Chapter 25
JAKOB
“Quick one today. Messy and fun. The algorithm will eat it up. And let’s get it done before Corey and Trudy return from town.
Guessing her errand might take them over an hour or so.
” Brody fills the studio doorway, barefoot, wearing jeans and an apron, already buzzing with that restless performance energy he runs on.
His hair is pushed back, still damp from the shower, and he’s chewing something, crumbs at the corner of his mouth.
“If Claire’s ready, let’s go,” I say, adjusting the gain on monitor two. “I want to get the edit turned around by tonight. Need to find the right track for it.”
“Something upbeat. Kitchen energy.”
“I know what works.” I’ve scored almost every video he’s made for years.
The right song is the difference between a video that gets shared and one that gets worshipped.
I’ve got a shortlist already, as I’m thinking something with a bass drop right when Damien inevitably knocks a spoon off the counter. Timing is everything.
Brody wanders into the room and drops onto the stool beside me. Both of us are staring at the monitors. Two cameras and angles, and on both screens, Claire.
She’s alone in our kitchen, leaning against the counter near the sink, her fingers tracing the granite edge.
Pink sundress. White apron tied at the waist. Hair loose around her shoulders, bright from the light every time she shifts.
Her glasses are perched on her nose, looking fucking adorable.
She’s staring up through the window toward her house.
“What do you think she’s thinking?” Brody asks.
“Probably how much of her place we can see from here.”
“Maybe she’s planning something.” He leans back, arms behind his head. “Strip show in her living room, seeing as she owes us a show after giving Corey one. All three of us pressed against the glass, tongues on the floor.”
“You want to film a cooking video with a hard-on, be my guest.”
He chuckles out loud, slapping a hand to my shoulder. “Can’t help it. I’m so far gone for her, man.”
“Aren’t we all? And tonight, she’s mine,” I state flatly. “I’m staying at her place.”
His grin flatlines. “Jury’s still out.”
“No, it isn’t. We’ve been stuck here babysitting while you’ve been in her bed. My turn.”
“Yeah, yeah.” He shoves off the stool and heads for the door. “We’ll see.”
“It’s decided, Brody.”
But he’s vanished down the hall, his footsteps quickening to a jog, eager to get back to her, and I shake my head. That man would sprint through a wall if Claire was on the other side. Subtle as a sledgehammer.
I turn back to the screens. Claire’s still at the counter, leaning slightly forward, and camera two catches the curve of her waist, the fabric pulling across her hips. My pulse deepens as my gaze lowers to that curvy ass and the fabric inching up her thighs.
She’s mine tonight. And I want to raise something with her that I’ve been turning over in my head since her heat.
Her thoughts on an Alpha mark, an imprint for us that she belongs to this pack and only this pack so she knows we are dedicated to her. The kind that would put Louis’s poison to rest for good.
I’ve got my attention refocused on the screen.
Brody appears on monitor one, sliding into the kitchen.
Claire turns toward him instantly, that involuntary brightness across her face she gets at seeing Brody now.
Her shoulders drop, chin lifts, and her lips part around a grin she doesn’t seem to know she’s giving.
Does she do that for me? I’d need to see us together on-screen to be sure, but my gut says, Fuck yes, she does. It’s there in the way her gaze finds my mouth when I’m talking. How she often leans into my scent without realizing she’s doing it.
Brody props her cookbook on the back corner of the counter, just on a casual angle, the cover facing camera two, title visible. Good man. Whatever it takes to get that book trending again.
They’re chatting, and she’s laughing beautifully when my phone dings with a message, snatching my attention. I glance down to see that it’s my brother, Eli.
Bro. Guess what?
I lean back in my chair and type my response. Hit me.
The typing bubbles appear, vanish, then return. I got a job offer.
I sit forward. What? Where?
US. Big IT company. They’re sponsoring me.
For a second, I just stare at the screen. Fuck yeah! You’re moving here?
Looks like it.
A laugh breaks out of me, and I drag a hand over my mouth. My little brother in the States. Closer than he’s been in years.
Where in the US? I type quickly.
Boston.
Shut the fuck up! That’s not far from Mistberry Cove.
I know. I checked.
I picture him at twelve, shut away with his computer, pretending he was only gaming when he was already ten steps beyond the rest of us and quietly becoming brilliant.
I type back, slower this time. That’s incredible, Eli. I’m proud of you. And so happy we can catch up.
