In My Obsessive Biker Stepbrothers’ Embrace

Fake-Dating: Not One but THREE

Alyssa's POV.

"You could've just texted," I said, shoving the phone into my pocket like that would erase the fact that I'd actually dialed his number, alone, in a hallway, three days after telling myself I'd never think about that night again.

"Where's the fun in that?" Phil pushed off the wall, unhurried, closing half the distance between us like it cost him nothing. "You called me, girlfriend. Not the other way around."

"I was going to hang up."

"Sure you were."

Heat crawled up my neck. "I don't even know why I still had it."

"Because you wanted an excuse." His voice dropped, low enough that it felt like it belonged only to the two of us, and the space between us shrank another inch without either of us moving. "Didn't you."

I opened my mouth to argue and found absolutely nothing to say, which was somehow worse than if he'd been wrong.

"For someone so composed at dinner," I managed instead, tipping my chin up, "you didn't say a word about actually knowing me."

"Would you have preferred I did?"

"No."

"Then you're welcome." The corner of his mouth curved, not quite a smile, more like the promise of one he was withholding on purpose. "Careful, though. My brothers don't have my restraint."

As if summoned, footsteps rounded the corner—Damien first, then Aaron, both of them slowing when they spotted us in the dim hallway, entirely too close together for two people who'd supposedly just met.

"Well, well." Damien's grin was slow, delighted. "Look who found the fake girlfriend."

"Ex-girlfriend," I corrected, too fast.

"For now," Phil said, and something in his tone made my stomach drop in a way that had nothing to do with dread.

Aaron leaned against the opposite wall, arms crossed, watching the two of us with open curiosity. "So? Are we doing this or not?"

I looked between the three of them, the sudden shift in the air impossible to miss. "Doing what, exactly?"

Phil studied me for a long moment, the teasing edge falling away into something more measured, more deliberate. "You need a boyfriend to convince your ex you've moved on. I need something too." He didn't elaborate. "Three months. My terms."

"Three months?" My voice cracked on the word. "I said a few weeks, and in case you didn't notice, that expired THREE DAYS AGO."

"And I'm saying three months." He said it the way he probably said everything—like there was no version of this conversation where he didn't get exactly what he wanted. "Take it or leave it."

"Check your phone," Aaron said. And I did.

A video popped up on my screen, and I tapped it to watch: Blake kissing the same redhead from Velvet Groove while he moaned my name.

My heart stung as I watched, tears clouding my vision. Before the tears could fall, I quickly turned my phone off and shoved it away.

Bastard, I thought. The gut he had, to moan my name. I'll make him pay.

"Three months," I heard myself say.

Something satisfied flickered across his face before he tucked it away again. "Good. One more thing."

"There's more?"

"You'll acknowledge them too." He nodded once toward Damien and Aaron, both of whom straightened at the mention like they'd been waiting for exactly this.

Phil didn't say anything else. He just watched, as if patiently waiting for it to click. I wouldn't be dating one, but three of my stepbrothers.

Wasn't I already going through enough s**t?!

"That's insane." I shook my head, looking between the three of them like they'd lost it collectively. "You want me to—what, pretend to date all of you? People are going to think I'm out of my mind."

"We're triplets." Phil said it simply, like it explained everything, like the words alone should've been enough. When my face stayed blank, he continued, patient in a way that made it worse. "We don't do anything separately. We never have. Not school, not the club, not pack business. The second people start believing there's a crack in that—that one of us matters more than the other two, that one of us can be pulled away from the others—that's exactly the opening they're waiting for."

"Opening for what?" I demanded. "You still haven't told me who they are."

Damien and Aaron exchanged a look, the easy teasing draining out of both their faces at once.

"There are people," Phil said carefully, "who are going to take a very close interest in this house the moment your mother's name gets attached to ours. People who'd love nothing more than a weakness to exploit." His eyes held mine, steady, serious in a way I hadn't seen from him yet. "You being an unclaimed outsider is exactly that. And if only one of us claims you, it doesn't close that gap—it just moves it. It tells anyone watching which of us they'd need to go through."

Cold slid down my spine. "What people?"

Phil's jaw tightened, and for the first time since I'd met him, he looked like he was choosing his words very carefully.

"Sabine Cross," he said finally, and both his brothers went utterly silent beside him.

The name meant nothing to me. Judging by the look on their faces, it should have.

"Who's that?" I asked, but before anyone could answer, a door slammed somewhere below us, followed by the Alpha's voice—low, urgent, nothing like the warmth from dinner—calling Phil's name up the stairwell.

Phil's eyes cut away from mine toward the sound, something sharp and alert replacing the calm entirely.

"Stay here," he said, already moving past me. "Don't come down until I say."