There’s a moment of silence.
“Fuck! We’re really doing this?” Kane barks, staring at his costume like it might bite him.
“Apparently.” I set mine on the table, start stripping out of my jacket.
Chris is already pulling on the Santa pants, shaking his head. “Could be worse. She mentioned yesterday that she had a backup reindeer costume. Full bodysuit. Antlers. Tail.”
I pause mid-shirt removal. “No way.”
“Yep.”
“I’m burning that costume the second I find it,” Kane says.
“Get in line,” I add.
I finish undressing down to my boxers and T-shirt, eyeing the elf costume with deep suspicion. The tunic looks big—Hannah must have ordered sizes for large men—but this is going to be snug.
I pull it on. It fits, barely. The fabric stretches across my shoulders, the hem hitting mid-thigh. The tights are worse,being thin red material that leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination.
I catch sight of myself in the mirror and seriously consider just walking out and dealing with the consequences.
Kane is struggling with his own costume, muttering curses under his breath. “How do people wear this stuff voluntarily? This is torture.”
“Someone invented these costumes specifically to punish large men.”
“I’m filing a complaint.”
“With who?”
“Santa. He started this whole mess.”
Chris snorts from across the room. He’s fully dressed now, red suit, black boots, white beard adjusted perfectly. “You two look ridiculous.”
“You’re literally dressed as Santa Claus,” I say.
“I look fantastic. There’s a difference.”
I pull on the pointed hat, bells jingling with every movement, and catch Kane’s eye. He’s looking just as absurd as I feel.
“Hey.” I keep my voice low. “You get close enough to scent her yet?”
Kane goes still, his expression shifting. “What?”
“Don’t bullshit me,” I say. “Yesterday, when she was cleaning up. And now, stuffed in this broom closet of a room with her. You scented her, yeah?”
Kane’s jaw locks so hard I can hear his molars complain. “I wasn’t gonna say anything.”
I bark a laugh. “Why the hell not?”
His gaze cuts to mine, sharp, uneasy in a way he never admits to. “Because if I’m right, if she’s actually what I think she is, that changes everything.”
Chris stops pretending he isn’t listening and drags a palm over his beard, smug bastard that he is. His grin is slow, wolfish,like he’s picturing her pressed under him already. “Told you she’s my scent match. Knew the second she kissed me.”
I swear my spine tightens. “You two are way too fucking calm about this.”
Kane starts pacing—well, as much pacing as one can do in a room the size of a coffin. “All three of us scenting the same Omega? Meaning she’s ours.”
“So what’s the move?” I ask.
