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I also cook. I’m pretty decent at it, too.
Shocked, yet?
You shouldn’t be, because stereotypes suck. I refuse to be cast in a rigid mold. I am who I am, and I am who I am partly because of my mates, and partly because I want to enjoy life, not to get ripped away in the current of hormones governing my alpha body and brain.
Kyrian unlocks the apartment door, Roman ushers Brinlee inside, and I bring up the rear, locking up behind us. I take safety very seriously.
Roman leads her to our living room and starts making a sort of nest for her there, piling up some cushions around her. She’s not an omega, but I guess everyone finds the idea of a nest comforting.
That thought, of course, brings me back to Sawyer, our omega.
Our to-be omega.
Roman bustles off to make his famed hot chocolate with whipped cream and marshmallows, while Kyrian has claimed the other end of the sofa, eyeing the cushions between him and Brinlee like he wants to murder them. The man is so fucking intense sometimes.
I know I shouldn’t consider Sawyer’s answer as a given. Especially after what Brinlee told us, but man, I had my fucking heart set on these two, and neither is a sure bet at this point.
Yet I know she’s ours as I stalk to the sofa and she gives me a faint smile. Her face, her smile, her colors, her shape… it all draws me to her, and when I sink down beside her, her scent wraps around me and won’t let go.
It’s a struggle not to haul her against me, to pretend I’m not hard as a rock for her right now.
“Want to watch a movie?” I also struggle with small talk, because what comes out is a growl, and what I want to say is, Let’s fuck, you’re mine.
Yeah, great small talk.
“Sure.” Her smile seems more real now.
“Got one in mind?”
She shakes her head. “A documentary?”
I blink. “Really?”
“I don’t think I can focus on anything right now,” she explains. “I like having the TV on. Background noise relaxes me.”
“Right. That makes sense.” I choose a House Hunters episode and set the volume on low, then abandon the remote on the low coffee table and lean back, draping my arm over the back of the sofa. “This good?”
A nod. She seems to relax, following my example and leaning back. She lets her purse slide from her lap to her side.
“Here we go,” Roman announces, entering with a tray bearing four tall mugs, topped with marshmallows and cookies. “Four hot Roman chocolates.”
“Roman?” She blinks.
“Romanesque? They’re my invention.” He winks and places the tray on the table. “Make space for me.” And he plops himself between Brinlee and Kyrian, throwing the cushions to the floor.
“That’s my spot,” Kyrian grumbles.
“You’re sitting, like, four feet away from her. Not my fault if you don’t seize the day,” Roman replies.
“Fuck.” Kyrian’s cheeks color. He’s been acting so weird lately.
But then Roman slings an arm around him. “Or do you want me in your lap?”
“Fuck off.” Kyrian smirks and seems to relax. “I’ll have in you my lap later, grasshopper, have no doubt about it.”
Roman chuckles.
Jesus, we’re all so wound up, aren’t we? This business of deciding to expand the pack, to add these two people, it’s stressful.
