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“What about Dutch Barrington?” he tosses back. “I’d be dignified as hell.”
“I’d rather be a Redfang.” Bishop brushes invisible lint from his shoulder.
“Not an option.” I’d almost rather be a Fissure.
Not that it matters.
The name isn’t real.
“I’d help but…” Reese shrugs. “We can’t all be Parkers.”
“Well, well, well.” Dutch grins. He was waiting for this. “D’Artagnan Pack takes the dub.”
“Bishop D’Artagnan?” Bishop brushes his robe harder. “They’ll laugh us out of the registration bureau.”
“Family names are cursed.” Reese shakes his head.
“Then what?” Dutch digs blunt fingers through his hair, putting off a frazzled, distressed energy that makes my fingers twitch. “I can’t do this no-name pack bullshit anymore. We’re finally together. Don’t act like I’m the weirdo for wanting to make it official.”
My heart hums, the air too thick.
I agreed to fake being mates. Not to name the pack I’ll never be allowed to join.
Dutch doesn’t make a sound, but I feel his sorrow. Just the idea of his whine sticks needles in my bones.
Let’s be honest.
I know how much they hate their names. Once upon a time, I dedicated a whole notebook to solving the problem.
“Meadows.” I’ve never said the name out loud, even though I’ve scrawled Marisol Meadows millions of times, surrounded by tiny hearts. “It’s Meadows Pack.”
“Dutch Meadows.” His golden smile beams through the roof, killing that dark-cloud energy. “I’m the fucking tulip king.”
I stare at my toes. Too bright. “You can change it to something else.”
“No way. It’s perfect.” Reese reaches through the seats. “Gimme your phone. I need to text Coach to change the roster.”
“Tulip prince. Pack only has one king. Otherwise, no notes.” Bishop hands away his phone, smiling soft as satin without a hint of sarcasm—all genuine glow.
What have I done?
“That settles our name.” Su-Jin Meadows strokes the steering wheel like he’s stroking my bare stomach.
I have to end this conversation. Focus on the plan. “How do you want to sell this act to Kairo?”
Reese pauses mid-text. “Easy. Convince him you’re ours and you wouldn’t touch Jericho with a pole.”
“Not even wearing a hazmat suit.”
“Can you mimic being close to heat?” Jin asks.
My tongue clogs my mouth.
“No.” I swallow, thinking fast. “I can’t really use Serafina’s scent right now. I must’ve overworked myself these last few days.”
Lying out of my ass, I lock down what’s left of my last dose of lemon. Being near the guys does seem to burn Serafina’s perfume off faster, but even if I were stabbed citrus-fresh, it’s true that controlling two sets of pheromones is more than twice as exhausting.
Especially under Bishop’s bullshit-busting squint.
