Page 28 of Perfectly Naïve
Ah. Those two minutes made you so mature.
Grinning, I lock my phone screen and set it aside. I preheat the griddle and toss on some butter before pulling a couple packages of bacon out of the fridge. They sizzle as I add them to one side before ladling enough batter to create large, fluffy pancakes on the other.
The sweet scent of vanilla and blueberries begins to fill the room and, despite my exhaustion, my annoyance fades. It’s the weekend, I have no plans, don’t need to work, and soon enough, I’ll interrogate Sawyer and learn the name of my sweet-smelling torturer. Then I’ll do some light internet stalking—I mean, sleuthing—and find a way to bump into the delectable creature so I can taste her myself.
Pep restored to my step, I grin and hum my favorite K-pop song. The sizzle of the bacon and the burble of percolating coffee provide a base track.
I’m so lost in my head, and loudly humming, that I don’t hear Sawyer’s soft footfalls until he’s five steps behind me. I don’t even bother turning around before starting in on him.
“Rise and shine, asswipe. You’ll need to carbo-load. If the scent of the omega in the living room is anything to go by, you burned a lot of energy last night.”
I expect to be smacked upside the head. So when my words are met with a sharp little intake of breath and a soft, “eep,”I spin around and come face-to-face with an angel. A rumpled, bed-headed angel in fancy pajamas, holding a notebook and pen?
Her long, brunette hair is tangled on one side, like she rolled around a bit before finally getting comfortable enough to fall asleep. Her golden skin is flushed and still has pillow lines on it that I want to trace with my fingers. She has a sloped little nose and a heart-shaped face that frames two wide, cinnamon-brown eyes, which are trained on me.
It takes a moment for my brain to kick back online, but when it does, I school my shocked features into my most charming smile. The one my brother simultaneously hates and loves. Hates, because he gets annoyed that socializing comes so easily to me when it’s so very unnatural for him. Loves, because he benefits from the way my smiles and charm get beautiful women into both our beds.
I wantthispretty omega in my bed.
Inhaling, I’m just able to catch that tantalizing vanilla and honey scent that kept me up all night. I was right; it blends perfectly with the blueberry pancakes that are rising on the griddle.
And now I’m feeling very hungry. “Well, hello there, sweetness.”
The gorgeous omega bites her bottom lip as she continues to study me. Her head tilts slightly, and I have the unsettling impression that she’s cataloging every visible and invisible thing about me. Taking my measure. Finally, she shakes her head, as if to clear it, and a pretty pink blush spreads across her cheeks. “Hi.”
“Apologies for calling you an asswipe. I thought you were someone else.”
She snort-giggles at that, then her eyes go wide as she covers the lower half of her face with both hands. Cute.
“I’m Wilder. Sawyer’s sexier, more talented, and better-in-bed packmate.” I extend my tattooed hand and grin when the pretty omega studies the ink that adorns it with admiration and curiosity.
“Did you know that the oldest tattoo ever recorded was from a mummy found in the mountains of Italy dating back 5,300 years ago? Scientists suspect the tattoos were done for medical purposes because the ink was found around traditional acupuncture points. There have been quite a few studies that show the efficacy of acupuncture as a therapeutic means of pain management. So when people talk about tattoo therapy, they’re really not that far off from the truth, anthropologically speaking.”
The words tumble out of the pretty brunette’s mouth with such speed, I’m not sure she even blinks as she schools me on the history of tattooing and pain management from an anthropological standpoint. It’s fucking adorable and completely unexpected. I’m used to women eyeing the vast expanse of ink across my body and coming to their own conclusions—usually deciding I must be fun in bed—but this is a new one.
Who is this omega?
“I did not know that,” I reply with a slow smile, noting that her eyes have traveled from my hand to my bare chest and the intricate black-and-gray scene etched into my flesh. It’s a depiction of several Greek gods locked in an eternal power struggle. It took quite a few days of long sessions to complete, and it’s one of my most elaborate pieces.
Her eyes snap to mine as I chuckle, pink once again staining her cheeks when she realizes she’s staring and still hasn’t taken my offered hand. With another little squeak, she places her palm in mine and gives it three quick shakes before dropping it. I swear a tingle starts in my fingers and shoots all the way up my arm before diffusing through my chest.
Clearing my throat, I gesture to the breakfast I’m cooking before flipping the pancakes, which are now bubbly and thick. “Are you hungry? There’s plenty.”
I know I am. I suddenly find myself ravenous.I want to take a bite out of the sexy brainiac standing in my kitchen in pajamas that look like they’re from some high-end resort, and not the kind of thing a woman in her twenties would be wearing in our little house. But she seems a little skittish for that, so I’ll have to settle for pancakes. This time.
“Oh, um, I don’t know . . .”
I press a hand to my chest, as if I’m offended. “Are you worried that I can’t cook? Because I assure you, even I can’t mess up pancakes and bacon.” I wince, remembering the first time I tried to make breakfast for my mom and my siblings when I was a kid while our dads were on a fishing trip for the weekend. “At least, I haven’t messed them up since I was ten years old and accidentally switched the sugar with salt.”
She giggles again, taking a step closer to me, her eyes on the fluffy pancakes as I lift them off the griddle and put them on a plate to the side before ladling more onto the hot surface. She inhales deeply, closing her eyes like she’s savoring the scent of the food. Like it’s the best thing she’s smelled in ages. As I get a hit of her own sweet scent, I have to agree.
“Is there caramel in the pancakes?” she asks.
I have to clear my throat. “Uh, no. There’s not.”
“Oh.” Her gaze lifts to meet mine. She takes another step toward me, bringing her close enough that the fabric of her sleep shirt brushes against the bare skin of my abs, making me shiver. “Oh, that’s you. Wow.”
Fuck. Me.
