Chapter 12 #2
“Sure, they have wine experts, but they don’t have cow experts,” I mutter and steal a glance at Beckett, who is trying not to smile. “Can you…” I shake my head and bite my lip.
He leans into the table, pressing the menu to his chest. “Can I order for you?” I meet his eyes for a second. He’s so sincere, like the best day of his life is waiting on the other side of my answer.
“Okay,” I say and tuck my hair behind my ear.
His eyes close softly for a second before turning to the waiter. He doesn’t even have to consult the menu.
“Let’s get Ash the Wagyu New York Strip.” He glances at me as if he’s reading my very soul. “Medium. I’ll do the Porterhouse. Blue.” He checks in with me and corrects that to “rare.”
Beckett purses his lips. “Broccoli or Brussels sprouts?”
I scrunch my nose. “Broccoli is gross.”
He gasps a little. “Horrifying, but I’ll accept it. Let’s do the Brussels sprouts and the spinach. And mashed. No. Baked. No, let’s do both, but can you leave the truffle off the mashed potatoes? And the haystack onions.”
As Beckett goes back and forth with the waiter, my eyes fall back to the menu.
Great, I’m going to die in a steakhouse from a heart attack.
The steak he ordered for me was two hundred dollars.
Not wanting to learn any more of its secrets, I snap the menu shut, and the waiter slides it out of my hands.
“How is steak this expensive?” I cringe. I have to stop saying shit out loud. I’m supposed to be seducing him, not whining like a baby.
“I’m sorry about that. I should have picked somewhere more casual. But I’m staying here and it was just convenient.”
“You live in a hotel?”
“Oh, no, I…” Beckett’s face darkens, and he rubs his forehead. “I, uh…” He pauses again, probably to think up a lie. He probably got a hotel room thinking he’d get me into bed, which, honestly, will work in my favor.
He’s upset, and that lingers on his face. “I got into a fight with my pack, and I just needed some space, so I’m staying here for a few nights.”
A savage delight bursts in my chest. If Beckett is upset, Pierce and Liam should be too. He shakes his head like he’s wiping the space clear.
“I feel like I’m taking up all the air. Marilyn didn’t really tell me anything about you.”
“Oh, you know, I’m nothing special, just your typical omega.” I flip my hair and shrug one shoulder. I’ve seen omegas do that in the movies.
“Where are you from?”
“Florida.”
“My packmates are from Florida. We met down there, actually.”
I blink a few times. I hadn’t really thought this through. Most alphas just talk about themselves and want to get to the sex part. His words sink in, and my stomach drops.
He met them in Florida. Reed didn’t go anywhere without Liam and Pierce.
“Really?”
“Just before my rookie season. I was there for training. They were running this wild haunted house thing for Halloween. It was crazy. And then…” His words trail off.
The smile on his face is like any alpha in one of those scent match romances, all sweet and dopey.
It slowly fades as he picks up his wine glass for a sip.
“Anyway, I got traded to Nashville, and we’re here now. ”
Had he met Reed? Did he know him too?
I remember the haunted house. It was super scary, even the toned-down version they did in the afternoon for little kids.
Does he know? Does he know Pierce killed him? Does he know he’s sleeping next to a murderer every night?
My mouth is suddenly dry. I take a sip of coke, just to give me something to do as this pause turns awkward. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice the woman next to us take out her phone to snap a pic of her dessert before angling it like she’s taking a picture of us.
“What do…”
“Do you…”
We both talk at the same time.
“You first.” Beckett smiles at me.
“No, you.” I don’t even remember what I was going to say.
“I think I’m bad at this. I don’t really date a lot. I know I’m not supposed to ask you boring questions like what you do for work.” Beckett puts his wrists on the edge of the table and leans in like it’s important to him that I’m not bored.
“What’s wrong with you?”
Shit. That was rude, wasn’t it? But Beckett’s eyes twinkle. What the hell am I doing?
