Page 4 of The Price of Ice

"You don't have to—"

Levy snorted. "I know that, dummy, but I like cooking, and it's more satisfying to cook for someone else." He tilted his head, his tight brown curls bouncing. "Come on."

"Um, okay," Kallen agreed, glancing down. "Lemme just grab a quick shower."

"Sure, I'm in 7b, I'll leave the door open."

While he washed off the sweat in a hurry—by now, he was starving—he had plenty of time to think about what he was doing. Namely, meeting on his own with an alpha. But surely it was fine if it was one ofhisalphas, right? And Levy wasn't like Yrovsky, he wouldn't... He wouldn’t touch Kallen without asking.

He knew Levy lived alone from their previous conversations, but it was different to see it in person. He wondered if they'd asked him if he wanted a billet family too. Maybe he’d lived with one the previous year. Or had he just turned them down? Kallen couldn't imagine asking, so he let himself in, calling out a greeting to announce his arrival.

For a long moment, he found himself standing in the unfamiliar corridor, hesitating before toeing off his flip flops and not quite sure he was allowed to be there after all.

And then Levy came bounding from deeper into the flat, smiling his welcome. "Hey, you are quick!" His hands were on a towel around his neck, his hair a mess of dripping curls.

"Didn't wash my hair," Kallen explained.

His teammate grimaced. "Ugh, no, can't shower and not wash my hair. Impossible."

Kallen snorted at his dramatics. "I have dry hair, if I wash it too much, it'd be fluff."

Levy eyed his head consideringly. "I guess I'll forgive it. Come on," he added, already turning. "Kitchen's this way."

He started pulling stuff out of the fridge, peppers of different colours, chicken and corn tortillas, then the spice jars started invading the counter.

"How long is this gonna take?" Kallen asked, and it wasn't until it got him a raised eyebrow from Levy that he realised it was kind of rude. "I just mean, it looks really complicated!"

“It's just fajitas,” Levy insisted, deftly starting to chop an onion, knife flying on the board. “My mum taught me how to make them, much better than the stuff you buy.”

"Oh, you're good at this," he said. "I'd cut a finger off if I tried that."

Levy shook his head, laughing a little. "It's just practice, like everything."

"Um, can I do something?" he asked because he hadn't been raised in a barn.

"Sure, talk to me, what's your favourite food?"

"Steak," Kallen told him at once, leaning against one of the stools by the breakfast bar.

It earned him a snort. "Typical, so what sides?"

"Oh, sweet potato," he admitted a little reluctantly, because he knew it wasn't the healthiest choice.

"Oh, come on!" Levy shot him an indignant look. "You are not feeling guilty aboutsweet potatoes, are you?"

"It's just... It'd be better to have something green. Like, I do, normally, as a second side, but still."

"Fuck off," his teammate told him easily, dropping the onions into a sizzling pan. "You're in great shape."

And it wasn't a compliment, not really, it was afact, but Kallen was still relieved that Levy had to keep his eyes on the peppers.

THEY ATE AT THE BREAKFASTbar. The stools were sturdy enough for men as big as they were, even if sometimes their knees knocked together under the table. Levy didn't seem able to stand still for too long, his hands flying around as he talked, barely pausing to chew his food. And the food was great, the spice combination just hot enough to complement the sweetness of the peppers and onions.

"So how do I compare to steak?" he asked Kallen when he caught him looking towards the counter—Levy had added a green salad with pomegranate seeds to the meal, but Kallen still wanted a third fajita.

Kallen rolled his eyes at his obvious fishing. "Seven," he determined, intentionally lowballing it. "If a steak is a ten."

"Seven?" Levy demanded, leaning heavily into indignation Kallen could tell wasn’t real. "And you wantseconds?"

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