He’s wrong. He has to be. He’s just another alpha to me, no one special, no one I actually care about—and definitely not anyone I was hoping to see again. The only thing that’s between us is his job. That’s it. Nothing to write home about.
Still, for some stupid reason, as I lead the two alphas to the living room, I can’t help but feel like I’m wrong somehow. And the thing is, I don’t know how or why I feel as though I’m wrong. It doesn’t make sense. An alpha like Rourke shouldn’t affect me at all.
Rourke is standing in the threshold that separates the living room from the kitchen, and we overhear him say, “Thanks, Darius. I appreciate it. I’ll keep you updated.” He ends the call and turns toward us as we approach him, his chiseled features once again morphing into a smirk that has no business being so dang sexy.
He’s a good-looking alpha, okay? He’s the very definition of what an über alpha should be. Big and muscled… not to mention the tattoos I know are on his arm, or at the very least, his wrist beneath those sleeves.
I haven’t seen the alpha naked, obviously, but I do secretly wonder if he has other tattoos on his body, places that his current outfit doesn’t reveal. The possibility is one I shouldn’t pay any thought to, and yet it lingers in the back of my mind, teasing and tempting in a way it has no right to be.
Apparently I like tattoos. Go figure.
“So,” Mason starts, and just like that the posturing is back. Two übers under the same roof—not sure how that’ll work out. Maybe these two need to not be in the same room together, to avoid any testosterone-fueled confrontations.
“So,” Rourke repeats as he slides his phone into his back pocket.
All Asher does is glance between the two übers, who are caught in a staring contest, and then glance at me. Though he doesn’t say a word, I can tell what he’s thinking:This is awkward. Or something along those lines.
To which I’d say,Yeah, it kind of is.
Mason folds his arms over his chest. “How do we know we can trust you? How do we know that call you made wasn’t to bring backup?”
The look Rourke gives him says it all, and his words back it up: “You really think I need backup to take you two down? Please. I’ve been trained for much worse situations. I could take you two down blindfolded.” I cough, which causes him to switch directions. “But I’ve been informed by Jess that this whole thing is a matter of her safety, so you two can be assured that no one else will come knocking.”
“I don’t trust you,” Mason says.
“And I don’t blame you for that. We don’t know each other.” The tactical-wearing über glances at me, and that gaze of his lingers in a way that makes me want to squirm. I’m barely able to resist the urge. “But I’m not some run-of-the-mill alpha you’d meet on the street. I take my job very seriously. My number one priority is Jess’s safety, and as long as neither of you jeopardize that safety, we can play a happy pack for a little while.”
Mason looks like he wants to argue with him, but Asher’s expression has softened, and I can tell he believes Rourke.
And me? I feel… strange. Strange to the point I’m almost confused. I should be happy that Rourke has agreed to let me have my first heat here and thereby gain some independence and inherit all of my family’s wealth, but I’m not.
Before anyone else can say another word, Rourke lifts his nose in the air and breathes in deeply. At first, I think he’s trying to smell me in the air, but right then Asher’s alarm goes off, and he fumbles to get his phone out and turn the alarm off. All eyesare on him when he sheepishly says, “Lasagna should be ready. I… uh, hope everyone’s hungry.”
At this point, eating is the last thing on my mind, but Asher spent a lot of time cooking that lasagna from scratch.
Guess it’s time to eat. We can get back to the awkwardness and the tension later.
Chapter Fourteen – Asher
We eat at the table. Luckily there’s plenty of lasagna to give Rourke a plate too. Mason and I both claimed the chairs around Jess, while Rourke chose the one opposing her. She digs in right away, while I take my time. My brother is much slower at eating, preferring to openly glare at the newcomer the whole time.
And Rourke? Rourke takes generous portions on his fork every time, and while he eats, he tries not to stare at Jess too much, but he fails.
I don’t blame him, of course. Jess is… well, she’s more than just pretty. She’s beautiful, downright gorgeous. She’s everything an omega should be and more. I hate that I turned my back on her all those years ago, right when she needed a friend the most.
I was a shitty kid. I let peer pressure get to me. Beyond that, I don’t know what to say about it, other than I still feel guilty.
Deciding to break the silence of the table, I ask no one in particular, “How’s the lasagna?”
Jess turns her head toward me and gives me a tiny smile, while my brother ignores the question entirely. She nods gently as she brings another forkful to her mouth, clearly too engrossed with eating to give me any praise for my cooking skills.
My cooking skills of which, I’d like to mention, I didn’t know existed before all this. Now? Now I want to cook for her. I want to feed her. I want… I want to take care of her, prove to her that I won’t turn my back on her again.
The mere fact that she reached out to me to begin with is crazy, and it tells me she really has no one in her life she trusts. That’s just sad. It’s downright depressing, and I hate it for her.
“You’re a pretty good cook,” Rourke says, the only one at the table who addresses my question out loud. “You make meals like this often?”
Even though I don’t trust him, I figure Mason has the glaring and brooding part taken care of. No use in both of us acting the same. I decide to hold a conversation with the other alpha, trying to act like all of this is normal. “Actually, no.”
