Chapter 12
Chapter twelve
ASH
I can’t stop looking at myself in the mirrored elevator doors. I look like me but different. I look like a grown-up version of myself with movie star hair. Estelle had been right about all her makeup choices, down to the lip stain she gave me.
And the haircut? She isn’t a professional or anything, and she made me promise not to kill her if I didn’t like it. She sculpted the hair around my face, making my cheekbones stand out and my eyes look mysterious.
I stick my hands into the pockets of my coat and touch the pocket knife. I had to take two buses and walk forever to get here. Reed would have lost his mind knowing I was wandering about without him in a city I didn’t really know.
And I’m alone because of Pierce and Liam.
The elevator opened into a grand lobby. The host greets me with a warm smile and a “May I take your coat?” I freeze and look around.
No one else has their coat slung over the back of their chair.
I palm the pocket knife and put it in the small handbag Estelle lent me, hoping the hostess doesn’t see.
Maybe there are rules about knives in the dining room.
“Reservation?” she asks after handing my coat to another girl. They’re both betas, but dressed better than I am in Marilyn’s designer dress.
“Uh, yes, I have a reservation. Ash Voss.”
She frowns. “I’m sorry, I don’t seem to have you here. Could it be under another name?”
“Yeah, I’m supposed to meet Beckett…” His last name slips my mind.
“Oh, Beckett Hansen. Of course, right this way.” She didn’t even have to consult the tablet. She walks in front of me, her hips swaying like she owns the room.
Ash, get on it. You’re supposed to be seducing Beckett.
I try to mimic the hostess, but I’ve never been sexy a day in my life. Maybe I didn’t think this through enough.
She says a few words and then steps aside to reveal the man sitting at the table. His hair is dirty blond, and I can tell he usually keeps it short, but he’s in need of a haircut. And it might still be damp from a recent shower. He’s just sitting there, staring at me.
“Um, are you Beckett?” I say hesitantly as he continues to stare. I look over at the hostess for help, but she just gives me a wink and sashays away.
“You’re so beautiful.” His voice is hushed like he’s afraid a librarian is going to pop up and yell at him for being too loud. I look over my shoulder again. He can’t be talking about me.
He stands so fast the chair wobbles but doesn’t tip over, and then he’s next to me, taking my hand in his.
He’s huge—now just tall, but broad—and I expect fear to bubble up about being this close to an alpha, but it doesn’t.
He’s easily the biggest alpha I’ve ever met.
His hands feel rough but warm. His eyes dance all over my face like he’s trying to memorize me.
“I’m sorry, you’re just…”
“Beautiful, you said that.”
“I’m Beckett.” His smile is almost careful, and his scent is like those teddy bear cookies, but soft and not too sweet.
“Ash.” He’s still holding my hand. He doesn’t do any of the normal gross alpha things, like making a big deal of scenting me and licking his lips. He’s just holding my fingertips in his, like I’m precious or delicate. Like he might break me.
He blinks and shakes his head, like a spell has been broken. Finally, he drops my hand and pulls out the chair. I curl my hand into a fist. It feels suddenly cold without him holding it.
“Will you join me?” He asks like I could refuse. His voice is deep and soft, like one of those book narrators.
I just nod, not knowing what else to say. He sits across from me, the chair barely looking stable enough to hold him. I jump when a waiter puts a menu right in front of my face.
“Oh, great! While the beautiful woman decides what she wants, can you bring those pork belly pot stickers, the crab cakes, and—oh, you’re not allergic to shellfish, are you?”
“Shellfish?”
“Lobster?”
“I’ve never had it before.”
“Great. Can we have that lobster tail thing?”
“Of course, Mr. Hansen. Will you be having wine tonight?”
“Yes, please. Can you choose something? I’m not really great with wine. My packmate usually handles that.”
I try to focus on the menu to find something he hasn’t ordered. Then my eyes pop wide at the prices.
I catch him looking at me over my menu. I want to hide for some reason, but I can’t. I’m here on a mission, so I fold the menu shut.
“I think you’ve ordered enough for the whole restaurant.” I try to make that sound sexy, but I’m not sure it’s working.
“Oh, yeah, I didn’t really eat after training today and with all the puking…” He freezes and then squeezes his eyes shut.
“Is puking a hockey thing?”
“Can we pretend I didn’t say that? Just chalk it up to your beauty and low blood sugar?”
Beckett is so… earnest. He’s talking as if he means every word, rather than slathering compliments on you to make what they do next okay.
