"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 onhis 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."
