Page 42 of Fourth Base with the Alpha
“I might die?”
“I’m telling you, this taco is going to be seriously hot. I’m not sure someone as pale as you can handle that much spice.”
“I told you, I can handle it.”
“Okay then, but if you do die, you aren’t allowed to hold me responsible. No coming back and haunting me.”
“Trust me, I have a list of people I’d be haunting before you,” he says darkly.
“Sounds intriguing.” I lean forward on my elbows. “Who?”
“My first music teacher. I nearly gave up playing bass because of that shithead.”
“Why, what did he do?”
“Made me play the same piece over and over and over.”
“Isn’t that how you get good at music?”
“And how you kill a child’s enjoyment of it. I used to do my own thing and then he’d rat me out to my parents and my dad would lecture me about paying for lessons and why was he bothering if I wasn’t taking it seriously.”
“His money paid off in the end though.” I pierce my straw through its paper wrapper and dip it into my horchata, stirring it around. “He must be proud of you.”
“My dad isn’t proud of any of us. We’re all failures in his eyes.”
“What? You’re one of the world’s biggest rock stars!” I whisper-shriek over the table at him. “My mom’s proud of me simply for fake-dating you.”
“That’s the way my father is.” He unscrews the lid off his mineral water and takes a long chug. “He’s miserable about everything and everyone in the world.”
The server calls our number and Hunter strolls over to pick up our food, talking to the server for a moment and finally autographing his receipt.
He drops my basket in front of me and I examine the contents of my taco before adding salsa roja.
“I thought you said it was hot – you’re adding more hot sauce?”
“I like my tastebuds tingling when I eat.”
Hunter picks up the sauce and adds some to his own. I rest my elbows on the table and watch him. Then he lifts the taco between his big hands and takes a giant bite. I wait. He chews, with a nonchalant expression on his face which slowly transforms. His pale skin flushes, his eyes water and a film of sweat breaks out across his forehead.
“Are you okay, Alpha?”
He shrugs and nods, trying not to show me how fast he’s chewing.
“Do you want some water?”
He shakes his head, his jaw rotating overtime and then he swallows, swiping a serviette across his mouth.
“Not too hot?” I ask him.
“No, I don’t know what all the fuss is about.”
I laugh and then take a bite of my own taco. It’s definitely hot and I even need a few mouthfuls of my drink to stop my mouth from sizzling up. But he’s not going to admit it. He keeps chewing away, looking like it’s some form of torture.
“You’re very stubborn,” I comment, pulling on my straw. “You can tell me the truth. I won’t think any less of you. I promise I won’t even tell anyone.”
He shakes his head with a stern expression. “It’s not hot.”
I’m only half way through my taco, when he slumps back in his seat, his empty basket resting triumphantly in front of him, and downs the rest of his water.