Every emotion he has flashes right across his face.
The waiter returns with wine and does that whole thing with giving the alpha at the table the first sip to see if it meets his approval.
I thought they only did that in the movies.
The wine passes and our glasses are filled.
“Can I tell you a secret?” Beckett says, his voice low. “I don’t really know how to tell if a wine is good, but if you try to skip this step, the servers get all weird. Liam is the one…”
I smile, and it’s only a little forced. Beckett isn’t the point here. He’s the tool. This would be easier if he didn’t smell so good.
He stops me with the glass halfway to my lips to touch his glass to mine. The soft chime sounds magical. I notice his knuckles are all busted. My heart starts pounding in my ears. Reed’s knuckles looked like that from time to time.
“Who did you hurt?”
Some weird emotion flashes across his face that I don’t really understand. He carefully puts his glass down, and doesn’t look at his knuckles. When he lifts his head, I know he’s going to lie.
“It’s part of the job. Not really a big deal.” But it’s a big deal to Beckett.
“You beat people up for a living? I thought you played hockey.”
“Well, yes. Fighting is a part of hockey. I’m a defenseman, that’s what I do. This happens sometimes.” He flexes his hand. “We wear a lot of gear. Sticks, facemasks, blades, teeth, they can all get in the way.”
“Why are there fights?” The second the words come out of my mouth, I regret them. I’m supposed to be seducing him, not interrogating him. “Don’t mind me, I don’t actually know anything about hockey.”
He tilts his head like a puppy, as if that is the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard.
“How did you get hooked up with Marilyn?”
Turn on the charm, Ash.
“Oh, you know, Marilyn and I go way back. She mentioned you and showed me a picture. You were just so handsome.” I flutter my lashes. That’s what omegas are supposed to do, right?
The smile is back on his face. But not the typical alpha one that lets you know he thinks he’s hot shit and better than you.
The waiter is suddenly right there. “Lobster for the lady. I brought you clarified butter and lemon,” he explains as he arranges the plates. This is more than Beckett ordered.
“Compliments of the chef.” The waiter beams at Beckett. “He remembered how much you liked the spicy salmon and crispy rice from the summer menu. He said to tell you Bugrov deserved to be ground to dust.”
Beckett is visibly uncomfortable and masks it by snapping his napkin open.
The waiter is beaming, oblivious to Beckett. He opens his mouth, but I cut him off.
“Could I get a coke, low ice? Two lime wedges, on the rim not in the glass?” I rattle off this bratty beta’s drink order. She comes in every Tuesday like clockwork and has regular meltdowns over citrus in her drinks. I don’t even like lime. I don’t know why I did that.
Beckett lets out a breath, and his shoulders relax just a touch as the waiter steps away.
He nudges the plate toward me, as if it offended him, and takes one of the dumplings instead.
I glance at the table next to us. The man’s plate is piled high with thick-cut French fries that he eats with a knife and fork.
I thought appetizers were finger food. I guess this place didn’t approve of eating with your hands.
I cut into the lobster and dip it in butter.
When it hits my tongue, I hold back a moan.
By the time I look up, Beckett is already through his dumpling, and the last bite of the crab cake is making its way to his lips.
His really pretty, plump lips. I lean forward.
The lighting in here is soft, kind of dark actually.
The smudges under his eyes aren’t shadows.
I have enough experience with black eyes that I should have clocked it right away.
Fights. He gets into fights as part of his job. A shaky feeling starts in the center of my chest, and I want to rub it out. The French fry guy and his date keep leaning in close to whisper and throw glances at Beckett. Weird.
“Do you want some of this?” I tap my fork to the plate.
“Only if you have a dumpling.”
I pick up my plate and pass it to him. He jolts like he wasn’t prepared to switch plates. Once settled, he eats the lobster in one bite. He licks a drip of butter off his lips.
I drop my eyes and get really focused on my dumpling. Am I really blushing over an alpha with butter on his lips?
“How is everything? Shall I take your orders?” The waiter is back and eager.
I put my fork down gently and pry open the menu again.
“I thought steak was just steak,” I whisper to myself.
“Oh, yeah, tons of different options. A filet is tiny and tender. Wagyu are cows from Japan. I’m getting the Porterhouse. It’s like two steaks in one.” Beckett pauses his tour of the menu and squints at me. “I’m overwhelming you.”
I flash a look at the waiter, in his clean white shirt and skinny tie, outshining anything Estelle and I wear at the diner.