Chapter 28
Ariana
Screaming into the pillow isn’t enough. I need to melt away into a pool of disgraced omega and become one with the sheets.
That’s my true calling, I think. If only I could’ve used these thinking skills from my brain a moment ago, instead of with what’s between my legs.
I’m never going to be able to look the Coates pack in the eyes again. Getting turned on by a purr is one thing, running away like a kid throwing a tantrum is another. Remembering makes me let out a muffled screech into the pillow again from embarrassment.
Going without affectionate touch for a while makes me go batshit insane, apparently. They’ve already seen me being pathetic. How much worse can adding a dose of humiliation be?
Polite as ever, they’d offered me reassurances one by one and asked me to come join them for lunch. I pretended to sleep through each of their efforts, then again when they offered me dinner. It’s not that I’m ignoring them, I’m just not ready to show my face in front of them.
The issue is feigning sleep to skip meals has left me too hungry to actually doze off. When my stomach won’t quit its growling, I concede.
Nico had said they left food for me in the fridge for whenever I felt like eating. Despite his urging, it still feels rude going into someone else’s kitchen and opening their fridge. I feel a bit like a mouse, scurrying through the house at night for some cheese.
Closing the fridge door, I turn around and almost drop the Tupperware of pasta. Jason’s leaning against the counter, silently watching me. I hadn’t heard him come in at all.
“You nearly gave me a heart attack!”
“Sorry.” He pulls open a drawer and passes me a fork. When I stick it straight into the food, he frowns. “Are you going to eat that cold?”
“That was the plan.” It wasn’t, actually. Secretly, I can’t find their microwave.
He takes the plate from me without another word. Another drawer opens, but apparently it isn’t a drawer at all. Placing the plate into the microwave, it beeps as he slides it shut.
We fall into silence, watching the numbers on the false drawer count down. Jason doesn’t seem to talk much.
“Are you a good cook?” I ask, just to make conversation, still feeling slightly awkward about my skedaddling earlier.
“No. I’m abysmal at it. Nico and Evan handle cooking.”
“Right. Me too. As in I’m abysmal at it.”
“I don’t think so. The pasta was good. You helped with that.”
“That’s nice of you to say.” After another pause, I continue. “You’re up late.”
“I tend to have trouble sleeping.”
“That sucks.” I say sympathetically. I’m surprised he can be as articulate as he is without being well rested.
He shrugs. “It is what it is. Maybe it’s a blessing in disguise. If I hadn’t been awake, I wouldn’t have found you that night.” He speaks matter of factly.
I’m not sure I expressed my gratitude properly for his help. He even carried me the entire way here.
“Thank you. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”
Jason looks at me over the top of his glasses. “Anytime. Truly, anytime.”
Concise, but undoubtedly sincere. That’s what his manner of speech is. Serious, but not curt. I appreciate the straight forwardness.
The microwave beeps, tearing his gaze away from me. He holds the plate out for me. Both my hands brush against his as I take it.
They’re paler than Evan’s were, but they have to be just as steady. It only took one of them to lift me with. The memory belatedly makes me heat up, remembering I’d even wrapped my legs around him unwittingly.
Retreating to the table in shame, I toss the fork he handed me into the plate. Jason takes a seat with me.
“Oh, you don’t have to stay here to keep me company. I’m sure you’re tired.” It makes me feel like I’m imposing.
Faintly, a hint of amusement mixes into the notes of fruit in his wine scent. “I’ve been sitting here since before you came by, Ariana. You were so concentrated on eating you walked right past me.”
Gluttony needs to be added to the list of my recent humiliations. My unease from earlier has dissipated with the silent agreement we’ve seemingly made to not bring the incident up, though. I lift a bite of food to my mouth just to have something to do with it instead of replying.
Abysmal, he had called his culinary abilities. I was right in pegging him as sincere. Microwaving’s a struggle for him, forget cooking. The pasta’s somehow piping hot on the outside and completely unheated on the inside.
I don’t know why, but something about it makes a smile tug at my lips.