Chapter 8
Chapter
Eight
Lana
It was clear, another week into my stay, when everybody had fallen back into a routine again, that my brother had warned them away from me.
Lennon all but avoided me. Wilder was friendly, but would barely make eye contact.
Mason was the only one who seemed willing to talk to me, his constant flirting something I found I actually enjoyed.
He even made me blush a few times, something that didn’t usually happen.
Growing up with my parents meant you learned pretty early on to not let embarrassment get to you.
Cade was always sort of quiet, and Kieran was friendly, but barely more than cordial. He never let it get too far. I accidentally brushed my hand against his once and he avoided me for two days.
The house was always full of activity, but at the same time, I was starting to feel isolated again.
My nose twitched. The scent of something burning filled the air.
I wasn’t sure what was going on, but I rushed to the kitchen.
Maybe someone accidentally left the oven on.
I wasn’t expecting them to be home for another several hours, and was shocked to find Lennon in the kitchen, throwing a smoking pan onto the patio outside and scowling.
“What happened?” I asked, more than a little concerned.
“I was trying to cook,” he grunted out. A hint of embarrassment had his peppery scent charring around the edges. “The others are stuck in some team meeting.”
“How did you get out of it?” I asked.
He gave me a pointed look. “Conrad said I was the safest option.”
I snorted. “I knew he warned you guys away from me.”
“Of course he did,” he said as if it was obvious.
“You’re no longer bonded, omega. Mason can’t fucking help himself, and the others are falling all over themselves to take care of you.
I tried to tell them that you’re a grown-ass woman and you can take care of yourself, but no one in this house fucking listens. ”
“I can,” I confirmed. I was also relieved their distance wasn’t just in my head. “And despite your dislike for me, I do appreciate that you don’t let the others smother me.”
He snorted. “It’s not that I dislike you. I just don’t care for omegas.” More blunt honesty. It was so damn refreshing.
“Ouch. Sounds like I’m not the only one who got into a shitty relationship.” If possible, his face twisted into even more of a scowl.
“Why don’t you worry about yourself instead of bothering me?” he bit out. He wouldn’t even look at me, but I wasn’t giving up that easily. Not when he was the only one willing to answer my questions.
“Why are you not at this meeting? I get that he said you’re the safest, but for what? I hardly need babysitting.”
“I don’t know, princess,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Maybe because you’re a touch-starved omega who’s just now strong enough to take care of herself again.”
I narrowed my eyes, my jaw tightening as I fought off words that would turn this into a real argument.
“Okay, fine. How about, what are you trying to accomplish here?” I tried again, gesturing to the kitchen.
“I was told to feed you.”
For the first time, Lennon looked uncomfortable. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that this delta had no idea how to cook.
“How did you guys survive before I moved in?”
“They put me on grocery runs, not cooking. They said some shit about me not being capable and to just order today, and I tried to prove them wrong.”
“Tried and failed,” I snorted. When he glared, I couldn’t help it. I burst out laughing even harder. “I can help you.”
“No, because if you do it, how is that me proving them wrong?” he argued. He was so adamant on doing it himself that I couldn’t find it in me to argue with that logic.
“What were you trying to cook, Mr. Independent?”
“Just some grilled cheeses and tomato soup.”
“Oh, my favorite,” I said, doing a little excited clap. For a moment he almost smirked, but he hid it quickly. He was determined not to like me.
“How about this? You cook, I boss you around,” I offered. “Then you can take all the credit.”
“They’re going to know. I’m not exactly known for food that’s edible,” he argued.
“And yet you tried anyway.” His head fell back and he looked at the ceiling as if he were praying for a break from my insanity. Unfortunately for him, I was already set on this, and he mentioned my favorite food. There was no way I was letting this go now.
“First things first, do you have an immersion blender?”
He stared at me blankly until I rolled my eyes and started sorting through the pantry and drawers, trying to find what I was looking for.
It didn’t take me long to find something that would do.
He looked skeptical but curious, when I pulled out the regular blender and set it on the counter.
It wasn’t exactly an immersion blender, but close enough.
As I moved through the kitchen, I couldn’t help stealing glances at the delta. He was gorgeous, but he had more walls up than I did. Deltas weren’t new to me, but everyone had their own opinions on them.
