Page 37 of Pack Choice
“Same,” he says, meeting my eyes in the rearview mirror and making me squirm even harder.
Was he dreaming of me? I’m far too agitated to be able to resist the temptation of asking.
“Couldn’t you sleep?”
“No,” he says. So no dreams. My heart sinks a little and I berate it for being such a silly sap. “I had too much on my mind,” he adds, his gaze darkening, his expression making me gulp.
I take a bite of bagel. “What was on your mind?” I ask all innocently.
If he says me, then I’m not entirely sure how I’ll react. The way I’m feeling today – a mess of emotions and hormones – it is highly likely I’ll be climbing right over the seats and into his lap.
I give myself an imaginary slap around the face. Pull yourself together, girl, and drag your mind out of the gutter. This is not how things are going to go down.
As soon as I get home, I’m fishing Ava’s notes out of the trash and I’m going to ask her to set me up on a date with one of those Pack Sensibles (if they’ll agree). In fact, I ought to call Bea and have her fish the notes out now before they’re thrown away permanently.
However, I’m obviously imagining all the tension in this car, because the alpha doesn’t say me. All he says is, “lots of things.”
Probably bills, and his exercise regime (which must be extensive), maybe even an ex. I bet he has plenty of exes.
Pack Sensible probably never worry about bills. I bet they have pensions sorted and all their paperwork filed neatly. I guarantee they’re never late for work.
“We’re here,” Ford says, jerking me out of my reverie to find we’re parked up and the car engine has already been cut.
“Great, thank you,” I say, pulling on the handle, only to find it locked. He smirks at me. “Child locks,” I mutter with a scowl.
He takes his time climbing out of the front seat, walking around to fetch my Tupperware box from the trunk and then, finally, opening my door. He holds out his hand to help me out.
“I’m not a child,” I grumble at him.
“It’s precautionary,” he tells me. “Just doing my job.”
“Asshole,” I say, holding out my arms to take the Tupperware box. He shakes his head. “I can carry it myself.”
“All part of the service.”
I roll my eyes and set off at pace, a pace he matches easily without having to try. In fact, if anything, he seems to have to take deliberately small steps so as not to go marching on ahead of me.
It’s early in the city, a lot of the office blocks lying in darkness, very little traffic snaking along the streets and the sidewalks almost empty.
That doesn’t stop the only other person out walking this morning, a woman wrapped in a raincoat, from colliding straight into me, barging against my shoulder and causing me to topple backwards. Ford drops my Tupperware immediately, catching me in his arms as I topple towards the concrete. I grab onto his arms to steady myself, feeling strong muscle beneath my fingertips, and blink up into his face.
“Whoops, sorry,” I giggle.
Ford obviously doesn’t find the situation amusing. His face is all business. “Are you okay, Omega? Are you harmed at all?”
“I’m fine,” I say, “I didn’t even land on the ground.” He places me up on my feet and his eyes rush over my body, his hands following. “I assume you’re checking for injuries,” I say, his hands feeling awfully nice on my body – far too nice, “or are you taking advantage of the opportunity to grope me?”
He ignores my comments. “She didn’t hurt you?”
“No. Ford, no, I’m fine.”
With his hand tight around my arm, his gaze dashes down the street. “She’s gone.”
“Who? That woman? It was an accident, Ford. And I’m fine.”
“Hmmm,” he ponders, not letting me go. “Let’s get you inside.”
“My cakes,” I screech as he frog marches me towards the entrance.
