Page 16 of In Stockings
I stare at them. Their gazes flick between Lyra and me.
“What’s she been saying?” Samson asks, narrowing his eyes.
“Nothing,” I say, grabbing the wine and taking a big gulp.
“Lyra?” Samson says, squatting down, so their faces are level.
“I said she was pretty,”
She hooks her arms around his neck and kisses his cheek.
“Ahhh, she is,” Samson says.
I very nearly drop the wine.
Am I actually living out my teenage fantasy? How many times did I imagine Samson Peters, with his midnight eyes and his lush dark hair, leaning against my locker, gazing into my eyes, and telling me I was pretty?
Three pairs of alpha eyes are all focussing my way again, eyes that seem heated. It’s a little overwhelming and mind-blowing all at once.
We’re all silent, and then the track changes, and the ambient music of Bing flips toRockin’ Around the Christmas Tree,by Brenda Lee.
Lyra jumps up and down, nearly knocking Samson over. Then she lunges for me, grabbing my hands and swinging them from side to side as she bounces on the spot.
“Let’s dance,” she shouts.
I am not the worst dancer, but I’m not the best either, and my standard of dancing rapidly decreases when I have an audience watching. Especially when that audience is made up exclusively of insanely hot alphas.
Lyra, though, is the perfect partner. She doesn’t allow me to shuffle around mutely. She has me swinging her around and copying her crazy moves.
Soon, my cheeks are rosy with joy, and I’m laughing so hard my stomach aches. And the alphas, they’re not watching anymore. I’m being spun around by Archie, swung into the air by Samson, and Craig has a hold of my waist in a conga chain.
We dance straight through one track, and the next and the next, finally collapsing onto the sofa breathless when the track switches to a Christmas carol.
“No! More!” Lyra demands, spinning again and making her skirt billow out around her skinny legs.
“I’m all out of breath, Lyra,” I plead.
“Here, you dance for us, and we’ll watch,” Samson suggests, hooking his arm over the back of the sofa, so it rests just behind my neck.
As Lyra pirouettes across the room, I have the urge to snuggle up against Samson’s side and rest my feet in Craig’s lap.
I inch a little closer towards Samson, and his arm drops lower on the back of the sofa, and I’m so near to touching him…when three phones start blaring simultaneously.
Samson snatches his arm away and snaps up straight, digging out his phone. Archie’s already strolling out of the room with the phone to his ear, and Craig is tapping away on his screen. In the next moment, all three have gone.
Lyra collapses down on the floor with a dissatisfied, “Awww.” She sits cross-legged on the rug, her elbows resting on her knees and her chin in her hands.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, shuffling towards the edge of the sofa.
“It’ll be their work.”
Craig strolls in a second later, cutting the music. “A block of flats is on fire. We’ve got to go. I’m going to call our cousin to watch Lyra. I’m sorry to cut our party short, Astrid.”
“Nooooo!” Lyra sobs from the floor.
Craig scoops her up, but she won’t look at him. Gently, he hooks his thumb under her chin and brings her gaze to meet his.
“I’m sorry, sugar lump. I promise we’ll make it up to you. But your daddies have to go and help people now.”
