Chapter 16
chapter
sixteen
I watch the gorgeous omega saunter into her bedroom, holding myself back.
It’s one of the benefits of age—the wisdom of knowing when to chase and when to be still. Urgency certainly has its place, but there isn’t any here. Bridget will realize she wants to court us for real in due time.
And these assholes will come to grips with it, too.
Jesse’s already there. Longing lines the poor kid’s face while he drinks in Bridget’s retreating figure.
He said he’s known her since high school. I wonder if his crush started back then, or if the desire sharpening his scent is a new development. Hell, I wonder if he knows.
Dante huffs his way inside, dramatically dropping a heap of boxes with a scowl. “There’s some old bitch out there heckling us,” he complains, wiping his sweaty forehead with his arm.
“That’s just Betty!” Bridget chimes from her bedroom. “Tell her to bite your ass. She’ll appreciate the invitation.”
My eyebrows arch in surprise, but Dante’s openly shocked expression is so priceless, I nearly smirk. “Do you talk to all your neighbors like that, little blue?”
Bridget emerges, holding two big trash bags labeled “donations.” Before I can whisk them away, she shoves the sacks at Dante, knocking him back a step. “Be a dear and put these in your trunk for me? I’ll drop them off later.”
No, she won’t. Because I’ll take care of it before she has the chance to worry about it again. Dante scoffs, though.
“The fuck you think you’re driving my car, cupcake,” he protests. “I’ll put them in yours.”
She flashes a sharp smile. “Good luck with that, slugger.”
Bridget heads toward her living room, leaving a tantalizing thread of lemon sweetness in her wake. The patronizing way she pats Dante’s bare shoulder on her way past sends a fresh bolt of disbelief over his square features. My smile finally breaks free as I chuckle, shaking my head.
“Put the bags in my car,” I direct, tossing him the keys. “I’ll run them up to the Salvation Army on the way to the stadium on Monday.”
He makes a sour face, but doesn’t argue apart from grumbling, “What about tomorrow? We have practice at eight.”
I nod. “ You do. I’m going to take Bridget shopping.”
Dante mutters a low string of Spanish curses, calling me a bunch of things he thinks I can’t understand. Just as well—if that makes him feel better about grabbing my keys and Bridget’s donations without pause, I’ll take all the names he can come up with.
Colt hobbles out of Bridget’s bedroom, his expression even darker than it was moments ago. “Whole place smells like lemon cheesecake,” he grouses. “How am I supposed to breathe ?”
He shuts up when he sees me watching, morphing from frustration to disdain. “She’s cleared out half of her closet, but won’t let me touch it,” he informs. “Apparently it’s for your shit and no one else’s.”
I barely resist the urge to grin.
Like I said.
She’ll come around.