Page 41 of Fourth Base with the Alpha
“I’ll manage. Besides, you can carry me again if necessary. It was a big hit with your fans last time.”
His fingers stiffen slightly in my hand and I wonder if I’ve offended him.
“What do you mean?”
“I was doing my moderation duty onThe Packfansite this morning. Someone’s posted a video of you carrying me out of the Stellar Theater and they’re all going gaga for it.”
“Right.”
“Can I ask you something, Dumpling?” I ask, not liking the way his shoulders are all taut now. “Are you happy with this relationship?”
“What?” he gasps, almost tripping over his feet.
I giggle at him. “Communication is important in a relationship. Even a fake one. So I wanted to check in. Are you happy? Is there anything I’m doing as your fake-girlfriend that you find annoying?”
He gapes at me as if I need to take a trip to the looney bin. Then he frowns slightly.
“Why? HaveIdone something to irritateyou?”
“No! I wasn’t saying it because of that. Shit, that’s some passive aggressive bullshit I’m not down for. But if there’s anything I’m–”
“I’m happy with how things are going,” he says a little stiffly.
“I don’t talk too much or sniff in a weird way that makes you want to strangle me?”
“We’ve been fake-dating a week and a half. Ask me again in a week and by then I might have discovered all your irritating habits.”
“Of course we both know I don’t have any, obviously.”
“Not even the sniffing?”
“You’ll find the sniffing adorable.”
We round a corner, off the main road and down one of the side streets. There’s a small line of shops I’ve never found before, including a small taco bar in the center.
“I figured you like tacos.”
“You’d figure right. But are they any good here?”
“Good enough. You willing to risk it?”
“You tore me away from my beloved sandwich. I’m dying of hunger. At this stage I’d probably eat anything, even the sloppy stuff from last night.”
We join the line and when we reach the front, I order first – beef barbacoa taco with extra chiles.
“I’ll have the same,” Hunter tells the server.
“Are you sure?” I ask him. “That shit is pretty spicy.”
“I can handle it,” he tells me, paying for our food and collecting our ticket.
We grab a table on the pavement, ignoring the people staring at us or attempting to take our photo on the sly. It’s difficult, pretending they’re not there. I wonder how he’s put up with it all these years.
“I’m worried this replacement date is going to go even worse than yesterday’s,” I say, plucking napkins from the box on the table and spreading one across my knees.
“Why?”
“You might die.”