A pause. Thanks, bro. Another message follows. I’ll send details later. Still shaking. Just wanted you to know it’s happening.
My throat tightens, and the studio blurs at the edges for one stupid second. Send everything when you have it. Dates. Paperwork. Anything you need. I’ll help you find a place. You can even crash with us for a while. I mean, I have so much to tell you too. I might have an Omega!
Hell yes! I wanna hear all of it, but it’s crazy early in the morning here. Just wanted to let you know.
I appreciate it.
Love you, old man.
I smile down at the phone. Love you too.
I set it beside the keyboard, but I don’t go back to the footage straight away. I just sit there, staring at nothing, letting the truth settle. My brother is moving closer, and I fucking love that.
Brody catches my attention on camera one. He nods my way, and that’s my cue. I hit Record on both feeds, fine-tune the overheads, and settle in.
There’s no preamble. Brody’s method is always “motion first, then personality.” He’s cracking eggs one-handed, fast, shells flicked into the trash without a glance.
Claire reaches across him for the cream cheese, and their arms tangle.
She laughs, startled, and the sound travels through the speakers and up my spine.
Lots of whipping, all by hand, of course, so Brody’s muscles flex, his favorite damn thing to do on the camera.
Cream cheese splatters across the counter, and Claire yelps, a streak of white across her cheekbone.
Brody catches a glob on his finger. He holds it out to her.
She hesitates. Cheeks burning. Then she leans forward, and her lips close around his fingertip, and fuck me, the internet is going to eat this up.
I gasp loudly.
Damien lands on the counter from his stool with the heavy, proprietary thud of a cat who has timed his entrance for maximum disruption.
He paws at Brody’s arm, who then scoops him up one-handed, still stirring with the other.
Damien stretches his neck toward Claire and presses his nose against her cheek.
She nuzzles into him, rubbing her face against his fur, her grin wide and unguarded.
I switch to camera two and zoom in. Their faces fill the screen, the cat’s golden eyes half closed, Claire’s lashes dark against her skin. I take three screenshots for the socials, then zoom back out.
Claire pours in vanilla and then cream, Brody folding them all together.
By the time they pour the cheesecake batter into the tin, there’s cream cheese on the counter, sugar dusting Claire’s apron, and a smear of batter on Brody’s forearm that she keeps pretending not to notice.
Claire scrapes the bowl with serious concentration, but Brody catches the edge of the spatula with one finger, tastes it, and gives the camera a look that will absolutely destroy the comments.
Claire stares at him, narrowing her gaze, then bursts out laughing.
Brody leans in, shoulder brushing hers as he smooths the surface of the batter and whispers something no one can hear but them. Her cheeks instantly blush, and I zoom in on them for a few seconds. Her laugh comes out too breathless this time, and I already know I’m keeping that in the cut.
She slides the pan into the oven, and the second the door closes, they launch into cleanup with the kind of frantic rush that only happens when two people are trying very hard not to keep touching each other.
Bowls clatter. A spoon hits the floor. Brody wipes flour from Claire’s cheek and somehow manages to make it look less like cleaning and more like a warning.
The thirty seconds of actual tidying will be chopped from the final video. Brody cleaning her cheek and the way Claire stares afterward won’t be.
Then they hop up onto the island, sitting side by side, legs swinging. Damien crawls across both laps, settles on Brody’s thigh, then migrates to Claire’s. She scratches behind his ear and murmurs something to him I can’t catch.
Damien, loyalty spent, launches off her lap, knocks a measuring cup off the counter on his descent, and pads out of the kitchen. Seconds later, the studio door creaks, and he’s on the windowsill behind me, settling behind the curtain, his tail curling around his body.
I turn back to the screens, and the air between the pair has shifted. Brody says something low in her ear, and Claire bites her lip. His hand finds her knee while her fingers curl around his forearm.
Then they’re kissing hungrily, his hand cradling her jaw, her fingers twisted in the front of his apron.
Brody on camera is all cockiness and charm.
But Brody kissing Claire is someone else entirely.
His thumb traces her cheekbone with a tenderness that has me holding the computer mouse way too tightly.
“Well,” I murmur to the empty room. “That’s not making the final cut.”
But I don’t stop watching.
The kiss deepens, her hand slides up his chest, over his bare shoulders, and she grips the back of his neck and drags him closer.
My blood is rushing south, cock throbbing.
Brody breaks the kiss, then leans close to her ear.