Page 26 of The Flavor of Us

My skin feels too tight, my scent is filling the space around me, sweet and inviting, and I know if I stay here any longer, I’m going tocombust. A whimper catches in my throat and I slap a hand over my mouth before it escapes, their eyes darkening in response.

I’m going to die. Right here. In this armchair.

I scramble to my feet, nearly tripping over my own toes as I clutch my empty glass to my chest like it’s some kind of shield. “I—I’m late!” I blurt out, my voice way too high-pitched and trembling.

Three pairs of eyes snap to me—Carleen, Ryder, Ashton—and they’re all varying shades ofamused.

“Late for what, sunshine?” Carleen drawls, her grin spreading.

“I… a thing! A very importantthing!”

I back away, holding one hand up like I’m warding off a pack of hungry wolves, which—let’s face it—I basically am.

Chapter eleven

TATI

I slam the door behind me, leaning against it like I can somehow barricade myself from the chaos outside. My heart’s still racing, my breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps as I stare at the empty space of my room like it’s suddenly supposed to give me answers.

It doesn’t.

Instead, all I can think about is them—Ryder with his sharp blue eyes, Ashton with his wicked smirk, and Carleen with her amused little grin as she let them toy with me.

I groan, letting my head thunk back against the door as I slide down until I’m sitting on the floor. My whole body feels like it’s vibrating—every nerve ending on fire, my scent still sweet and thick in the air. I can smell myself, and if I can smell myself, then they definitely can too.

Goddess, this is a disaster.

I pull my knees up to my chest, the glass discarded, resting my forehead on them as I try to slow my breathing. I’m not due at Euphoria until tonight, which means I’ve got hours to sit here and stew in my own embarrassment and frustration.

I briefly consider texting Ellie again. She’d have something wise and comforting to say, probably in between changing diapers and fending off Macon’s insistence that she “rest.” But she’s not ready for visitors, and honestly? I’m not ready to face her either.

My eyes flick to the corner of my room, where a few of my unpacked bags are still slumped against the wall. I sigh, pushing myself up and wandering over. Might as well make myself useful, right?

I spend the next hour or so fussing around my room—hanging up clothes, shoving shoes into the closet, and setting up little knick-knacks on my nightstand. A framed photo of Ellie and me at some forgotten summer fair. A tiny glass snow globe I bought on a whim during a weekend trip.

It’s all so…normal.

But normal doesn’t feel right right now.

Because every few minutes, I catch myself pausing—staring blankly at the floor as my body buzzes with this low, insistent heat curling deep in my belly.

I know what it wants.

I know who it wants.

And I hate it.

With a frustrated sigh, I turn away from the mess of half-unpacked bags and head for the closet. My nest is still tucked neatly in the corner, piled high with soft blankets, pillows, and one of Carleen’s sweatshirts buried somewhere in the middle.

I hesitate for half a second before I cave, crawling into the space and wrapping one of the heavier blankets around me as I sink into the cozy warmth. The scent of fresh rain and peachesclings to one of the pillows and I bury my face into it with a groan.

I thought I had everything figured out when I came back here. I thought Carleen and I would take things slow, build somethingreal. And now Ryder and Ashton St. James are in our kitchen and my body is acting like it’s already decided they’re part of this.

Part of us.

I can’t stop thinking about Ashton’s smirk, the way his lips curved around those wicked words as he called me apretty little doe. And Ryder… those sharp, ice-blue eyes watching me like he was trying to read me. Like he could see every little thought flitting through my mind and was just waiting for me to crack. I let out a soft whimper into the pillow, my thighs pressing together as another wave of heat rolls through me.

It's not just physical—it’s deeper than that. It’s in the way their scents linger in my head, in the way my chest aches when I think about being near them again.

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