Chapter 20
chapter
twenty
Sometimes I wonder if I look stupid.
People seem to treat me that way. As if I must be some kind of idiot. Just because I’m an athlete from the wrong side of the tracks who, yeah, okay, prefers not to bother cutting his hair.
Exhibit A: this motherfucker right here.
Trying to act like he didn’t totally bone our fake fiancée on this very kitchen counter at some point in the last eight hours.
Dante inhales his usual omelet straight out of the pan, gobbling it over the kitchen sink. His eyes dart to the blank patch of countertop beside him, and he frowns.
Is he confused ?
My packmate is normally too confident to admit confusion, even to his own damn self. But right now, he’s staring at the spot where he and Bridget boned like it’s a riddle he can’t unravel.
I grit my teeth, forcing down a wave of loathing. Jesse trips into the kitchen, still pulling his pants over his briefs. When he notices the way Dante considers the counter and how I glare at Dante, he pauses halfway through tucking his Kings jersey in.
Hazel eyes snap between the two of us. His blond brow lowers. “What?”
Grunting, I wave my mobile arm at Dante. “Ask him.”
Our dark-haired packmate actually winces —dear God, what ?—before swallowing the last bite of his breakfast and dropping the pan into the sink. “It was nothing.” Then he cocks his head to the side. “I think.”
“What was nothing?” Adrian’s voice drifts in from the hallway a second before he appears, dressed in his usual business attire and buttoning his white shirt sleeves. His light eyes lift, drifting over all three of us. Waiting.
Dante ducks his head, avoiding the question. And as much as I would just love to spread the shitty mood I woke up in, I find myself grumbling, “Never mind.”
Jesse still looks perplexed, but he wanders further into the tight space.
Glancing down at the empty stretch of island in front of me, he realizes I was too damn weak to actually get into the kitchen and make myself anything.
Without a word, he starts pouring me a cup of coffee from the French press in the middle of the stove.
How the hell did that get here? I know for a fact Dante can’t make anything aside from eggs. He and Jesse don’t usually drink coffee, anyway. I was always the only one who ignored our trainers’ advice and guzzled two cups each morning.
This particular pot looks rich and dark, the way Adrian prefers it. Jesse hands each of us a mug and then sets a small carton of cream next to mine, knowing I’ll want it.
And I feel like a dick.
Which pisses me off even more.
Before I can decide whether I want to thank him, happy humming interrupts us.
Bridget is awake.
And she’s chipper .
Fucking hell.
“She came in pretty late,” Jesse notes, rooting around in the fridge for one of his chalky protein shakes. “Sounds like she’s in a good mood, though.”
Does Dante look nervous ? “Must be a morning person,” he mumbles, motioning to Jesse for a bottle of his own.
I swear to God, all the guy does is eat. Omega pussy included, apparently.
As much as I would love to call him out, I don’t actually know what went down after I passed out. The swirl of mango and lemon I woke up to is unmistakable, but I don’t have any details—aside from how mind-bendingly sharp and sweet her perfume feels.
Was she in some sort of spike?
What would have triggered that?
And why the hell is Dante acting weird about it now? Is he—God forbid—trying to be a gentleman ?
I have no answers, but I had to open her patio doors to get some fresh air in here before my knot exploded.
Adrian’s all-seeing eyes flicker to the back doors, but he decides not to comment.
Instead, he pauses with his mug to his lips, humming appreciatively at the strong coffee, and gives my sling a pointed look.
“You need to take that off today, Colt. The doctors said it’s imperative that you start moving your arm and putting weight on that leg. ”
Considering my shoulder throbs just from shrugging, he and his doctors can go to hell.
I pretend to agree, nodding while I stare at my cup. It really is good coffee. And it’s starting to get difficult to keep track of the good things around here that I’ve decided piss me off.
On cue, Bridget’s fat cat meows at my feet. I sneer at him, ignoring the way my arm aches.
