Chapter 41
chapter
forty-one
This is getting pathetic.
I stare down at the neon-pink Post-It, re-reading my note.
Noticed you were taking protein bars to school for lunch, cupcake. Made you some empanadillas.
Okay, so there’s also rice in there. And a salad. And two cookies.
I may have texted my mom and begged her to send me some old family recipes.
Sue me.
I scowl at the sticky note, wondering why two sentences doesn’t feel like enough. What am I going to do? Confess my love for this woman on a Post-It?
…
I mean, I could …
I poise the Sharpie I pilfered from Bridget’s desk over the paper, panic, and end up drawing a smiley face.
Jesu Cristo .
I’d kick my own ass if I could.
Before I lose my shit and stuff the whole meal down the garbage disposal, I snatch the glass container, slam the sticky note on top, and put it in the front portion of the fridge’s top shelf.
She’ll see it when she wakes up and preps the coffee—now that she knows Colt takes his with milk, she leaves a little pitcher of it out for him every morning.
I’m debating whether I should pile leftover lo mein or a fresh pint of rocky road on top of the feelings seething in my stomach when I hear shuffling. Jolting upright, I hit my head on the inside of the refrigerator’s frame. Again.
A girlish giggle bubbles behind me. “Fancy meeting you here, slugger.”
Bridget waits for me to straighten and watches me rub the back of my head before she glances around the kitchen. “Have you been cooking?”
Yeah, for you, corazón .
“Nothing major,” I reply, shrugging.
“It’s almost one a.m.,” she chuckles. “Were you that desperate for a snack?”
I flash a smile, stepping closer. Drawn closer. By whatever this aching, simmering tug under my lungs is. “Always, cupcake.”
She rolls her eyes at my joke, but I notice they don’t bounce back to mine. Her mouth thins, and her voice dries out. “Any particular reason for that nickname?”
I should have known she would ask eventually. She made Adrian explain his endearment for her. And Colt’s slightly insulting moniker. Jesse calls her by her first initial, mostly…
I grimace, rubbing at the back of my head again. “You don’t like it? It popped into my head when we first met at your sister’s. Because you looked fucking edible in that nightgown. And you had all those clips in your hair, like sprinkles…”
Dios mío .
Surprise flares across Bridget’s face, arching her brows. But her lush lips quirk up. “You see hair barrettes and think of sprinkles ?”
I nod, lifting her into my arms and nuzzling a thorough swath of my mango scent along her bare shoulder. “Mm. I saw you and thought you looked delicious . You know how much I like to eat, querida .”
That line earns me her full, beautiful laugh. She winds her arms around my neck and leans her forehead into my temple. “Fine. ‘Cupcake’ is officially approved. Add it to the list of ridiculous things I put up with around here.”
I don’t think I’ve ever made it through one of our conversations without grinning. “You?!” I bleat indignantly, hiding my amusement against her pretty hair. “What about me ? These nighties are a problem , querida. ”
I grasp handfuls of the silky red fabric, pushing it up her thick thighs as I bend to scrape my teeth over her other shoulder. When fresh, bright citrus warms the air, my teasing voice drops into a growl.
“Careful. We might wake the others…”
Bridget snorts, unbothered. She leans back to show me her smartass smirk. “Why? Are you going to cry loudly while you pine for me?”
Another grin flickers across my lips. “No, but when I put my head between these gorgeous thighs and turn you into my midnight snack, you’ll be moaning loud enough to wake the neighbors. And maybe even Colt.”
Bridget’s legs twitch, her knees squeezing my hips. I start to smile wider, but then her scent shifts—creamy lemon, only it’s… wrong?
Not wrong . Just… less right?
My brows fold. “I’m only teasing,” I say, smoothing the nightgown back into place as I try for a flirtatious look. “Unless you’re into it, then I’m totally not kidding at all.”
Bridget’s answering laugh trembles. Her smile looks as bright and pretty as her mussed red hair, but her eyes crease in a wince. “It’s all good.” Her lips slowly drop into a straight line. “We should probably stop making jokes like that, though. Since we’re not, um…”
She usually isn’t shy around me. With Jesse, sometimes. But those two act like they’re in middle school passing notes.
And, yeah, okay, so I just put a note with a smiley face in her lunchbox, but?—
“We’re not what?” I ask, gripping her hips and sliding her to the edge of the counter. Fitting our bodies together, wrapping my arms around her waist.
She quivers slightly, blinking blue eyes in the dim light from the stove. “We’re not… real?” she whispers.
Her scent turns again, but I don’t need to sense it to see the emotion written all over her face. Sadness . And something way too close to pain .
