Page 109 of Citius

I chuckled, raising my bottle to clink against his. “That’s basketball.”

He delivered a swift kick to my shin under the table.

“I received a summons to family dinner the night of your housewarming,” I said, laughing as I discreetly rubbed my leg. “Can you hold down the fort until nine or so?”

Joaquin bristled, raising a hand to his chest in exaggerated offense. “Are you doubting my prowess?”

“No,” I said, trying my best not to smile. “But between Alijah, Tabitha, her pack, the guests—”

“No need to worry.” Joaquin popped a piece of fried calamari into his mouth. “Wyatt will help, too.”

I raised a brow, unable to hide my surprise. “Not Alijah?”

“He’s…” Joaquin scratched his head, searching for the right words. His hesitation only deepened my confusion. Alijah had always been so awestruck by Morgan. How could there possibly be problems between them? “There’s a lot on his plate right now. And he’s still processing the news that Morgan’s, uh, kind of a real estate mogul. And don’t tell me you already knew.”

“Well,” I drawled, shoving my glasses up my nose with a smug flourish, unable to hide my glee at knowing Morgan better than my friends—and future fellow paramours. “Thereisa sign in the lobby—”

“Shut up about the fucking lobby.” Pepper burned my nostrils as Joaquin’s earlier ill-will flared back to life. “Don’t forget, I’m still pissed at you and Wyatt for keeping secrets.”

“I haven’t forgotten,” I said, casually dipping a piece of calamari into marinara sauce. “You old nag.”

Joaquin raised his brows in mock challenge, his toothsome smile razor-sharp. “Keep it up, tubby.”

And with that, we slid into the more enjoyable portion of the evening—tipsy bickering, punctuated with playful insults and plenty of plotting about our favorite omega.

Thirty-One

Morgan

Pack Redmond’s housewarming was an undeniable success. A spread of picture-perfect food spanned the length of the dining table, while craft beer and bottles of wine chilled in antique bronze buckets of ice on the kitchen island. Floral arrangements and a few scent-cancelling candles were thoughtfully placed throughout the first floor, completing the polished atmosphere.

Sure, the buckets were some of Kelsey’s photography props, and the candles and vases were Beaufeather’s products, but the place looked great. And if Rory’s third pass at the food table was any indication, it could rival even Jacobi’s swankiest affairs.

“Hurry, take your contraband,” Rory said, sliding two pieces of spicy pepper bruschetta onto my plate before slipping away. He seamlessly rejoined whatever conversation he’d been having with Alijah’s communications co-workers, picking up right where he left off.

Piper followed suit a few moments later, handing over some bacon-wrapped jalapeño poppers and a shrimp cocktail. Her sequined shift dress, however, made any attempts at subterfuge impossible. But I’d already decided to ignoreKelsey’s disapproving frowns. My reward for prolonged socialization tonight was copious amounts of spicy food—inevitable headache be damned.

“I love it when Kels shows off,” Piper said, digging into a crab cake. “Do you think there’ll be any leftovers? She never makes these anymore.”

“I doubt it.”

A fresh wave of guests arrived, escorted upstairs by a security guard—a courtesy I’d arranged. It was meant to be a neighborly apology, but I also selfishly wanted to avoid the relentless buzz of the intercom adding to the crowd noise. My head could only take so much.

“Oh well. Guess I’ll have to eat a few more while they last.” The smokey eye Piper spent half an hour perfecting in my bathroom amplified every mischievous thought in her pretty little head. “Even if the food runs out, you’ll still look good.”

As if I’d had any choice but to surrender myself to her ministrations. Not that I disagreed with Piper’s selection—a crisp oversized white button-down shirt and fitted black pants, paired with her early birthday gift to me—geometric silver earrings and a matching pendant. It was the whole face of makeup I’d balked at. But when Piper insists a moody berry lipstick will “complete the look,” who am I to refuse?

The front door opened again, and a momentary hush fell over the party as Tabitha Redmond made her entrance. Wyatt eased up onto his toes to kiss his aunt’s cheek before taking her coat.

Tabitha was fully leaning into the artist’s retreat aesthetic tonight, draped in a flowing embroidered caftan and oodles of chunky gemstone jewelry that made her turquoise glasses pop.

Owen approached, offering her a glass of white wine and a pair of air kisses. She asked him something, and his reply came with a sharp turn of his head, his gaze veering across the living room.

His intense stare pinned me in place—like a prize specimen—as he murmured a reply to his aunt.

Why me?

Tabitha observed his line of sight, nodded, and glided into the dining room, trailed by four older women in similarly eclectic outfits. Each wore a statement piece of jewelry larger and bolder than the last, their vibrant energy radiating through the room, with a subdued Wyatt bringing up the rear.

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