Chapter 13 #2
I look up. He's watching me with concern in those grey eyes.
"Yeah." I pick up the fork he handed me. "Just. Thank you. For this."
"It's just pancakes."
"It's not just pancakes." I cut into the stack, and syrup pools around the edges. "It's someone noticing I need to eat. That's. That's not nothing."
His expression softens.
"You're in my house now," he says quietly. “Our packhouse which means we notice things. Like when you're not eating. Or sleeping. Or taking care of yourself."
"That sounds suspiciously like you're all going to gang up on me."
"Yes." He doesn't even pretend otherwise. "Absolutely. We're going to make sure you eat three meals a day, sleep eight hours, and generally stop running yourself into the ground."
"What if I don't want to be taken care of?"
"Too bad." He flips another pancake. "You're stuck with us now. Might as well accept it."
I take a bite of pancake. It's perfect. Fluffy and sweet and rich with chocolate. The kind of pancake that makes you believe everything might be okay.
"These are really good," I say around my mouthful.
"My mom's recipe."
"She had good taste in pancakes even if her music taste was questionable."
That gets a smile. A real one. Small but genuine.
We fall into comfortable silence. He cooks. I eat. The kitchen fills with the smell of butter and vanilla and maple syrup.
I'm halfway through my second pancake when footsteps sound on the stairs.
"Is someone making pancakes?" Sergio's voice carries from the hallway. "Please tell me someone is making pancakes."
Pedro sighs. "Yes. I'm making pancakes."
"You're my favorite brother." Sergio appears in the doorway, and my breath catches.
He's shirtless.
Completely, gloriously shirtless.
Sergio is standing in the kitchen doorway at seven in the morning wearing nothing but grey sweatpants that hang low on his hips, and I'm supposed to just keep eating pancakes like this is normal.
Like I'm not suddenly hyperaware of every inch of exposed skin. The broad shoulders. The defined chest. The abs that could probably cut glass. The trail of dark hair that disappears below his waistband.
"Morning, Jess." His voice is rough with sleep, deeper than usual. He runs a hand through his dark curly hair, making it stick up even more. "How'd you sleep?"
"Uh." My brain is not working. "Good. I slept. Sleep happened. Words."
Pedro snorts into the pancake batter.
Sergio grins. That devastating grin that makes his brown eyes crinkle at the corners. "You okay there?"
"Yep. Fine. Totally fine. Just eating pancakes. Pancakes are happening. I'm eating them."
The alpha is shirtless and it's early morning and I'm wearing Carlos's henley and no pants and my omega is currently having a breakdown about the amount of alpha skin in this kitchen.
"Want coffee?" Sergio moves to the coffee maker, and I track the movement of his back muscles. They shift under his skin as he reaches for a mug. The dip of his spine. The—
Stop it, Jessica. Stop staring at the hockey coach's back like it's a work of art.
(It is though. It really, really is.)
"Jessica?" Sergio looks over his shoulder, and I realize he asked me a question.
"What?"
"Coffee. Do you want coffee?"
"Yes. Please. Coffee. The answer is coffee."
Pedro is definitely laughing now. Hiding it behind his spatula, but laughing.
Sergio pours two mugs and brings one to me. He has to get close to hand it over. I notice his gaze drops to my legs. To the henley. To the bare skin visible where the shirt has ridden up on my thighs.
His jaw tightens. His hand flexes around his mug.
"Thanks," I manage, taking the coffee. My fingers brush his, and it's like touching a live wire.
He steps back quickly. Clears his throat. Drinks his coffee like it might save him from something.
The kitchen suddenly feels very small. Very warm.
"So," Sergio says, his voice deliberately casual. "Pedro was singing when you came down, wasn't he?"
I light up. "Oh my God, yes. The Proclaimers. With hip wiggle."
"There was NO hip wiggle!" Pedro protests, but his ears are red again.
"There was definitely hip wiggle," I insist. "And spatula choreography. It was a whole production."
Sergio laughs. Full-bodied, head thrown back, genuine laughter. "I wish I'd seen that."
"I can demonstrate," I offer.
"Please don't," Pedro says flatly.
"?? I would walk five hundred miles ??" I start singing, wiggling my hips on the counter.
Sergio joins in immediately. "?? And I would walk five hundred more ??"
"I hate you both," Pedro mutters, but he's fighting a smile.
The kitchen fills with our terrible singing. Sergio grabs a wooden spoon and uses it as a microphone. I'm wiggling on the counter. Pedro is shaking his head but his lips are twitching.
And for a moment, just a moment, everything feels light. Easy. Right.
Then Carlos appears in the doorway.
Still in his work jeans from yesterday. Flannel shirt open over a white t-shirt. Tool belt still hanging on his hips. Hair messy like he just rolled out of bed. Or didn't go to bed at all.
His blue eyes take in the scene. Me on the counter in his henley. Sergio shirtless with his wooden spoon. Pedro at the stove. All of us singing and laughing.
"Pancakes?" he asks, his voice rough.
"Pancakes," Pedro confirms. "With too much chocolate."
"My favorite." Carlos doesn't move from the doorway. Just stands there, watching us. Watching me.
The singing stops. The playfulness dims.
Because suddenly I'm aware of all of it. The three alphas in this kitchen. They're looking at me. The way my omega is practically vibrating with awareness.
The fact that I'm sitting on the counter in bare legs and a borrowed shirt, surrounded by men who smell like everything I've ever wanted.
The fact that I just left Callum three days ago.
The fact that this, whatever this is, is moving way too fast.
"I should probably get dressed," I say quietly, setting down my half-eaten pancake.
"You don't have to—" Sergio starts.
"I do." I slide off the counter, and all three of them take a step back. Giving me space. "I just. I need a minute."
I leave the kitchen, feeling their eyes on my back.
Feeling the weight of everything unsaid hanging in the air.
When I get back to the guest room, I close the door and lean against it, my heart pounding.
This is so much more complicated than I thought it would be.
And I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing.