Page 16 of Knot for Me
“I wasn’t sneaking,” I say again, sticking to my lie like peanut butter to the roof of my mouth.
My stomach grumbles again.
“How do you like your room?”
“It’s fine.” I’m really hungry. I don’t have time for small talk, but I don’t want to be too rude to the guy who owns me and can make my life hell if he wants to. “There are a lot of clothes,” I hedge, hoping he’ll spill the beans and tell me who the woman was. Maybe it was his mom or something.
Lucas sticks his hands in his pockets and rocks back on his heels. “Yep. We can get rid of all of them if you want.”
“No one will miss them?” I ask. Honestly, how clueless can you be? Do I need to screamtell me who the fucking woman was alreadyor what?
“Nope.” He gives me a blank look.
Great. They’re not going to tell me anything about these mysterious clothes and their owner. My stomach grumbles again.
He tips his head to the side and listens carefully as my stomach all but belts out the chorus of my favorite song. “When was the last time you ate?”
“Lunch.”
“You’re probably starving. Come on.” Lucas walks toward the kitchen, leaving me standing at the base of the stairs.
I scurry after him. “It’s fine, really. I came down here to get it myself.”
He holds up his hand to stop me, and I snap my mouth closed. “I didn’t ask for the whole story.”
What an alpha dick.
“Sit,” he commands, and my body moves to obey him before I can resist the natural pull his alpha nature has over me.
“What big manners you have,” I grumble, sitting at the island in the large kitchen, watching as he pulls stuff from the refrigerator.
“Is there anything you don’t like?” He ignores my muttering and studies the contents inside the fridge.
“Mayonnaise.”
He tosses me an incredulous look over his shoulder. “Mayonnaise is like God’s gift to earth.”
“It’s disgusting.”
“Your loss,” he says, grabbing a bag of lettuce.
I press my lips together and watch him carefully construct a sandwich, sans the demon spread. He artfully folds the deli meat and layers thin sliced cheese like he’s some sort of sandwich artist. It’s kind of cute though. He’s taking the sandwich making very seriously.
“Lettuce?” He holds up a small piece. I nod, and he adds it to the sandwich. He slices a tomato, adding salt and pepper to the thin pieces before placing them on top of the lettuce. “Here you go.” He adds the top slice of bread and slides the plate toward me. “Eat up.”
The last two words are filled with some of his alpha command.
“I would have devoured it on my own. You don’t have to order me around.”
He rubs his jaw and looks away. “Dinner is usually at six-thirty. We eat at the dining room table as a pack.”
“How very consistent of you,” I observe, taking a bite of the sandwich. “Oh my God,” I half moan the words. Yeah, it’s the cliché moment when the man stops breathing while the woman sings his praises for the food. “The salt and pepper.” I give him a thumbs-up.
Lucas is watching me without smiling. He almost looks annoyed. Is he upset that I like his sandwich? Should I not show my appreciation? I take another bite, this time resisting the urge to tell him how good it is. After a minute, he recovers from his irritation and continues explaining the routine.
“We work Tuesday through Saturday. So you’ll have the house to yourself for the most part on those days.”
“What do you do?” I ask.
