Page 35 of Pack End Game

I laugh because he sounds so ridiculous and doesn't even know that the accusation is far from the truth. These guys don't seem the type to ever expect me to cater to them. If anything, they seem keen to be the ones catering to me.

"First of all, you're being rude," I chastise Milo. "Second, most of these groceries are for meals that Zak offered to cook. He's apparently a great cook."

Milo blinks. "He is?"

Zak, the sweet man with a multitude of talents that he is, nods once. "I like cooking."

"And I already confirmed with Spencer and Freddie that his cooking is good, so I don't risk walking into a situation like the one Belle is in." I would pat myself on the shoulder for thinking ahead so well if it wasn't for the bags hanging along each of my arms.

"What does that mean?" Zak tilts his head.

"It means," I say grimly, "I'm not interested in eating pizza made with blue cheese and beef jerky as substitutes for mozzarella and pepperoni."

Spencer recoils in horror. "What the fuck?"

"Exactly." I shudder remembering my last dinner party with my best friend and her pack. Needless to say, I stopped for fast food on the way home.

Freddie shudders so theatrically that he drops one grocery bag and has to squat to retrieve it. "That should be a crime punishable by law."

Milo waves his hands, trying to draw us back to his original point. "If Zak is the one cooking, why are you buying groceries to bring back here? Don't you people have your own home?"

All three of the guys nod... ominously.

I wince because they're so in sync that I worry Milo's next suspicion will be that these guys are trying to convert me to join their cult.

"Surely the kitchen is bigger at your place," Milo says slowly.

Freddie, completely deadpan, says, "Our house is for sale. Kitchen and all."

Milo's eyebrows dart toward his hairline.

Freddie lifts one shoulder in a shrug. "We'll invite you over for dinner as soon as we find a new place, date TBD. Then we won't be strangers anymore."

Spencer shifts the heavy bags higher up his arm so he can put a hand on Freddie's shoulder, warning him not to keep carrying on. Sometimes he needs the reminder that we're not all guest-starring on The Freddie Show.

"Mia wasn't comfortable at our place," Spencer explains, showing my brother much more respect than my brother has offered any of them. "Mia is reaching out to a realtor so that we can all look at other options together. We want something that makes her feel comfortable, no matter how long it takes or what we have to spend."

There's a long pause as Milo stares at us with an unreadable expression.

A very long pause.

Then Milo doubles over laughing.

He folds himself in half in the hallway outside my apartment, clutching his stomach with one arm while bracing himself against the wall by my door with the other. He laughs so hard that I briefly wonder whether I should go inside to get my phone to call for medical assistance. Or at least find a paper bag in case his laughter turns into him hyperventilating.

"What's so funny?" I demand.

He wipes at the corners of his eyes and straightens with visible effort, still grinning like an idiot as his laughter subsides to intermittent chuckling.

"I always worried no one would deserve you," he says, looking from me to the pack. "But anyone willing to move houses less than twenty-four hours after meeting you is just the kind of crazy that'll be able to handle my sister."

I gasp, affronted. "Excuse you."

Milo moves completely out of the way of the door and salutes the guys in a way that feels both respectful but also deeply mocking. "Good luck, fellas. You've just found yourselves a real handful. I look forward to hearing the stories that come from your house hunting."

Without waiting for a response, Milo takes off down the stairs, whistling some absurdly jolly tune like he didn't just verbally throw me under the bus by telling them I'm a handful.

Traitor.