Page 123 of All Packed Up

Arlo hiked a thumb over his shoulder. “Go see Daisy’s sleeping spot.”

Griffith rolled his eyes, an affectionate smile curling his lips as he beelined for the bedroom. At Griffith’s exclamation of awe, Arlo chuckled and traced Grif’s steps, making sure all the other lights were turned back off. The alpha had already reset some of the clocks to the correct and early time of three in the morning.

Arlo stoked the fire a little, bringing the flames back to life before finally lying back down with his arm under his head.

The floor above them creaked as the others moved about, and he heard a muffled laugh. In their absence, Arlo and Griffith had kind of taken over the pallet, spreading out far wider than necessary. That was how Grif found him a moment later, mouth curled in a wide grin.

“They are so fucking cute,” he whispered, holding his phone up. “I took pictures.” Grif plopped back down on the mattress, phone lit up, and pulled up a flash photo of the pair of animals who’d taken to each other effortlessly.

His other hand lifted as he swiped the photo, and Arlo couldn’t help but chuckle.

First, whose hands were that big? He made the phone displaying Daisy and Knuckles look miniature. Second, he was giving off big boomer energy, and… did Arlo even know Grif’s age?

“How old are you?” he asked with a grin.

Grif narrowed his gaze, lowering the phone. “I’m suspicious, but twenty-six.”

“What?” Arlo questioned, sitting up. “You seem so much older.”

“Well, jeez, thanks I gue—”

Arlo shook his head with a laugh. “No, you’re just… I don’t know, mature? You seem to have your shit together.”

Grif shook his head. “I feel far from it most days. And what about you? Don’t you and Tate live in the city? You do all that shit with stocks and—”

“Yeah, but I have a degree I never got to use and shit, I’m the manager of a games return store, so… can’t say a whole lot,” Arlo argued. He and Tate had the same conversation all the time.

“Just goes to show that you can’t trust a book by its cover.”

Arlo’s brain paused, something about that statement rubbing him wrong. “Uh... Isn’t it judge a book by its cover?”

“Well, no. I mean, I probably look like a harmless little, what? Farmer out here in the middle of nowhere? Bet you wouldn’t guess I’m coming up on my release anniversary. From prison.”

Arlo cocked his head to the side. No way.

“What for?” Arlo grinned. “Filling up your popcorn tub on the way out of the theater?”

Leaning forward, Grif narrowed his gaze in concern. “Is that illegal?” he whispered.

Arlo laughed. “I don’t know, but it sure feels like it.”

“Shit, don’t let my parole officer hear you,” Grif teased, looking around as if they might pop out from behind the couch at any moment. After their chuckles died down, he said, “No, uh… I got busted for underground fighting.”

“Oh,” Arlo breathed. “Is that how you know Nic?” It was all coming together now.

Griffith nodded, sliding into the covers and lying back down. Arlo did the same, and they went back to taking up as much space as possible, guilt free.

“That sucks,” Arlo offered. “How long were you there?”

Griffith blew a raspberry. “Three years, give or take a few days.”

Letting loose a low whistle, Arlo rolled his head to the alpha, wondering how much he could get away with asking. “Is that why you and Nic aren’t together?”

Grif huffed. “I suppose.” He frowned, and Arlo waited a moment, sensing the alpha had something else to add. “Once I got out it just didn’t… work.”

Arlo sensed there was more to the story, but he recognized a boundary when he stumbled face-first into one. It wasn’t his business anyway.

“That sucks, man,” Arlo offered. “I don’t know what to say.”