Page 28 of Building My Pack

"You don't understand how much he loves karaoke," Chloe says. "He will convince literally everyone to join in on it."

The tone of her voice insinuates that I'm missing something, but Thomas doesn't give me a chance to ask her about it before he's announcing that they've got to go. To which Kit agrees that he does, too. After they leave and I'm sitting alone once again enjoying the nutmeg flavored coffee they brought, I can't help but take a breather and be thankful for having a few good friends.

Chapter 14

Bryce

Later, after a good, long soak in the tub, I work some product into my hair that would keep my natural wavy curls without making them stiff before taking my time with my makeup. What used to be a daily routine now feels strange doing it late afternoon. My mom had called earlier, but I'd ignored it again. I still haven't heard from any of my alphas I've been expecting to. Despite the fact that I shouldn't be considering them asmyalphas, it's hard to catch myself before thinking it.

Happy with how I look cosmetically, I dab a bit of perfume onto my wrists and behind my ears. When I say that it was the smallest amounts, that's exactly what I mean, because what once used to be my favorite to wear on special occasions has started to come off almost overpowering through the past couple months. I'd been of half a mind to not even wear any tonight period.

Digging through the back of my closet, I find another one of my George disapproved shirts and match it with a burnt-orange skirt that stops midthigh. The black blouse has a straight line cut with no straps that fits tight across my chest and on the two arm pieces that run from mid-bicep down to my elbows. Looser as it flows down, makes it easier to tuck into the high-waisted skirt. I then throw on one of my thick, black choker necklaces that I haven't worn since that phase going through college and a pair of strappy, black platforms.

As I move to the standup mirror and take myself in, I can actually see something other than the chunky chick that I've been called too many times. Are my upper arms and thighs thicker than most women? Sure, but that doesn't take away from how beautiful I've been feeling lately. If anything, it adds to it, because it's not like I heard Santiago complaining the other night. Nor the younger guys who saw a girl having a bad day and helped her out of the funk with drinks and dancing.

Grabbing a thin-strapped purse, I toss it over my shoulder before heading downstairs to put my phone and keys inside. We'd decided on a time earlier before everyone left, and I'm actually ready twenty minutes or so early. Instead of sitting inside and making Kit ring the doorbell when he gets here, I lock up behind me as I sit out on the top step of the porch. Another annoying trait George had was that he always said cluttering the porch makes it look trashy, so we weren't allowed to have any kind of furniture or the swing I'd wanted for years.

Kit's truck comes rumbling down the driveway and I stand as he comes to a stop and gets out to look me over. "You haven't been doing any yard work out here, have you?"

I snort quietly and shake my head, watching that beautiful smile of his light up his face. He meets me at the passenger door and opens it saying, "You look...wow...tonight."

Covering my mouth with my hand as I laugh and hop in the truck, I repeat, "I look ‘wow?’"

"Yeah," he mumbles from where he's frozen to the spot. I glance up to catch his eyes roaming over the exposed skin of my legs all the way up to high thigh where the skirt has risen. Caught in the act, his cheeks turn pink before he shuts the door and walks around to his side. I take the chance to tug the bottom of my skirt down as much as it'll go without messing up the top. Not that I mind in the least for him to be checking me out. I'm just not trying to flash all my goodies for him.

He clears his throat as he gets in beside me. "Was there a reason you were sitting outside?"

I don't answer his question but choose to instead tell him something that no one else would understand out of context. "I want a swing. A big one. So big that I can put pillows on it and even take a nap if I wanted to."

Without laughing like I want to at myself, he simply says, "We can do that. Just so happens that I know a couple good construction workers who'd be more than happy to install it for you. All you've got to do is say the word."

Mentally marking finding one I like down on my to-do list, outwardly I tell him, "I may owe them a few more dances and maybe drinks, too, if they'd do that for me."

"They'd do it without you offering to do those things," he states. "But neither of them would ever turn down a good dance."

By the time we're pulling up outside the bar, Kit has me in stitches with his stories of learning to surf and his buddies tricking him with pee being the cure for jellyfish stings. Vacationing at the beach was never one of my top of the list options, because I couldn't imagine myself in a bathing suit, let alone having other people see me in one. Which had ultimately led to the decision of buying a house without a pool. I'd caught enough crap for revealing clothes. I could properly assume what swim suits would've been like.

Walking inside, it's easy enough to spot Chloe and Thomas sitting with their pack. Should've known the latter would've demanded the biggest table in the house like we were expecting enough people to fill the other five chairs at the twelve seater. The two of them wave us over, but I get stopped with a hand on my wrist on the way there. It feels completely natural like my body recognizes the owner before I turn to face them and pick up on the burnt-amber alpha scent.

"Mitchell?" I ask, genuinely surprised to see him.

Waylen pops up over his shoulder and beats him to replying, "Long time, no see, bananas."

"Thomas calls me that," I tell him, grinning. "What are you guys doing here?"

"We heard from a little birdie that you were going to do a little singing of your own tonight, so we thought we’d come check it out."

Throwing a mock angry glare over my shoulder at Kit, I turn back and tell them, "I'm sure it's going to be awful because I'm going to need some drinks for persuasion. You're more than welcome to join us."

They lead the way in the direction I point, giving me a good chance to check them out from behind. Just like Kit, they're both in jeans tight enough to make the devil cry in appreciation. That's about where the similarities end, however. Kit's got on a dark-purple Henley with the sleeves pulled up to his elbows. Mitchell's grey v-neck is almost the same light color as Kit's eyes and hugs his arms beautifully. Waylen's old band tee is more laid back, and I just so happen to love it, too. Especially since it features one of my favorite bands.

Mitchell doesn't speak until we get over to the table and make introductions between the three of them to Thomas and Chloe's pack. I've never been one to be any good at filling awkward conversation unless it pertains to selling a house, so it's a good thing that Thomas and one of the twins, John, seem to be fantastic at it. Waylen and Kit fit right in doing the same, trying to include everyone. For all his abrasiveness the other night, Mitchell seems quieter than he did before and more than once, we end up sharing quick smiles as I catch him checking me out. Whew, the heat in his gaze is going to set this place on fire.

"They haven't started the karaoke yet," Thomas tells me. "So, let's order some drinks and get a little tipsy while we wait."

He motions for a waitress who holds up a finger to him on her way by. I'm admiring the skin-tight black pants and top that she's wearing when motion by the door catches my eye. For a split second, my breath catches in my chest, and I have to remind myself to release it. Standing in the doorway is none other than Santiago and Kennedy. One of which I didn't think was due home until later tonight or possibly tomorrow and the other who absolutely rocked my world the other night. What's supposed to look like a light-jean material shirt tucked into almost black ones with a belt would probably look ridiculous on anyone else, but Santiago makes it work. No doubt since it appears to have been tailored specifically for him. I even see a few people turn heads to watch him make his way over to us. Kennedy looks exhausted. Even in a pair of dark dress slacks and a soft, black shirt looking like a million bucks, he looks tired following along behind his friend. As soon as our eyes lock though, it's as if he gets a small facelift with his smile that's directly meant for me.

It isn't until they're a few steps from us that I realize what a pickle I'm about to find myself in.

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