“What do you mean?”
“Well, you’re gorgeous. Rich and famous, yeah? So, what’s wrong with you that you don’t date?”
He beams and says, “Hockey,” like it’s the answer to everything.
“A stupid game?” Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me. That was rude. I open my mouth to apologize, but Beckett laughs in a way that makes my lips twitch.
“Yeah, it is kind of stupid if you really think about it. Grown men torturing themselves to put a little puck in a net, with thousands of people watching. But I’m good at it. It’s the only thing I really love. Well, besides my pack. Oh, and maybe steak.”
He sits back and nods just as an army of waiters descends on us.
They clear plates and arrange a ridiculous amount of food on the table.
Beckett’s steak is so big it arrives on its own platter.
The plates are thin and delicate, not like the chunky stoneware we have at the diner.
The center of the table is now cluttered with all the side dishes.
I jump and pull my elbow close to my center as a waiter accidentally brushes my arm as he swaps out my silverware and lines up a huge steak knife next to my plate. I edge away, not wanting him to touch me again.
I don’t really know what to do next. There seem to be a whole bunch of rules to follow that no one clued me in on. The chick at the next table with her camera and her date are no help since they are trading bites of cake.
But Beckett’s got it. He piles perfect mounds of potatoes and veggies in a half-circle on my plate first, and then his, including a tower of thinly-sliced, fried onions. He winks and picks up his fork.
The knife is so big that it’s hard to hold, but it glides right through the steak. It’s so tender I could probably cut it with my fork. I moan the second it hits my tongue. I barely have to chew, it melts like butter, tasting rich and smoky.
“Fuck. This is worth two hundred dollars.” I swallow and panic, looking at Beckett.
“You know it.” He grins and loads his fork with a huge bite of steak.
I try a Brussels sprout, and that too is amazing.
“Beckett!” The woman with the cake and the camera is crouching next to us. Her voice is all syrupy. She has a book clutched to her chest, and her bag dangles off the crook of her elbow. The book does nothing to hide her cleavage at all.
The fork is still in Beckett’s mouth when he startles. Scooting back, he fumbles for his napkin to cover his mouth and chews furiously.
“Would you be a love and sign my book for me? My book club is reading Alexei Volkov’s first wife’s pack romance. It’s the one with the defenseman and the Zamboni driver. They will just die.”
I look between Beckett’s obvious fluster and the pushy woman. Heat creeps up my face.
“Rude,” I spit out.
She straightens, her mouth hanging open.
“You’re rude,” I say, with a little more edge to my voice. “He worked hard all day, and this is the first thing he’s eaten. How would you feel if someone shoved a work email in front of you while you were stuffing your mouth with cake?”
Ignoring her, I calmly put a square of steak in my mouth and hold back a moan. This is the best thing I’ve ever eaten. I slice another chunk and hold my fork out to Beckett.
“Want a bite?”
Beckett’s eyes are wide as he looks between me and cake lady. Hesitantly, he leans forward and opens his mouth.
“Good?” I continue like she’s not even alive. “Tell me again that thing your lawyer said? I know you’re not going to have to sue, you’ll settle out of court.”
His eyes go wide, but the woman takes a step back. Papa does this all the time. Lawyers freak people out. Mention a lawyer and people back up. Literally.
“I know your PR team has it handled too. Marilyn, right? They have the whole team in place behind you.”
I have no idea what I’m saying, but thank fuck Beckett is amused and playing along.
“Another bite?” I lean into the table, turning my back as much as I can to completely cut the woman off. I hear her make a disgusted sound and turn away from us. It’s hard to pay attention when Beckett is licking his lips like that.
What the fuck am I doing? Playing the jealous omega is not what I came here to do.
“I’m sorry.” I chance a glance at Beckett. He’s working hard to hold back a laugh.
“Hell, Pierce is going to love you.” He says it under his breath as he rearranges himself and looks like he regrets it. Just hearing his name makes my blood boil.
