Page 59 of Pack Rivals: Part Two
“I’m just going to leave these here,” he says quietly, not turning around to look up at me through the window. “You don’t have to talk to me.”
He’s right. I don’t. But I decide I want to anyway.
Tying my gown tight around my body, I walk over to the backdoor, unlock it and step out onto the porch.
The night’s air is much cooler than the stuffy air inside, and it sweeps against my face and ruffles my hair and my gown.
Nate doesn’t look my way, just waits, forearms resting on his knees as he gazes out towards the ocean, the moon painting it a pale white.
I come and sit next to him on the step, and watch as the moon’s reflection ripples with the water.
“Thank you for the food,” I say after a while. “There’s been a lot of it. You must be spending all your time cooking.”
“I haven’t been able to sleep.”
“Me neither,” I admit and he glances towards me.
“Because of us?” he asks. He looks like a puppy that got beaten. It’s those eyes of his. I realize he’s the one I will have trouble staying mad at most.
Perhaps I ought to run back inside and lock the door.
“Not just you,” I say truthfully, “although, I suppose, your packs are a big part of it.” I straighten my legs and try not to notice his eyes straying that way. “What’s in the box?”
He shuffles on his backside and I swear this tough, pretty terrifying, alpha actually blushes right in front of my very eyes. He mumbles something I don’t hear.
“What?” I say.
“Ljkhlhljh,” he mumbles again.
“Nate,” I laugh, “what’s in the box?”
“Nothing,” he says, lunging for it and trying to drag it away.
“Well, now I’m extra curious. Hand it over.”
“No, you can open after I’m gone.”
“Oh my god, what is it?”
He glares at me.
“Please?” I say, fluttering my eyelashes.
“For fuck’s sake,” he mutters, handing it over.
I lift it onto my lap and carefully peel back the flaps.
Nate jumps to his feet and starts to pace.
“It’s really bad,” he says, glimpsing my way.
I unfold the last flap but it’s dark in the box and I have to shuffle around into the security light to see what’s sitting in the base.
“A cake!” I squeak. “You baked me a cake.”
It doesn’t look like a very level cake, and the top is covered in so much pink frosting I think I’d lose a tooth if I ate it. It’s also decorated with a shit ton of candy and in the center in red frosting is a wobbly heart.
“I couldn’t get the heart thing in the middle to work,” he says, waving his finger in my direction. “I followed a YouTube video but fuck me those pipe things–”
