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I’d rather grit down all the cursed perfume in my body than explain the actual mechanics of my ability.
He’ll tear my lies apart.
Bishop rubs his hands, but instead of calling me out, he hits me with his shit-stirring-est smirk. “If you can’t wear Serafina’s scent, you’ll have to wear ours instead.”
I rock back in the seat. “How…”
“You know how it works.” Bish keeps stirring, smiling the wicked way that dries my throat. When he’s held me breathless long enough, he flicks fingers at Dutch. “Tulip Prince? Can your royalness remove the bag from the trunk?”
I’m forced to squeeze closer to Reese while Dutch maneuvers to pop down his seat.
Why even have breakfast as a meal?
I’ve got pancakes, bacon, cocoa, and toast, all shirtless and heated to the temperature of the sun.
That’s just the back row.
Dutch wrenches out a jam-packed duffel. When he sets the soft bag on my knees, I wrinkle my nose. “You had spare clothes this whole time?”
Then why have I been making eye contact with their nipples all morning?
Bish tightens the knot of his belt. “Clothes weren’t a priority.”
“Wait.” Dutch rubs his ear. “Say that again?”
“Open it.” Bish rolls his eyes.
“I think you broke him,” Dutch whispers.
If anyone is broken, it’s me.
I unzip the duffel.
Each alpha has a bulging packing square labeled with their name. I’m praying they’re clean clothes, but two teeth into Jin’s zipper, I’m hit with a hurricane of stormy, ocean-salt alpha.
My fingers clench, tempted to burrow, but the instinct isn’t so intense I can’t stop.
I’m definitely the broken one.
“Take a piece of each of us,” Bish murmurs.
“Take it all.” Dutch snags his pouch, unzipping a flood of maple-bacon just as intense as the scent baking off his body.
“I’ll pick.” Trying to stay in control, I grab the clothes he stole and finger through my options.
I pull Bishop’s peachy silk pajama bottoms over my pants. Dutch’s hoodie goes over his sister’s jacket like I’m buckling into a pancake muffler. Reese’s deliciously sweat-branded wrist-bands fit like cozy cocoa mittens.
I tie the owned-by-alphas look together with Jin’s luxe green overcoat. Lightning sizzles as he watches me through the rearview mirror.
All four alphas watch me like I’m sliding into their skin.
Like wearing their clothes means something.
It does not.
It can not.
Because this is when my inner omega is supposed to bust out, all Jill-in-the-box.
