Page 22 of In Stockings
A set of towels is piled neatly on top of a dresser, and I peel off my ruined knickers and my sweaty dress and creep out into the hallway.
I’m pretty sure I must smell like catnip to any alpha present, and while I like that idea a lot, firing up three alphas doesn’t seem like a good idea when we can’t do anything about it.
Downstairs I can hear the chirpy sounds of kids’ cartoons as well as low growly voices murmuring.
I duck into the bathroom and take a hot shower, soaping away all the slick between my thighs.
Being in their bathroom feels intimate. Of course I’d done a little snooping last night, opening all the kitchen cabinets and the fridge, and examining all the pictures on the walls. However, I restrained myself from entering their bedrooms or bathroom, even though it had been severely tempting. Especially when their scents had crept under closed doors into my nostrils, tempting me to enter.
Bright pink bottles of kids’ shampoo and bubble bath are stacked up along the edge of the bath as well as several darker bottles of men’s body wash, all scentless. They smell good enough as it is, after all.
On the shelf by the mirror is a can of shaving foam, a razor, a comb and beard care products.
When I’ve washed, I climb out and wrap myself in a huge unicorn towel and creep back to the bedroom.
I’m at a loss as to what to wear. Certainly not my damn underwear from last night. I open a couple of the drawers in the dresser and am relieved to find several neatly folded t-shirts and a couple of pairs of shorts.
They belong to the alphas, so, of course, they swamp me when I try some on but, hey, they’ve already seen me in the elf outfit, so it can’t get much worse than that.
I climb down the stairs and head for the kitchen, hoping I’ll find the pack in there.
I jolt with surprise when I actually find an older woman, an apron tied around her waist, frying eggs at the stove.
Her gaze springs to me in the doorway.
“Oh!” she says with clear surprise. “I didn’t know the boys had a guest over.”
I open and close my mouth, unable to form a sensible response. I peer down at my oversized outfit, knowing exactly what conclusions this woman is going to draw. The elf costume may have been better.
“I’m Craig’s mum. Lyra’s granny. I’m cooking her some breakfast.”
“Nice to meet you,” I say, hesitating before entering the kitchen. “Can I help?”
“You can pass me the eggs from the fridge. I guess I need to cook one more.”
“Thank you,” I say. I’m not exactly hungry, but I’m too scared to turn down her offer.
I wonder if this is a regular thing. The alphas seem a bit old to have their mum still turning up to cook for them.
As if she can read my thoughts, she says, “I heard about the big blaze overnight and knew the boys would have spent their night fighting it. I’ve sent them back to bed to sleep, and I’m taking Lyra off their hands for the day. Poor loves are always whacked out after such a big job.” I remember how tired they looked last night. “And you are?”
“TwinkleToes!” comes an excited voice from behind me as Lyra skips into the kitchen. “She’s one of Santa’s helpers, Granny. We met her at Santa's grotto.”
“I used to go to school with the boys,” I offer up. “I looked after Lyra last night when they got called out.”
The older woman inspects my face. “I don’t recognise you.”
“Oh, we didn’t hang out back then.”
“Right … but you hang out now?” She slides a plastic spatula beneath a rubbery egg and slides it on top of a waiting piece of toast. “Here you are, Lyra. Take it to the table.”
“Yes, TwinkleToes hung out with us last night. She helped me decorate the tree.”
Lyra’s granny hands me a plate. “Thank you,” I say. “I’m Astrid, by the way.”
She smiles. “Well, that’s a relief.”
She sits at the table next to Lyra, and I sit opposite her. I’m very aware I’m not wearing a bra but thanking every god I took that shower.
