4. A Stormy Dinner #3
Jake grabs a fry from a cardboard boat. “He slept the rest of the afternoon. He acts like he didn’t dodged becoming a hood ornament.”
Jessie offers a small, forgiving smile. “He seems like a big, goofy fuzzball. Golden retrievers possess zero survival instincts, but they make up for it with pure charm.”
I snort. I make it my mission to pull a genuine laugh out of her. I reach across the table, snagging a handful of fries.
“He looks like an angel, but he acts like a seasoned thief.” I point a fry at Jake. “Tell her about the roast.”
Jake chuckles, unwrapping a turkey club. “Edward spent four hours cooking a prime chuck roast. He rubbed it down with salt, pepper, and fresh garlic. It smelled incredible. He turns his back to grab a serving fork. The dog inhales three pounds of expensive beef off the counter.”
“I turn back around, and the cutting board is bare.” I shake my head, leaning my elbows on the table. “The dog lacks any guilt. He looks proud. But then I panicked. Garlic is toxic to dogs. I spent the rest of the night waiting for him to puke all over the rugs.”
Jessie shakes her head, an amused smirk breaking through her professional mask. “It takes a lot depending on his weight. Did you induce vomiting?”
Nolan adjusts his dark frames, taking a sip of his iced tea. “We tried. I looked up the hydrogen peroxide trick. But convincing a hundred-pound golden retriever to swallow a tube of peroxide requires a serious bribe.”
Jake snorts. “Edward tried to hide the plastic syringe in a thick slice of cheddar cheese.”
“Duke swallowed the cheese, spat the plastic onto the floor, and burped in my face.” I groan, rubbing the back of my neck. “The idiot possesses an iron stomach. We ate frozen pizza for dinner. The dog slept for fourteen hours.”
Jessie lets out a bright, genuine laugh. “You let him negotiate for cheese while treating a poisoning? You guys got scammed by a dog.”
The sound is beautiful. It makes my chest ache. She stops crossing her arms. She rests her elbows on the table. The defensive wall she held up downstairs begins to crack.
Jake pushes a white cardboard box across the table. He flips the lid open, revealing a whole cherry pie with a flaky crust.
“Edward threatened to eat this entire pie on the drive over. We fought him off.” Jake winks at her. “Have a slice, Doc. You earned it today.”
Jessie looks at the pie, a small smile touching her mouth. “You guys are ridiculous. I rescue a dog, and you bring a four-course meal.”
“We don’t mess around with gratitude.” Nolan grabs a plastic knife and cuts a generous slice. The scent of warm cherries and sugar hits the air. He slides it onto a paper plate and passes it to her. “Eat up. You work too hard.”
“I survive on caffeine and spite most days. This feels like a luxury.” She picks up a plastic fork and takes a bite. A soft moan of appreciation hums in her throat.
The sound sends a fresh rush of heat straight to my dick. I grip my paper cup, forcing my face to stay blank.
When I lean in across the table to grab a napkin, she doesn’t pull away. Underneath the table, my knee brushes against her pant leg. She doesn’t flinch. She doesn’t move her leg away. Instead, I catch a sharp, tiny hitch in her breath.
My blood runs hot. I realize that despite the Beta scent, she remains aware of us as men.
The realization sends a jolt of pure adrenaline deep into my gut.
The attraction is mutual. She feels the pull, too.
I want to spend hours in this tiny room.
I want to know why a woman this smart and capable bounces from town to town.
The conversation finds a natural, easy rhythm. Jake steals a fry off Nolan’s plate, and Nolan swats his hand away with a flat, unimpressed glare. Another bright, musical laugh escapes Jessie’s lips.
But the moment she laughs, the atmosphere in the room shifts without warning.
The bright sunlight streaming through the kitchen window vanishes.
The apartment plunges into a stark, eerie twilight.
I look out the glass. The bruised, dark clouds I saw earlier have consumed the entire sky, turning a deep, angry, churning black.
The temperature in the room plummets, a stark chill seeping through the windowpanes.
A deafening, explosive crack of thunder shakes the building, vibrating down through the soles of my boots and the floorboards. The wind begins to howl with a terrifying ferocity. It slams heavy, violent sheets of rain and huge hail against the glass. The pane rattles hard in its frame.
The storm traps us here.
Jessie stands up, her chair scraping against the linoleum. Her eyes are wide as she looks at the torrential, blinding downpour outside. The relaxed ease she found vanishes in a heartbeat.
I stand up beside her. My protective instincts flare to life.
I want to pull her away from the glass. I want to wrap my arms around her and shield her from the violent weather outside.
We’re stuck in this apartment until the storm passes, and I plan to use every second to make sure she feels safe with us.