Jesse rolls his own shoulders, grimacing. “I might need that sling if I have to keep sleeping on the floor.”
Dante grunts his agreement. Even Adrian seems a bit stiff as he nods. “Yes, I underestimated how uncomfortable cramming onto air mattresses would be. I’ll speak to Bridget about it.”
“Me?” Bridget herself interjects, swanning into the room.
I scowl at the perky omega and her stupid painted overalls. Covered in daisies and sunflowers to match the sunny tank top molded over her big tits and the yellow cabinets filling the walls around her.
Her red hair is piled on top of her head in two messy buns—and, unlike the first time we met, her face is made up perfectly.
Coal-rimmed blue eyes. High, shimmery cheekbones. Glossed lips.
I hate her , I remind myself, harnessing my Alpha’s rage. We hate her .
Adrian doesn’t. Clearly. He smiles as warmly as I’ve ever seen him, fondness and approval glowing in his ocean irises while he chuckles, “Good morning, little blue. How did you sleep?”
Amusement dances over Bridget’s pert features. And—if I didn’t hate her—I’d probably have to admit she’s sort of adorable when she slants a smirk at the others. “I hate to be the one to break this to y’all, but every last one of you snores.”
Dante chuffs, but doesn’t deny it. It’s weird for him to resist instantly defending himself. But Jesse’s reaction is completely on-brand; he winces and starts apologizing.
“I had a feeling lying flat on the floor would make me snore. I’m so sorry, Bridget. Did we keep you up?”
She bounces a carefree shrug. “No biggie. I’ll live.”
Adrian stands, offering his barstool with a gentlemanly gesture. Bridget blinks at him, but sits down. Right next to me.
“Would you like us to move out to the living room?” he asks, settling his gaze on hers. “Or maybe you’d be more comfortable in your nest, and we can tradeoff between sharing the bed and bunking on the couches?”
Bridget’s typically confident to a fault. Her uncertainty only seems to make an appearance for Adrian. The pack alpha must do things to her Omega that make her want to please him. She bites her lower lip, considering.
“We could try that,” she agrees. “I sleep in my nest a lot, anyway.”
Rubbing the back of his neck, Jesse replies, “I don’t want to run you out of your room, Bee.”
What the hell is with the nicknames ? And how come, no matter how much she antagonizes me or Dante, she always finds a smile for our more sensitive packmate?
This one is a stunner, too—all glowy and sincere. “It’s really fine with me, Jess,” she bubbles. “I don’t want you to mess up your arm so close to the season.”
See? Such a bitch.
Adrian’s stern lips flicker into a smile. “You’re too good to us. But we appreciate you trying to keep our pack comfortable.”
I’m sure I’m the only one who notices the way Dante glances at Bridget… and how she pointedly doesn’t look back.
Jesus. They couldn’t be more obvious.
Still, part of me wonders why they’d so brazenly fuck in here and then act like total strangers a few hours later. Usually, Dante would crow about this shit ’til kingdom come. And now he’s quiet ?
Bridget’s not exactly known for being mysterious, either. She’s too…
Bubbly .
The bright-haired omega blushes, her round cheeks pinking. “It’s all good!” She throws her gaze across the kitchen. Hunting for some sort of distraction, I think. When she finds one, her brows arch. “Oh, good. You found your coffee.”
Adrian full-on grins this time. Bridget’s eyes widen at the sight. “You made that for us, omega?” our pack leader asks. “It’s perfect. I’m very impressed.”
The rosy tinge of her skin blazes brighter. “It’s?—”
No big deal. All good. Nothing.
She does that. Glossing over her attributes, acting like they’re meaningless. It pinches some wounded part of me to hear her do it over and over, the same way she did the day we met. But our new pack alpha doesn’t take that shit the way we did. He sets his hand on hers and squeezes it gently.
“Lovely,” Adrian interrupts, his tone brokering no arguments. “Just like you, little blue.”