She wants us to be real, I realize. But she doesn’t believe we are.
Why would she? Because I couldn’t keep my hands off her during her heat-spike? Because I fucked her mouth in a locker room? Because I spent a whole goddamn year being the worst fucking fiancé to ever live?
Mierda . I suck at this. And I’m not used to being bad at things.
Oh God. Am I bad at being bad at things?
Like I said: pathetic.
But I don’t quit.
I didn’t quit when my mom and I moved here all alone and I didn’t know how to speak English.
I didn’t quit when we both had to work two jobs while I played baseball in high school just to afford my equipment and the club team’s travel.
I didn’t quit when the previous Kings’ manager told us we had to get our shit together or find new jobs.
I have a feeling Bridget isn’t a quitter either. That’s why she’s here, right? We were her ticket to the life she wanted, and she took it.
Which means Bridget isn’t just smart and funny and sexy as hell.
She’s brave .
And she deserves alphas who have the same courage she does.
My chest vibrates, purring while I snuggle her curves into the hard planes of my torso. She feels like heaven—my scent reflects how hard my knot is, just from the press of her belly against my groin.
“What do I have to do,” I murmur, “to make it real?”
I don’t think I’ve ever been this serious about anything. Bridget must see that when I refuse to drop my gaze. She finally breaks our staring match to take in my expression, carefully searching for my angle.
She thinks I’m joking or flirting. But I wait, keeping my eyes on hers.
Her lashes flutter. “I… don’t know.”
It isn’t the answer I wanted, but it’s one I understand. And, shit, I respect her for it. She doesn’t know what I can do to prove myself—and she isn’t going to send me on some wild goose chase while she figures it out.
Cristo . I think I just fell even more in love with her.
“Can you let me know?” I ask, bouncing my gaze between her swirling ocean irises. “When you do?”
Her answering nod is slow. Disbelieving. “Um… y-yes?”
She’s cute like this, all flustered and uncertain. I flash a smile, wrapping my arms tighter around her. “In the meantime, I’m going to do everything I can think of to show you. And you’re going to let me. Deal?”
Part of me expects a snort or another eyeroll. Instead, her gaze turns glassy as she nods again. Her voice drops to a whisper. “Okay.”
Victory swoops through me. My blood heats, and my chest lights. All because this woman agreed to let me try to convince her that I care.
My euphoria crashes as quickly as it climbed. I might be thrilled, but she seems genuinely lost. Maybe even a little afraid.
Does she think I’ll hurt her?
When she darts a shy glance into my eyes, I see the truth—she thinks I’ll hurt her feelings .
Pain stabs into my chest, carving at my heart. I gather her into my bare skin, purring deeper. The clock on her wall hits one a.m. and an unfamiliar emotion crowds in behind my longing.
Concern .
“What got you out of bed, corazón ?” I mumble, nuzzling her hair. “Did you want something to eat?”
Bridget shudders but plays it off as a hair toss followed by a head-shake. Her arms move slowly, hesitating as she slips them around my body. When I lean closer, pressing my erection into her soft stomach and scent-marking her crown, she practically digs her nails into my back.
“Shh,” I whisper, my chest rattling deeper. “It’s alright, querida . Tell me what you need. Let me get it for you.”
Bridget swallows a whine. Some of the tension in my lungs eases. “My heat is in a few weeks,” she mumbles. “And my Omega is freaking the fuck out when I’m alone in the nest.”
God . The idea of her Omega panicking about anything , ever , makes that new anxiety combust into full-blown panic. My Alpha hates it. Which is crazy because, historically, he hasn’t cared about much aside from pussy and power.
But our omega is sad . And he wants me to burn the world to the ground .
Chill, dude. We can just cuddle her. No arson necessary .
I give Bridget one final squeeze, then step back just enough to sling her into my arms. She squeaks, clinging to my neck.
Like I would ever drop her.
Psh .
Doesn’t she know who I am?!
Just to prove a point, I balance her in one arm long enough to smack her ass. “Relax, cupcake. We’re having a slumber party.”
She starts to stammer, but exhales when I walk past her nest. I hate that the thought of letting us in there stresses her out. I need to ask Adrian what the hell to do about that .
In the meantime, my purr kicks higher, and I hold her closer, silently reassuring; I might be a dick, but I’ll never go into her nest without an invitation.
Instead, I use my shoulder to shove into her bedroom. Adrian and Jesse are sharing the big bed tonight. It wasn’t their turn, but Adrian’s Alpha has had a hard time sleeping anywhere else after his rut—and Jesse’s couldn’t handle being away from so much of Bridget’s scent.
My omega needs to be snuggled, though.
These assholes can move over.