Chapter 13
chapter
thirteen
“WHAT?!”
Bridget and I both hurl out the word at the same time—me roaring, her in a shriek.
Huh .
There’s no time to dwell on the coincidence. I have to talk our insane sort-of pack alpha out of this “solution.” Now.
Shoving to my feet, I stalk from the small sitting area to the orange barstools. Everything in this hovel looks like it was painted by an eight-year-old at Color Me Mine, I swear to ? —
But the little red-haired cupcake of an omega beats me to it, spitting out a reply before I get over the way her furniture blinds me.
“Move in ?” she shouts. “The four of you? Here? ”
Adrian shrugs in that made-to-look-casual way that has my teeth grinding. His tone is offhand. “I assume so, unless you’d like us to move somewhere else together.”
“How about Hell?” she shoots back, balking.
Colt squirms on the sofa, muttering, “ I’m already there.”
“ Colt ,” Adrian snaps while I groan a curse, and Jesse steps forward, coming to the other side of Bridget’s kitchen counter.
“Bee,” he pleads, “just hear Adrian out. Please?”
She rolls her eyes at him and continues pouting at Adrian, waving a dismissive hand at me and Colt.
Which…
Excuse me?
Did this woman just completely block out my existence ?
I think the fuck not.
“If she’s not going to listen,” I interrupt, smirking down at her, “we should go. She’s right—none of this will touch us .”
Jesse gapes, and Adrian glares. Bridget’s eyes fly wide, but then the little brat turns her face away and flips her hair at me.
I feel my features fall slack and hear Colt snort at whatever dumb expression drops into place. Bridget ignores us, throwing her hand on her hip and continuing the conversation as if I never spoke at all.
“I love my house,” she informs our almost pack leader. “ I’m not moving anywhere.”
He nods as if she’s actually agreeing with him. “Excellent. Then we’ll come live here with you, little blue.”
Little blue?
That seems hella specific for a guy who just met her. But her eyes are really blue. Sort of like his—but warmer and darker.
Yeah, I’ve noticed.
Sue me.
Jesse always crows about how smart Bridget is. I saw a bit of her wit in action during our original negotiations, but now I’m actually watching her mind work. So quick, if I blinked, I would miss the understanding that zips through her gaze.
“You think that if you publicly move in with me and make it look good for the press, they’ll be forced to drop the whole Faux-ancée thing?”
Ah. Carajo .
That does sort of make sense.
Denying the lie is one thing, but giving the world a glimpse of our “relationship” moving forward? It would fix the whole issue—especially if Bridget is correct and Adrian wants us to put on a whole courting charade, too.
Dates, public appearances… All the things we’ve avoided because this omega can’t stand us, and the feeling is mutual.
But if we start taking her out and let the paps get pictures of us moving in here…
Well. There goes my sex life.
Luckily, Bridget seems hell-bent on not giving in. “There’s no space here!” she huffs. “This place only has two bedrooms, and I’ve already converted one of them into a nest.”
I can tell Adrian’s thoughtful, placid expression pisses off the omega as much as it enrages me. Goddamn this bastard for being so calm .
“The guys and I will be fine sleeping on the floor, if necessary,” he offers, smooth as silk. “Or we can get cots and use the sofas. Colt will need to claim one of those because of his injuries, but I don’t see any reason why the rest of us aren’t able-bodied enough to get creative.”
I’m sure he doesn’t mean to make an innuendo, but that’s where my mind immediately goes. Getting creative . With Bridget.
All that soft, peachy skin filling my palms. Mouth-watering, lemony torched sugar slipping down her thighs ? —
I tune back into the conversation, only to find it’s halted. And the omega is staring at me?
Mierda . My scent. It must have swelled around my neutralizer.
Bridget’s features are dainty and round, underscoring those big, bright eyes and the white-hot fire licking at them. “Seriously?” she says, shooting an unimpressed glower at the semi pressed into my joggers. “ That’s what you’re thinking about right now?”
That’s what I’ve been thinking about since I saw her in her robe.
