May doesn't look up when we walk in. Just points to our usual booth in the back, the one with sightlines to both exits.
I head toward the booth, already working out the seating arrangement in my head. If I sit across from them, there's distance. Space to breathe. Room to pretend my brain isn't still short-circuiting every time I catch a whiff of Phoenix's scent mixed with Bells's suppressed undertones.
Distance is good.
Distance issafe.
My hand is on the back of the booth, ready to slide onto the bench across from them, when Bells's fingers close around my wrist like a manacle.
"Nope."
I blink down at her. "What?"
"You're the aloof one." She yanks me sideways with surprising strength for someone her size, shoving me into the booth besideher. "That means you sit with me. Phoenix needs more room anyway."
"I do need more room," Phoenix agrees, already folding his massive frame into the opposite bench. His knees knock against the table as he settles, and he has to angle his legs to avoid kicking me in the shins. "These booths were not designed for alphas my height. Or these shoulders."
And just like that, I'm trapped.
Bells is between me and the open restaurant, her shoulder warm against my arm through the thin fabric of my polo. The wall is at my back. Phoenix sits directly across from me, and when our eyes meet, neither of us looks away fast enough.
That's new.
Or maybe it's not new. Maybe I've just stopped pretending I don't notice.
Fuck.
I grab the menu even though I've had it memorized for years. May comes over with waters and a knowing look that makes me want to sink through the floor.
"Three today?" She peers at Bells. "New friend?"
"Bandmate," Phoenix supplies with that golden retriever smile of his. "Bells, May. May, Bells. She's been keeping us fed since we were broke nobodies playing dive bars."
"Still nobodies," May sniffs, but there's affection underneath the gruffness. "Just less broke. What do you want?"
We order on autopilot. The usual for Phoenix and me, pad thai for Bells. May nods once and disappears toward the kitchen without writing anything down. She's never needed to.
All three of us go silent.
Phoenix is studying the laminated drinks and desserts menu. I'm still pretending to read the regular menu even though I already ordered.
And Bells is watching us both, a smirk tugging at her lips.
"So," she says, breaking the tension like it's made of glass. "Jamie has this whole system for feeding Cheeto. Apparently tigers are picky eaters? Who knew."
I grab the conversational lifeline with both hands. "Picky how?"
"He'll only eat salmon on Tuesdays. And it has to be wild-caught, not farmed. Farmed salmon smells different." Bells takes a sip of her water. "Orion tried to trick him once with the cheap stuff and Cheeto didn't speak to him for three days."
"Speak?" Phoenix asks, eyebrows climbing.
"You know. Tiger sounds. Chuffing or whatever." She waves a hand. "Jamie showed me videos. It's actually kind of adorable."
"You're describing an apex predator that could eat a person," I point out.
"An apex predator withheart, Raf. There's a difference."
Phoenix laughs. It's that warm, easy sound that used to be background noise and now makes something twist in my chest.