats are more than easy to slide into, especially with the steel-framed table for the assist.

It’s a space clearly intended for packs with alphas.

Mason makes Vin and me shuffle into the booth, with me between them. It causes an awkward silence when Trick shows up a few minutes later.

He doesn’t seem to know where to sit.

The alpha of the Wyatt-maybe-Pack stands awkwardly in the walkway, eyeing the open spaces beside Mason and Vin.

It didn’t occur to me that this would be clunky for the guys, too. They haven’t been somewhere that wasn’t standing room or active the entire time I’ve lived with them.

---