Lennon was definitely my type. He was muscled and strong, and downright gorgeous with his freckles and copper hair. He wasn’t as bulky as Wilder or the other alphas, but he had that signature delta build.
There was a dusting of freckles over his nose and down his forearms. I bit my lip to keep myself from staring too much. The hint of pain grounded me enough to focus on my task of gathering ingredients.
I wasn’t sure what he knew about culinary skills, but he was about to learn.
“I thought we were making grilled cheese and tomato soup,” he argued. “Why do you have actual tomatoes out?”
“It’s almost like the main ingredient in tomato soup is—” I gasped dramatically. “Tomatoes.”
“Ha ha. Wise ass.” His glare lost heat this time, and I did a little mental victory dance. “Are you going to make your own tomato soup?”
“No,” I said, raising an eyebrow in defiance. “You are. It’s so much better.”
“Lana… look,” he said, clearly startled.
“Just deal with it. This is beginner friendly, and I get to boss around by my very own private chef. Would you really deny me this? I’m recovering, remember.” I put on my best pout that had him throwing up his hands.
“Oh, now she doesn’t want independence.”
“I do, but I also want to eat,” I argued.
“Sure. And I definitely won’t give you food poisoning.” He deadpanned.
“You won’t.” The confidence in my voice had him shaking his head.
Then I went into full drill-sergeant mode. “Grab the tomatoes. I want you to slice them in half, then half again, longways.”
Despite what he claimed about his lack of cooking skills, the man at least knew how to use a knife. He got lucky because the only garlic they had was a paste, so he didn’t have to smell like garlic for hours afterward.
I settled on a stool at the kitchen island, ready to watch as I instructed him on how to cut an onion. It was probably the most entertainment I’d had in a long time.
His eyes were burning and watering, and he kept shooting me glares that just looked pathetic with tears streaming down his face.
“What the fuck kind of torture are you putting me through? You’re taking pleasure in this, aren’t you, omega? I always knew you guys were sadistic.”
“I am not. This is part of cooking. Everyone needs to know how to cut onions.”
“Everyone except me, apparently,” he grumbled.
“Who did the cooking when you grew up?” Asking about his past could backfire, but I wanted to know more about all of them. I was slowly getting pieces of their pasts, compiling them in my mind, committing the details to memory.
I could lie and say it was all for revenge. They knew my shitty past, and I needed to know theirs in exchange.
In reality, I just wanted to know everything about the men who were so open and sweet to me… or in Lennon’s case, honest. Even when he was an asshole, he did it while making sure I was safe and healing.
“Usually my mom, but she was a fucking piece of work,” he muttered with a twist of his lips.
“She was the strict type, which meant if I didn’t do exactly what she said, how she said it, I usually went to bed with scraps.
Not enough for a growing delta, that was for fucking sure.
I was the skinniest kid in my grade because nothing was ever good enough for that bitch. ”
“I’m sorry,” I said, the sincerity in my voice spilling out before I could stop it.
“I don’t need your fucking pity.” That statement was said with so much venom it took me by surprise. But even now, he didn’t scare me. That was directed at his horrible mom, not me.
“It’s called empathy, Lennon. Not everything is me feeling sorry for you. I mean, I am sorry your mom was a twat. That doesn’t mean I think you’re pathetic. I thought I had some defenses up, but it seems you have me beat.”
“You know, I kind of like that you’re blunt,” he admitted, almost reluctantly.
“Was that a compliment?” I sang out at him, cracking up when he shot me another withering glare. I was having far too much fun with this delta. “But I agree. I appreciate your blunt honesty as well.”
“You’d be the first,” he said, quieter this time, before tossing the cutting board and knife in the sink and washing his hands. “Alright, teach. What now?” he demanded.
I pointed to the waiting baking sheet I laid out for the onions and tomatoes. “Put everything on that. Then you’re going to drizzle olive oil over the top,” I instructed, showing him how. “Then you’ll bake them for a while. We have time, right?”
“Unfortunately,” he drawled out, though he looked a lot less put out about it now.
“Aww, poor delta has to deal with little old me,” I teased.
He huffed out a laugh. “It really is a tragedy.”
Now that we were stuck waiting for that to bake in the oven, I wasn’t sure what to do with myself.
“How about a little game?” he suggested.
“Are you looking for a little redemption?” I teased. “One ass-kicking wasn’t enough for you?”
“What can I say? I’m a masochist.”