Page 71 of Met Your Mate

I have to adjust my dick when Freya bends over in the dirt across the yard. She and Casey spend a lot of quiet time out there together, and often pick the pesky weeds that threaten her flowers.

Elliott does crunches and pushups near them in the grass. I roll my eyes, not at all jealous about the way his dark chest and abs drip with sweat in the afternoon sun. God forbid he loses even the slightest muscle.

Not like he doesn't already have two damn mates.

Then I notice Freya gawking at the fucking alpha and drooling all over the poor yellow flower beneath her.

Maybe I should start working out again.

"Ding dong, dick!"

"Fuck yes!" Ronan shouts, jumping from his patio chair and running into the house at the sound of Remy's voice.

Frowning, I stand to follow and notice the other three doing the same with confused looks as well.

Then I hear the oddest fucking sound coming from my brother hunched over the coffee table in the living room. It's the deepest fucking squeal I've ever heard. A grown man should never squeal, especially not an alpha whose voice range never breaks baritone.

"The fuck are you doing?" I ask, a little icked out by his behavior.

Remy snorts and turns away. Letting himself out the front door, he hollers, "See ya later, Butts!"

Butts?

Freya squeals next, probably giving herself another headache. She's on the ground beside Ronan in a flash.

"Meow!"

"Oh my hell, she's adorable!"

So, I love my omega for all her emotional layers, ranging from prickly brat to her quiet, unsure side. But I have never heard her coo like she's doing to the puff of white shedding on our table.

"What the hell is that?" I ask, pretty sure this is what I forgot.

Ronan scowls at me. "Butters. My cat. Remember?"

"Ah yes." I don't hold my snort back and neither does Elliott. "An alpha with a wittle kitty," I tease.

Ronan opens his mouth, probably to defend the little beastie, but Freya huffs and gathers the cat to her chest. "Come on little miss. Let’s go get a snack. Boys are mean, huh?" she grumbles, perfectly ignoring us all on her way to the pantry. Even Casey who didn't say shit.

We watch, baffled, when she comes out carrying two granola bars and sits on the counter. My eyes widen when she takes a big bite of her snack that she sought out and chose on her own.

It wouldn't seem like much to the outside eye, but this is progress. So much progress!

"Is she feeding the feline?" Elliott asks quietly.

Looking closer, I notice that she is, in fact, breaking off little bits of her granola bars and giving them to the cat.

"Maybe we should start thinking about a shopping trip," I suggest, awe lacing my words.

If she's feeding herself what she wants when she wants, then maybe she's ready to find her fashion style too.

Hope. I think the little beastie just brought us hope.

Chapter Fifty-Four

FREYA

Entering the cute boutique, I reflexively swallow the stress ball that surges up my throat. It has nothing to do with the small space, or the fact that all four of my mates take up most of it. It's the pressure.

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