Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Isolde
Despite how clean the house is, I still pull out the cleaning supplies to clean to my standards. Years of sleeping on the ground have left me with the need to know what went into cleaning, otherwise I can’t get myself to believe that it’s clean enough.
Curtains get steamed, couch cushions cleaned, and wooden floors are swept and mopped. It’s not until I’m taking a break with my hair up in a messy bun because I’m so warm that I check the phone.
Oh shit. Disbelief fills me as I glance outside and find that it’s dark.
I fixated so close to the sun that it went down.
I told Lucas that I’d call him, but it’s after six and my stomach is growling.
Since no one has my number, there’s not a single call or text from them and I feel a bit guilty because that’s my fault.
My location can’t be traced, so I don’t see a reason not to call them so my alphas can have my phone number. Yes, maybe I need a touch less space.
Lucas’ number is easier to find than Alesso or Oliver’s. Leaning against the kitchen counter, I listen to the phone ring on and on. Torturing my bottom lip, my heart sinks when it finally goes to voice mail. Unbidden, tears threaten to heat my eyes.
“This is silly,” I whisper. “Lucas is a busy man and he probably screens his calls. This was a dumb idea anyway. I’m sure they thought I forgot about them.”
My words only make it worse. Taking a ragged breath, I turn toward the fridge to make myself a sandwich. I’m actually not great in the kitchen. I never learned how to cook, and it’s always been something I wanted to be better about.
There are many reasons why I haven’t been able to gain weight. It’s a hard situation to face, because every time I do it reminds me of Jefferson fucking City Auction.
Lucas:
I missed a call from you, but don’t seem to have this number saved. Can you tell me who this is?
Sighing, I put my phone on the counter and start pulling out ingredients from the fridge. I’m so happy that Mr. Ademíc stocked the fridge for me. I’m still fairly suspicious and sniff things as I pull them out.
The expiration dates haven’t passed, and everything appears fresh. A lone tear slips from my eye as I sniff and put my ingredients out on the counter.
God, I’m pathetic. I’m the one who forgot to call Lucas, so why am I surprised when he doesn’t even know it’s me?
The phone rings and I stoically ignore it while I grab a plate and make my sandwich. It’s a basic tomato, cheese, and lettuce sandwich, but the tomato is super ripe. It bursts in my mouth as I take a bite.
The phone continues to ring, and I finally answer as soon as I’m able to swallow.
“Hello? Shit, Isolde. This is you, isn’t it?” Lucas asks, concern in his voice.
“It’s me. I’m having a sandwich for dinner.”
I sound like I’m pouting. Disgusted with myself, I take a deep breath.
“I lost track of time, but I called since you were so insistent about it,” I add, willing to be fair. The issue is that I’m struggling with conflicting emotions, the way I have been since I left his home.
“I’m sorry. I sounded like a douchebag in my text, darlin’. The realization that it was you calling me punched me in the face.”
“No, that was me punching him in the face, but ‘realization’ could be my nickname if necessary,” Oliver calls out near the phone.
I must be on speakerphone.
A small uptick in my lips occurs as I listen to them banter.
“It’s fine,” I lie. “I’m having a sandwich and then going to curl up with a book on my phone.”
Another lie. I need to clean the bathrooms next, wash the walls, and then inspect every inch of the house before I’ll be comfortable stopping for the night.
“How’s your new place, topolina?” Alesso asks. “I have to admit that it’s nice to know that you’re not going to fall out of a tree in the middle of the night.”
“I’m like a cat. I tend to fall on my feet.”
“…or my arms. Tomato, to-mah-to,” Lucas grumbles goodnaturedly. “So, how is the new place?”
“It’s…nice,” I admit. “There’s just enough room for me. The rental owner wouldn’t let me pay them the amount of rent they originally stated.”
“Does that bother you?” Lucas asks. “It sounds like it does.”
“It feels like I’m taking advantage of them,” I say, not wanting to hint at a gender.
“People can change their minds on rent,” Oliver muses. “So this is a private property?”
“That’s adorable, Oli,” I say. “I’m not answering that question.”
“Yeah, Oli,” Lucas chuckles.
I continue to eat as they talk and tease each other, and soon I’m cleaning up after myself as I chat with them. It slowly becomes easier to let the conversation flow, though I refuse to give any information about where I’m at currently.
“Let’s do a raincheck,” Lucas suggests. “How do you feel about having breakfast with us tomorrow?”
“I’m partial to breakfast,” I murmur. “I usually just have coffee unless I stop at a restaurant to eat in the mornings.”
