Pierce strode over to the dish rack and dried off the big pot Reed used for spaghetti.
“You sure you didn’t want the pink ones, Lynnie?” Liam asked as he set the packets of candles aside.
“Blue’s my favorite color, dummy,” I said.
It wasn’t. That was a lie. Blue was Reed’s favorite color. Liam had added a gold number six candle to the basket when Reed wasn’t looking.
“No! Me! I wanna do it!” I squealed and reached for the egg. Reed was already tearing the yellow cake mix open but moved the eggs out of the way.
“I’ll do the eggs. You can stir.”
“You aren’t supposed to make your own birthday cake, Lynnie,” Pierce said.
I sat in front of the stove, watching it cook. I counted out the candles myself, and Pierce lit them one by one. We ate it right out of the pan, and Reed promised I could have cake for breakfast. But Papa threw it in the trash before morning.
I blink rapidly, pretending to be very interested in my mashed potatoes. Pierce and Liam were family. After that birthday, when they became alphas, they came around less and less. Papa hated alphas.
“I’d like to see you again.”
I look up at Beckett. His face falls just a little, worry lines crinkling his eyes.
“Oh, this date isn’t over,” he adds quickly. “We have to get dessert. I just want to, you know, make it clear that I want more of you.”
“Well, maybe I can be dessert.” I try for my best smile.
Beckett blushes and then stills, like he needs a moment to reset. When he smiles, there’s a different quality to it. It’s more Beckett-y.
The rest of the dinner is a little less charged.
I let Beckett fill the space between mouthfuls, watching the way he uses his fork so precisely, the little crinkle at the side of his nose when he’s about to make a joke. He tells me about all the best and worst cities for team travel, the hotels where the rooms are haunted or the bed linens are made from clouds, the time the entire defense line got food poisoning in Pittsburgh. I don’t know if half of it is true, or if he’s just trying to make me laugh, but I find myself wanting to believe every word.
The table gets cleared, the waiter chats, and we settle on cheesecake and something French I can’t pronounce. As he’s ordering, his eyes catch on something over my shoulder. I turn and there are a few girls in mini-dresses whispering and pointing. They break into two groups, which would be weird if they were having dinner together.
“They’re circling,” I say and lean into the table. “I’m scrappy, I could take them?”
Beckett purses his lips, contemplating. “I think we have two choices.”
“Two?”
“We brace for impact, or we get out of here?”
Just as our cakes arrive, Beckett accidentally makes eye contact with one of the girls and gets a wave and a blown kiss. He quickly stands and holds his hand out for mine. He leaves a tip, puts two forks in his breast pocket, hands me the bottle of wine, and grabs our desserts.
“We should be able to get out of here alive.”
Chapter thirteen
BECKETT
Theelevatordings,andthe doors slide apart. I cringe at the brightness. It’s a shock after the dim lights of the restaurant. I step out first, balancing the dessert plates with Ash’s coat folded over my arm, and incline my head to show her which way to go.
I stumble slightly as her scent wraps around me. The air up here is filtered within an inch of its life, like staff comes through and scrubs it clean every half hour, but her peachy warmth cuts right through it. I slow my pace like the cake is weighing me down, just to keep her at my side a few seconds longer.
She’s got the wine bottle tucked in one hand and that tiny little square of a purse that looks like it could barely hold a phone on her arm. I catch her reflection in the glass of the framed prints lining the wall. She’s composed again, almost guarded, like she reeled all that flirtation back into herself the moment we left the public eye.
At my door I pause, looking at the plates.
“Key card’s in my back pocket.”
