The second you stepped through the front door of Sam and Emily’s house, the teasing started.

“Speak of the devil,” Quil smirked, elbowing Embry as you walked in, a plate of cookies in hand.

Embry tensed immediately, ears turning red. “Shut up.”

You moved quietly to the kitchen, setting the plate down while the pack watched like wolves circling something they couldn’t resist.

Jared leaned forward, grinning. “We were just talking about you.”

Embry groaned, dropping his head back against the couch. “Seriously, guys.”

Paul snorted. “Don’t act innocent. You’re the one who can’t shut up about her. Patrol’s basically a love letter now.”

“‘Her laugh makes my chest hurt.’ ‘Did she eat today?’ ‘Her smile’s stuck in my head.’” Quil added in a dramatic falsetto, earning howls from the others.

Embry looked like he wanted the floor to open up beneath him.

He stood abruptly and crossed the room, stopping in front of you. His hand found your waist, warm and grounding. He leaned in, resting his forehead lightly against yours. The room faded into background noise.

“Don’t listen to them,” he muttered, barely above a breath.

And behind you, the chorus of mock gagging and laughter started all over again as Embry smiled against your cheek, flipping them off with his free hand.