Page 226 of Pucking Feral: Part Two

He builds both sandwiches right there on the skillet. He checks the underside of the bread with the spatula, mutters "not yet" at it, and checks the other while I munch on a stolen chunk of cheddar.

"Chips are in the bag. Root beer's in the cooler,” he says.

They are. Two of them, glass bottles, the same brand Thane got me.

Which means he remembered too.

I pop mine open with my teeth, which I know isn’t the best idea, but old habits die hard.

"Eat first," he says, sliding the first sandwich onto a paper towel and handing it over. "Then we can blow shit up." He points the spatula at me. "Careful, it's⁠—"

I've already bitten into it.

"—hot," he finishes.

Worth it.

Holy shit, worth it.

The crust, golden and crisp off the hot iron, shatters and gives way to ropes of molten cheddar and that sweet-savory layer of onion, all of it steaming into the night air, and I have to physically fight back the urge to make a noise like we're fucking and not eating grilled cheese.

I’m sure we’ll be getting to that soon.

"Good?" He's watching me eagerly, like a golden retriever who just dropped a tennis ball at my feet and is vibrating while he waits to see if I'll throw it.

"Good?" I say with my mouth full, covering it even though there's no polite way to eat something this cheesy. "Whiskey, this is the best grilled cheese I've ever had. It might be the best thing I've ever eaten, period."

He kills the flame, plates his own sandwich, and drops down beside me.

"Well, yeah." He takes a giant bite and half the sandwich is already gone. "You think I'm gonna take my girl out and feed her some bullshit cold-cut sub? Nah. Whiskey's Date Night Grilled Cheese, baby. Secret recipe. Only cooked fresh under the stars with illegal fireworks."

My chest hurts with how much I love this alpha.

I scoot closer to him on the blanket until our hips are pressed together, and he immediately lifts his arm so I can tuck myself against his warm side. His arm settles around my shoulders and I sink into his side with a handful of chips.

"C'mere," he says, shifting his legs so they're stretched out in front of him instead, and before I can respond, his hands find my waist and he lifts me easily into his lap.

My back presses against his broad chest. His arms wrap around me from behind, his chin resting on top of my head.

I settle against him and exhale.

His body is ridiculous. There's no other word for it. The sheer mass of him, the way his arms engulf me completely, the thickness of his thighs bracketing mine. I'm sitting on his lap and I barely take up half the real estate. His stomach is soft and warm against my lower back, his chest behind me a wall of warmth and steady heartbeat.

I could live here.

I could build a nest on this alpha's lap and never leave, and I'm pretty sure he'd just keep handing me snacks and cracking jokes he'd never run out of until the end of time.

"This is nice," I murmur, tipping my head back against his collarbone.

"Yeah?" His arms tighten a fraction. His voice rumbles through his chest and into my spine. "You sure you still wanna wait to get marked until after your date with Plague?"

I can practically hear the grin in his voice. But as much as he's hoping I'll change my mind from the decision I made earlier, I'm pretty sure part of that is because he's, well, a horny alpha.

"Sorry, big guy." I twist in his lap to kiss his stubbled cheek, snuggling more against his warmth, my hand splaying against his broad chest. "I'm, um, still sore from Thane, anyway. But just think of how good it'll be if we wait? It's just one more day."

"Twenty-seven hours before I actually get to mark you," he corrects instantly.

"You're counting hours?"