Pedro's jaw tightens. He sets down his mug. Pushes off from the counter. Moves toward me with slow, deliberate steps.
He stops next to my chair. Close enough that I can smell his scent - pine and mint and something clean and medicinal that makes my omega want to roll over and show her throat.
"You fell asleep on Nacho's shoulder four years ago. Sergio made you snort-laugh. I patched up your hand in our kitchen. Carlos kissed you on that porch and couldn't eat for three days after you left."
He picks up my plate. Takes it to the sink even though I'm not done eating.
"You were Callum's girlfriend. But you were ours first."
Then he's gone too, leaving me alone in the kitchen with the scent of four alphas and a truth I'm not ready to face.
I sit there for a long time. Staring at the empty doorway. At the chair where Carlos was sitting. At the life I didn't plan for spreading out in front of me like a deck waiting to be built.
Finally, I stand up.
Walk to my room.
Find my old Converse at the bottom of my suitcase.
And go to work.
Because whatever else is true, whatever complicated feelings are tangling themselves around my heart, I need money.
Even if taking care of myself means spending forty hours a week with an alpha who might be in love with me.
I need money and that’s all that matters right now.
17
PEDRO
Iknow hiring Jessica is a mistake the moment I suggest it.
She's sitting at the kitchen table, picking at a piece of toast she hasn't eaten, wearing one of Carlos's hoodies and a pair of leggings that shouldn't be distracting but absolutely are. Her hair is piled on top of her head in a messy bun. Dark circles shadow her eyes.
"I can't go back to the job site." Her voice is small. Defeated. "I set Carlos's work pile on fire."
"I heard." The whole town heard. Mrs. Kowalski called my clinic to ask if smoke inhalation required a follow-up visit.
"He says I can come back, but I can't." Jessica pushes the toast away. "I'm a liability. A danger to property and human life."
Sergio snorts from his position by the coffee maker. He's wearing dark jeans. Henley stretched across his shoulders. Arms crossed over his chest like he's bracing for a hockey check.
"Carlos has a crush." Nacho doesn't look up from his newspaper. He's in civilian clothes today. Off duty. "There's a difference."
Jessica's cheeks flush pink. She grabs the toast and takes a bite, clearly using it as an excuse not to respond.
The flush does something to my chest. Something I refuse to examine.
I take a sip of my coffee. Black. Bitter. The way I like it.
"Work at the clinic," I hear myself say.
Three heads swivel toward me.
"What?" Jessica's voice cracks.
"Admin work. Filing. Phones. Nothing that can catch fire." I set down my mug and meet her eyes. Brown and wide and looking at me as if I've grown a second head. "My receptionist is out on maternity leave. Temp agency sent someone who quit after two days. Said I was 'too intense.'"
