“Do you want some of this?” I tap my fork to the plate.
“Only if you have a dumpling.”
I pick up my plate and pass it to him. He jolts like he wasn’t prepared to switch plates. Once settled, he eats the lobster in one bite. He licks a drip of butter off his lips.
I drop my eyes and get really focused on my dumpling. Am I really blushing over an alpha with butter on his lips?
“How is everything? Shall I take your orders?” The waiter is back and eager.
I put my fork down gently and pry open the menu again.
“I thought steak was just steak,” I whisper to myself.
“Oh, yeah, tons of different options. A filet is tiny and tender. Wagyu are cows from Japan. I’m getting the Porterhouse. It’s like two steaks in one.” Beckett pauses his tour of the menu and squints at me. “I’m overwhelming you.”
I flash a look at the waiter, in his clean white shirt and skinny tie, outshining anything Estelle and I wear at the diner.
“Sure, they have wine experts, but they don’t have cow experts,” I mutter and steal a glance at Beckett, who is trying not to smile. “Can you…” I shake my head and bite my lip.
He leans into the table, pressing the menu to his chest. “Can I order for you?” I meet his eyes for a second. He’s so sincere, like the best day of his life is waiting on the other side of my answer.
“Okay,” I say and tuck my hair behind my ear.
His eyes close softly for a second before turning to the waiter. He doesn’t even have to consult the menu.
“Let’s get Ash the Wagyu New York Strip.” He glances at me as if he’s reading my very soul. “Medium. I’ll do the Porterhouse. Blue.” He checks in with me and corrects that to “rare.”
Beckett purses his lips. “Broccoli or Brussels sprouts?”
I scrunch my nose. “Broccoli is gross.”
He gasps a little. “Horrifying, but I’ll accept it. Let’s do the Brussels sprouts and the spinach. And mashed. No. Baked. No, let’s do both, but can you leave the truffle off the mashed potatoes? And the haystack onions.”
As Beckett goes back and forth with the waiter, my eyes fall back to the menu. Great, I’m going to die in a steakhouse from a heart attack. The steak he ordered for me was two hundred dollars. Not wanting to learn any more of its secrets, I snap the menu shut, and the waiter slides it out of my hands.
“How is steak this expensive?” I cringe. I have to stop saying shit out loud. I’m supposed to be seducing him, not whining like a baby.
“I’m sorry about that. I should have picked somewhere more casual. But I’m staying here and it was just convenient.”
“You live in a hotel?”
“Oh, no, I…” Beckett’s face darkens, and he rubs his forehead. “I, uh…” He pauses again, probably to think up a lie. He probably got a hotel room thinking he’d get me into bed, which, honestly, will work in my favor.
He’s upset, and that lingers on his face. “I got into a fight with my pack, and I just needed some space, so I’m staying here for a few nights.”
A savage delight bursts in my chest. If Beckett is upset, Pierce and Liam should be too. He shakes his head like he’s wiping the space clear.
“I feel like I’m taking up all the air. Marilyn didn’t really tell me anything about you.”
“Oh, you know, I’m nothing special, just your typical omega.” I flip my hair and shrug one shoulder. I’ve seen omegas do that in the movies.
“Where are you from?”
“Florida.”
“My packmates are from Florida. We met down there, actually.”
I blink a few times. I hadn’t really thought this through. Most alphas just talk about themselves and want to get to the sex part. His words sink in, and my stomach drops.