“Why is that?” Oliver asks.
“I can’t cook,” I wince.
“Bah,” Alesso scoffs. “Can’t or haven’t learned? There’s a difference.”
Wow. Well, I guess he’s right.
“I haven’t learned,” I admit.
“I can work with that. I’ll teach you. Lucas has a really nice kitchen here,” he says.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I chuckle. The size of that house gives me hives, but maybe I should give it a chance?
“Do you want to go out to breakfast or come over?” Lucas asks. “There’s no wrong answer.”
Thinking about giving a fucking house an opportunity to make a better impression is what influences my next words.
“Maybe we can eat in the backyard?” I say tentatively.
“Kitten, are you claustrophobic?” Oliver asks tentatively.
“It’s really hard to explain,” I sigh. “High ceilings make me feel unsafe. I want to be able to easily manage where I’m at. All I can think about is how difficult it is to defend myself in such a big house.”
“That’s it! I’m leveling this mausoleum,” Lucas growls.
“What?” I ask.
“If you don’t like the house, I’ll start over and have it bulldozed. Darlin’, I want you with me. The house doesn’t fucking matter to me,” he explains.
“Lucas has been calling people to agree to demolish the house today,” Oliver says. “He’s serious about this. A house without an omega is a sad place at best.”
“We’ve only known each other for three seconds,” I remind him.
“Not one of those seconds has happened where you aren’t running away so I don’t believe they count,” he says.
In what world do I exist where alphas actually make sense? I must be living in an alternate reality.
“That’s cute,” I say. “What time is breakfast?”
“How is nine in the morning?” Lucas asks. “I want to give you time to wake up.”
I’m not going to mention that I plan to be awake at six to go for a run. Even after cleaning all day, I have a restless energy running just under my skin and I don’t understand it.
It can’t be my heat because I’m still taking my meds. I just need to move some more. That’s all.
“Nine works for me,” I say, moving into the house to prepare to clean. Mr. Adamíc has a solid supply of products, and not one has a single fragrance.
It’s my idea of heaven.
“We’ll say goodnight then,” Lucas says. He almost sounds sad to get off the phone, but maybe I’m projecting.
No one needs that. I’m no longer a hormonal mess now that I’ve spoken to them.
“Good night,” I whisper, hanging up.
I’m exhausted by the time I’m done cleaning, take a shower, and tumble into bed. The sheets Grant bought aren’t as soft as the ones I was originally looking at, but I’m too tired to care. The black out curtains are drawn, my alarm is set, and all I want to see are the inside of my lids.
Anything else can wait until tomorrow.
Grant
I have too much useless energy to expend. At least, that’s what I’m telling myself. Since Isolde is coming to the mansion for breakfast, and I don’t want to embarrass myself, I’m pounding the pavement on an extended run.
I would jerk off, but my cock is pissed at me for abusing it too often last night. No matter what I tried to do, I couldn’t come. This girl has broken me. For the life of me, nothing works.
No, I need to exhaust myself. My breaths are even as my legs take me farther from Lucas’ house, the cold air doing a better job than coffee at smacking me in the face like a fucking dildo.
As I come around the corner of a quiet street, my brows furrow as I see red hair swishing over a girl’s back. No one else that I know has that color hair, and I feel compelled to follow her.
Isolde is wearing a pair of leggings that should be illegal, a sports bra, and her feet are encased in a pair of decent running shoes. My only complaint is that it’s too damn cold to be running like that, and I’m itching to pull off my sweatshirt for her.
Fuck, I love my damn hoodies, and I’ve never felt more compelled to give an article of clothing to someone.
I don’t hide the fact that I’m behind her, but she never once glances over her shoulder. Isolde is completely lost to her thoughts as she runs hard down the sidewalk, her steps moving on autopilot.
What is she thinking so hard about?
I’m a workaholic, and I often run to plot out my day, figure out how to deal with obstacles that may be in my way. If I’m honest with myself, she’s the reason why I’m an hour into my morning routine and I still don’t feel any better.
“Are you going to follow behind me and continue staring at my ass?” Isolde calls out behind her.
“Is that an option?” I ask, increasing my speed so I can run next to her.
“Not particularly,” she says. “Are you stalking me?”
I’m an awkward fuck when it comes to emotions. Isolde impresses the fuck out of me. The way that she avoided my entire security team without breaking a sweat the other night blows my mind. However, finding out how she did it?
My cock will probably never recover.
“I am,” I say, deciding to be honest. I need to find a way to tell my boss that I’m obsessed with his girl.
I’m not really sure how that’s going to go down.