“Beats cold French fries,” I smiled down at her.What was it about women with wet hair? It was so damn sexy.
“I’m not picky,” she stood up quickly, backing a few steps away and locking eyes with me. “Honestly, you guys don’t have to buy fancy food. We could,” she bit her lip, worrying at the skin for a while as she thought, “like go to the grocery store and just pick normal stuff.”
I pulled the first few containers out, removing their tops and placing them in the table’s center.
“That’s silly. We have a service that shops for us. And money isn’t a problem.” I shrugged, snagging two more items. A brown bag full of chocolate croissants and a steamed-up plastic box. That one was crepes. “I think we’ve only shopped for ourselves once in the last couple years. I wouldn’t even know what to do in a store.” It was no big deal, easiest thing in the world. My words seemed to suck the air out of the room though.
I turned to look at her. She’d backed up against the wall between two of the large windows. She cupped her right elbow with her left hand and her whole body had slumped. Her eyes were trained on the floor.
“What’s wrong? What did I say?” I moved to her, bending down and trying to make eye contact. She looked so small like this, so vulnerable.
“It’s just that… to me…” She swallowed hard, still staring at the hardwoods. “To me going grocery shopping sounds amazing. Walking through an actual store with a cart… not trying to find something edible in the trash behind it, seems like heaven.”
“Oh,” I said stupidly.Fuck, I was a moron. When was I going to think before I spoke?She’d been through so much bullshit, and I kept making it harder for her.
Before I could say something to make it better, Dixon entered. He moved uncharacteristically slow, the expression on his face looking like he was holding his damn breath. His large, beefy hands held a giant glass vase topped by a ridiculously large bouquet of yellow and pink roses. His arms were lifted so the flowers stretched out in front of him like they weren’t harmless blooms, but instead a beehive that might attack at any second. Knowing Dixon, he was scared to drop the damn thing before he could deliver. I lifted an eyebrow. None of us had talked about ordering flowers.
When he stopped in front of Tessa, his large body making me sidestep out of the way, Dixon smiled. His face was bright, innocent hope glinting in his gaze.
“These are for you,” he told Tessa, blush creeping into his cheeks. “Iwasn’t sure what your favorite flower was, but I figured roses are safe. I know that red roses mean love,” he gulped, “but I asked the florist what color meant happy. I know it’s too early for love, but it’s not too soon to say I’m happy you’re here.”
Tessa blinked down at the flowers, then up at Dixon. Her own face softened with a gentle smile, and she raised one small hand to cup his large face. “Thank you. I haven’t gotten flowers since…” she paused, thinking. “My tenth-grade dance recital.”
“You danced?” Dixon questioned, leaning into her touch, his eyes fluttering closed. My heart sparked at the sight of her touching him, and I took a deep breath, reminding myself of my new determination to be better. She wasn’t only mine. She was ours. And we were hers.
“Poorly,” Tessa admitted with a low chuckle. “I only kept going because my school required an extracurricular and I was even worse at fencing and chess. Dancers are stunning though, aren’t they? I used to get jealous of Omegas that had talent like that. Painting or singing. It meant they could delay all the pressure of mating. I saw this young ballerina years ago who floated. She literally floated across the stage. Nelly… something. I wonder if she’s still dancing.”
She dropped her hand, reaching to take the giant vase. Dixon obliged and then stood awkwardly as Tessa fumbled under the weight of the monstrous bouquet. When it became clear that they were simply too big, and she was simply too petite, he took them back.
“How about I just put them on the table?” He offered sheepishly.
With a laugh, Tessa nodded. “I always like to pretend I’m super strong, but I guess my physique is currently honed for dueling street rats and digging in trash cans, not gigantic bouquets.”
Darkness fell over Dixon’s face.
“We’ll change that.” His voice was grim now and his hands were tightening around the vase. I put my hand gently on his shoulder, fearful he’d shatter the glass. He stiffened under my touch, then relaxed a tiny fraction. After giving himself a gentle shake, he forced a strained smile. “I’m a certified gym rat. I’ll put together a workout regimen for you. You’ll be tossing me over your shoulder in no time.”
“That’s a tall order,” Tray’s voice broke in and we all turned to find him strolling into the room, Josie still attached like a new permanent body part. He strode over to Dixon, slung an arm around the taller guy’s shoulders, and hip bumped him. Dixon frowned as the bump jostled the flowers.
“Stop being an idiot, Tray.”
“You know you love me, Dix.” Tray’s grin widened. Josie stretched and began struggling to escape his arms.
“Silly cat,” Tessa breathed out, rushing over and pulling the cat away from Tray. Josie purred loudly as Tessa cradled her against one arm and stroked her fur. The feline was totally content again.
“Don’t let her fool you. She had a blast with me.” Tray crossed his arms and pursed his lips, shaking his head at Josie.
“I can’t believe I didn’t even wonder where she was after my bath.” Tessa frowned, not seeming to register Tray’s words. “I’m sorry,” she said, bringing Josie up to snuggle against her fur for a heartbeat. I could tell it bothered her—that the cat she’d refused to leave behind, who had been her entire world for so long, could become an afterthought.
“Don’t be sorry. You just subconsciously knew she was safe.” Tray moved away from Dixon and slapped his chest. “Cat Dad Number One was just giving her the full tour,” Tray beamed. “We played in the courtyard, checked out the studio, the gym, the garage. Shouldn’t have taken her into our sin den. She found the feathers. Had a blast but absolutely trashed them.”
“Why the hell are you Cat Dad Number One?” Dixon grumbled, still holding the roses.
“Because we’re ranking ourselves according to enthusiasm.” Tray shrugged.
“We should rank by age.” Mac arrived then, a pitcher of fresh juice in one hand and milk in the other. He strode to the large table and leaned over to put the beverages down.
“Importance in the band,” I countered.
