Page 20 of Keep My Alpha

“And the bark texture—that’s hand-carved? Not a Dremel?”

Does Knox know about carving wood? Since when does Knox know about carving wood?

Knox whistles, low. “That’s insane. What about the joinery where the branches meet? Mortise and tenon, or—“

They’re off. I have no idea what Knox is doing, but Wren’s shoulders drop for the first time all night. He’s smiling. A real one, not the careful version he’s been wearing so far. When I lean into his side to hear Knox better, his face goes soft and a little possessive and he shifts to make room for me automatically, draping his arm over the back of the booth behind me.

Shay rolls his eyes so hard I worry for his health. “We’ve collected another service-top alpha. Gotta catch ’em all.”

Wren’s thigh presses against mine under the table.

Not an accident. Deliberate. Solid and warm. And when I breathe in, he smells so good.

I press my knees together and take a very controlled sip of my drink. Wren doesn’t look at me. He’s listening to Knox talk about chisel angles. But his leg stays exactly where it is, and his pinky finger settles against the inside of my knee under the table where nobody can see.

Just the side of one knuckle. The contact is tiny and it goes everywhere. My pulse hammers. I’m hyper-aware of how easy it would be for him to turn his wrist and slide higher. Those blunt, careful fingers slipping under my clothes, tracing my skin, pressing the heel of his palm against the growing damp spot in my underwear until I have to bite my lip to stay quiet.

I want him to. God, I want him to.

Instead he keeps that single point of contact steady while my body riots. His warmth seeps into me. I shift my weight and the pressure of his thigh increases. My hole clenches around nothing and a fresh bead of slick slips free, warm and unmistakable.

He still doesn’t look at me, but the corner of his mouth twitches. Like he knows exactly what he’s doing to me and he’s enjoying every second of it.

The night goes golden after that. Tessa brings a round nobody ordered and says, “On the house for the new guy, don’t get used to it.” Diego asks Wren if he could carve a dragon and Wren says “probably” with total seriousness, which makes Diego light up like it’s Christmas morning. Milo produces cookies from somewhere, and Wren eats two and tells Milo they’re the best thing he’s ever had.

Jude makes me read one of my poems out loud. I refuse before eventually caving and pick the shortest one: four lines about a pair of hands that build beautiful things in the dark. My voice only shakes a little. When I finish, the table goes quiet. Wren is staring at his beer, jaw locked tight. Knox puts his hand over his heart. Jude says, “Soren, what the fuck, that was gorgeous,” and Benji says, “I swear to god this is a soap opera,” very quietly.

When the night winds down and people start peeling off in pairs: Jude dragging Rhys out by the hand, Milo yawning into Callum’s shoulder, Benji and Knox disappearing without saying goodbye because that’s their thing. Wren walks me to the door.

“That wasn’t terrible,” he says.

“High praise.”

“Your friends are...”

“A lot.”

“Yeah.” He’s smiling. The real one. “They’re really good, Soren.”

The way he says it, like he’s surprised people like this exist, makes my throat tight.

“They liked you,” I say.

“Knox liked me. The rest are still deciding.”

“Jude hugged you goodbye. Jude doesn’t hug people he hasn’t approved.”

“That was a hug? I thought he was checking me for weapons.”

I laugh, bright and too loud, and Wren’s eyes go soft watching me do it. We’re standing under the green neon with the warm night pressing close. He reaches out and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, his touch so, so careful. His fingertips brush the shell of my ear and linger half a second too long. I lean into it.

“Thanks for inviting me,” he says.

“Thank you for coming.”

His hand drops. He steps back. I tell myself I’m not disappointed.

“Goodnight, Soren.”