But I grit my molars. “I repeat: do you want me to leave? Because from where I’m standing, this would be a whole lot of work for us … to save your ass.”
Her flame-blue eyes narrow. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she hisses, “sort of like I saved your asses a year ago?”
Carajo . Why do I like it when she makes a good point?
“And, what?” she adds, peering around my bare bicep at Colt, including him in her next question. “After all this time and all the shit I’ve done for your pack, am I not even worth saving?”
Colt’s jaw tightens, but Jesse, ever the peace-keeper interjects, “Bee, of course your ass—I mean, you —I mean, yes . We want to save your reputation, too.”
Jesu Cristo . This fucking guy. He’s so down bad for this girl, and look where it’s gotten us.
Did we really have to pretend to ask her to marry us? He could have just taken her out for dinner. Maybe a movie?
Bridget seems just as oblivious as Jesse, blinking at him with doe-eyes so very different from the pissy gaze I usually get. “Would—could you actually do that, though, Jess? Your season is about to start, and there’s barely room to do a push-up in here…”
Why do I want to argue with her over every single thing ? Even when it means swapping sides and contradicting my own damn self from three minutes ago?
“You have a big backyard,” I grumble. “And that detached garage can hold a weight bench if you move your car.”
Bridget tosses shimmering red hair over her shoulder. “No need. The garage just has some renovation supplies in it, but I’m finished with most of them.” Her gaze skims down to where my shirt clings to my abs as she scowls. “I guess I can clear it out.”
“ We’ll clear it out,” Adrian corrects, stepping smoothly between us, his palm settling on her arm. “You don’t have to do anything, Bridget. Just say yes and it will be done.”
For the first time, Bridget shrinks back, stepping away from his touch. Her arms cross under her chest again, but I barely appreciate the way they push her tits up because of the lost look on her face.
Shit . I don’t want her to be sad .
Angry and clawing at me? Yes. But this ?
Shrugging as casually as I can, I try to keep my tone neutral. “Whatever. I’m in.”
Avoiding the way her head snaps up and—more importantly—the surprised sort of hope lighting her features, I turn and examine her tiny living room. A thought occurs to me. “Wait. You have a TV somewhere , right? Because otherwise I’m gonna need to buy a new flatscreen.”
Jesse chuckles. The strained sound matches his swirling hazel eyes much better than the stiff smile pulling at his mouth. “I think this is a good plan,” he murmurs quietly, gazing at Bridget. “What do you think, Bee?”
Our “fiancée’s” lips roll together as she considers. “Maybe… if we put a time limit on it. I have my heat in two months, and I want you all gone before that.”
I witness a small miracle when she turns to Adrian and asks his opinion. “Do you think that’s enough time, alpha? Two months?”
The old bastard’s face softens in a wholly unfamiliar way. “The season will be gearing up by then. Plenty of away games—it will likely take the media a while to realize we’ve even moved out,” he muses. “I think two months is a good place to start.”
Dejection melts Bridget’s posture. Her shoulders slump forward and her lower lip juts out. “ Fine . Fine! Two months. But no one touches my nest.”
Or my pussy .
She doesn’t say it, but that’s the subtext. We can move in and save face, but we can’t have her.
Colt starts to struggle, huffing to the edge of the sofa and then to his feet. Ah, shit. I forgot he was behind us. Left out of the conversation.
Jesse moves to help him, but he cuts his good arm through the air in an angry swipe. “Don’t,” he bleats, leveraging his crutch to stand and hobble across Bridget’s hardwoods. “This whole thing is insane. I didn’t do anything wrong, and I’m definitely not staying here with her.”
I roll my eyes. “Yeah, you did nothing wrong—aside from crashing your car and fucking up your leg and putting us back in the middle of this tabloid bullshit.”
Jesse paws at the back of his neck, wincing again. “Guys, come on.”
Two months ago, this would have been a never-ending fight, and no one would have won. Adrian shuts it down in two seconds flat. Shooting Colt a stern glare and sending an electric snap of dominance through the small room.
“Our pack is moving in this weekend,” he declares, arching one of his black brows. “So I guess the question is—are you part of our pack or not, Colt?”