Page 10 of Keep My Alpha

I pick up the wine. Take a sip. Sit down next to Jude.

“Fine. Show me.”

The noise that comes out of Jude is barely human. He swivels the laptop toward me and starts scrolling with commentary so rapid-fire I can barely keep up. “Okay, this one’s cute but his bio says ‘fluent in sarcasm,’ which is a red flag for boring. This one has three photos of his truck. Three. So, clearly he’s not for you. This one—oh, absolutely not, I can see his toilet in the mirror selfie—“

“This one looks familiar,” Benji mutters, raising himself up on his arms to peer at Jude’s laptop. “Oh yeah, I remember that guy. What a waste of a perfectly good Friday night.”

“Benji, you are a cynical bitch, stop trying to scare Soren away from the hot alphas.”

I giggle, and suddenly we’re all laughing. This is what they do, every time. They fill the apartment back up.

“Oh,” Jude says. “What about this one? Derek. Local. Twenty-three. Alpha.” He turns the screen. “Decent jawline. Bio’s a little rough but the photos are solid.”

I look. Derek has brown hair, a square jaw, and a gym selfie at least tasteful enough to include a shirt. His bio says Looking for someone worth my time, which is... a choice.

“His bio is kind of aggressive.”

“His bio is confident.” Jude nudges me. “Swipe right. Just to see. If he matches, you can talk. If the talk is weird, you ghost. It’s KnotMe, not a marriage contract.”

“Nobody stays casual on KnotMe,” Shay calls from the hallway. “That app has a hundred percent fated-mate conversion rate in this friend group.”

“That’s not how statistics work,” Benji says.

“It’s exactly how statistics work when your sample size is four couples and a hookup app.”

“Delete the app,” Benji mutters, dropping his voice into a perfect impression of Knox’s low growl. Then, softer, almost to himself: “That’s what they all say eventually.”

I look at the screen. None of it feels right, and I know why. I’m holding every profile up against a ghost.

I swipe right anyway, half as a dare and half because Jude will probably take my phone if I don’t.

A match pops up immediately, KnotMe’s little animation doing its thing. It’s a Match! Jude screams. Actually screams, like I’ve won something. Milo claps once, soft. Benji holds up his punk bird coaster in what I think is a toast.

“I already regret this,” I say, but I’m smiling.

Derek messages first. Hey. Saw your profile. You’re cute. Coffee this week?

Jude reads it over my shoulder and gives it a six out of ten. “Low effort but not offensive. Respond with something warm but not desperate.”

I type Hey! Coffee sounds great. Tomorrow afternoon? and hit send before I can overthink it. Jude nods approvingly. Milo brings me a cookie still warm from the oven. Benji slides the finished coaster across the floor with his foot.

The punk bird stares up at me with its Sharpie mohawk and its middle finger, and I tuck it next to my wine glass like a tiny guardian. Seven carved birds on the shelf upstairs. One angry Sharpie bird down here, flipping off the universe on my behalf.

They stay for another hour. Jude FaceTimes Rhys, who appears rumpled and fond and tells me Derek better treat me right or he’ll “have words.” Milo’s phone buzzes with a text from Callum and his whole face goes red, so it’s clearly one of those kinds of texts. Shay fixes whatever he was doing to the router and leaves to meet Declan. Benji follows. Jude kisses my forehead on his way out.

“You’re going to be fine, baby omega. This is your chapter.”

Then they’re gone and the apartment is quiet again.

I wash Milo’s mixing bowl. Dry it. Put it away. Wipe the counter. Turn on the music app on my phone because silence gets ambitious after nine, creeping in from the empty bedrooms like it’s been waiting its turn. Jude’s old room still has his glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling. I’ve never taken them down. I tell myself it’s because I’d need a ladder, and I own a ladder, so.

From the windowsill, the birds watch me sit on my bed and open the laptop. My tiny carved congregation.

The Festival submissions page is already half-filled from the last time I opened it and chickened out.

My finger hovers over Submit. The cursor blinks. The AC kicks on down the hall with its dying-animal impression, and I almost laugh because even the apartment sounds nervous.

Saying yes to this and saying yes to Derek’s coffee date are the same gamble. Both of them are daring the jinx to come collect.