Page 11 of Big Bad Alphas

Can we really share our mate, though?I ask him.

We don’t have a choice!he growls back.

“We have to at least give this a shot,” Ezra says with a sigh.

“I know,” Wade agrees, and he sounds just as resigned as the rest of us feel.

I would do anything for my mate, including sharing her with two other men. As long as she’s happy, then I’ll be happy.

I hope.

The sound of big mixers turning on fills the small bakery, and I take a deep breath before I head back to where Emily is prepping for the day. Ezra and Wade are right behind me, and we push into the kitchen. I force a smile to my face as our lovely mate turns to face us.

“Okay,” I start.

“We’ll share you,” Wade finishes.

“It will be great,” Ezra adds, though his voice is a little too high-pitched to be believed.

She looks between the three of us skeptically, and I hold my breath.

Is she going to reject us? Did we wait too long? Did we mess this all up too badly?

“Really?” Emily asks, doubt coloring her tone.

“Really,” I confirm.

“We’ll prove how good this can be for you. Tonight. Let us take you to dinner,” Ezra says, and I nod.

“Alright,” she says slowly, and I relax slightly.

She’s not rejecting us so that’s a good sign. Now I just need to find a way to be okay with all of this.

Oh, and figure out what to do for our date tonight.

CHAPTERSEVEN

WADE

Icheck on the roasted potatoes, nodding to myself at their crispy perfection. I’ve always enjoyed cooking, though I haven’t had much of a reason to serve a nice meal in a while. Impressing my mate is the best reason there is.

The menu tonight is roasted parmesan-crusted potatoes, creamy garlic chicken, and a side salad with homemade raspberry-apple vinaigrette.

“Okay, that smells amazing,” Ezra says as he walks past me to grab the plates. Patrick helps him set the table, then grabs glasses and a bottle of wine.

“Better than takeout?” I ask, knowing that’s what Ezra wanted to do for tonight.

“That remains to be tasted, but it’s certainly better than what Patrick planned,” Ezra says with a chuckle.

Patrick rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling too. “Pasta and sauce is a classic!” he says in defense.

“Maybe, but not pasta from a box, and certainly not pureed tomato sauce in a can,” I counter.

“Where else does sauce come from?” Patrick asks.

I turn my attention from the stove to Patrick and Ezra, still standing around the table. “Are you telling me you own this gorgeous house with an immaculate kitchen that would bring any chef to tears, and you only ever cook sauce from a can?” Patrick stares blankly at me, which I take as confirmation. “You two are lucky to have me in your lives now,” I inform them.

“Oh?” Patrick inquires, lifting a brow. Ezra stares at me with the same intensity.

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