“I didn’t mean to…”
“Does it make me a terrible person if I say that was adorable? I can beat up a six-foot-four professional athlete, but saying no to a fan is nearly impossible.”
I chuckle softly. “Well, I want to get my money’s worth from the steak.”
“Should I order you another one, just in case that one is spoiled?”
“I don’t think this table will hold anymore food.”
Beckett inspects the table like he’s doing the math to figure out if there is room for another plate.
“What’s your favorite dessert?” he asks before taking another bite of steak.
“Yellow cake with chocolate frosting.”
Beckett’s lip twitches, and I can’t quite read his face. I focus on my plate as a memory comes flooding back.
Pierce brought in an old milk crate and turned it over for me to stand on so I could reach the kitchen table.
“What the fuck does ‘grease the pan’ mean?” Reed said, reading the back of the box.
“Butter, you dumbass. You spread butter all over it.” Liam unpacked the rest of the bags from the dollar store.
“Oh, like you’re a chef now?” Pierce pulled the lid off the frosting, stuck his finger in, and winked at me.
“I don’t think we have a bowl big enough.” Reed looked up from the box.
Pierce strode over to the dish rack and dried off the big pot Reed used for spaghetti.
“You sure you didn’t want the pink ones, Lynnie?” Liam asked as he set the packets of candles aside.
“Blue’s my favorite color, dummy,” I said.
It wasn’t. That was a lie. Blue was Reed’s favorite color. Liam had added a gold number six candle to the basket when Reed wasn’t looking.
“No! Me! I wanna do it!” I squealed and reached for the egg. Reed was already tearing the yellow cake mix open but moved the eggs out of the way.
“I’ll do the eggs. You can stir.”
“You aren’t supposed to make your own birthday cake, Lynnie,” Pierce said.
I sat in front of the stove, watching it cook. I counted out the candles myself, and Pierce lit them one by one. We ate it right out of the pan, and Reed promised I could have cake for breakfast. But Papa threw it in the trash before morning.
I blink rapidly, pretending to be very interested in my mashed potatoes. Pierce and Liam were family. After that birthday, when they became alphas, they came around less and less. Papa hated alphas.
“I’d like to see you again.”
I look up at Beckett. His face falls just a little, worry lines crinkling his eyes.
“Oh, this date isn’t over,” he adds quickly. “We have to get dessert. I just want to, you know, make it clear that I want more of you.”
“Well, maybe I can be dessert.” I try for my best smile.
Beckett blushes and then stills, like he needs a moment to reset. When he smiles, there’s a different quality to it. It’s more Beckett-y.
The rest of the dinner is a little less charged.
I let Beckett fill the space between mouthfuls, watching the way he uses his fork so precisely, the little crinkle at the side of his nose when he’s about to make a joke.
He tells me about all the best and worst cities for team travel, the hotels where the rooms are haunted or the bed linens are made from clouds, the time the entire defense line got food poisoning in Pittsburgh.
I don’t know if half of it is true, or if he’s just trying to make me laugh, but I find myself wanting to believe every word.
The table gets cleared, the waiter chats, and we settle on cheesecake and something French I can’t pronounce.
As he’s ordering, his eyes catch on something over my shoulder.
I turn and there are a few girls in mini-dresses whispering and pointing.
They break into two groups, which would be weird if they were having dinner together.
“They’re circling,” I say and lean into the table. “I’m scrappy, I could take them?”
Beckett purses his lips, contemplating. “I think we have two choices.”
“Two?”
“We brace for impact, or we get out of here?”
Just as our cakes arrive, Beckett accidentally makes eye contact with one of the girls and gets a wave and a blown kiss. He quickly stands and holds his hand out for mine. He leaves a tip, puts two forks in his breast pocket, hands me the bottle of wine, and grabs our desserts.
“We should be able to get out of here alive.”