The red-haired alpha freezes like he’s been caught mid-crime. He’s hunched over the biggest sandwich I’ve ever seen, hands suspended on either side, trying to keep it from toppling over.
“Tadeo’s making breakfast,” I remind him, crossing my arms.
“I’m making a snack,” he says, completely unbothered. “I need something to tide me over.” He licks a smear of mayo off his thumb.
“A snack?” I eye the mountain on the counter. There’s at least half a pound of lunch meat stacked between three slices of bread, two kinds of cheese, half a tomato, a pile of onions, lettuce, and a fried egg sliding out the side. “That’sthreefucking meals. Tadeo’s gonna be pissed you didn’t wait.”
“It’ll be fine,” Alex smirks and pats his bare stomach. His cut abs flex under his hand.Showoff. “I’m a growing boy. I can eat two breakfasts.”
I give him a flat look. “You’re almost forty.”
“Still younger than you, old man.” He winks, smug as hell.
“By barely a year.” I snort, grabbing a mug from the drying rack and pouring myself some coffee from the half-full pot someone left on the burner. It’s lukewarm, slightly burnt, and perfect. I take a sip and sigh. “Where’s Tadeo, anyway?” I glance at the unused stove. “Is he trying to get out of breakfast duty?”
“He left with Dakota about an hour ago.” Alex shrugs, carrying his sandwich to the tiny kitchen table. He plops into a chair, shoving the broken carburetor for his bike to one side.
“Great,” I mutter. “No breakfast.”
“I’d offer you some of my sandwich,” Alex smirks as he picks it up and takes an enormous bite, “but I wouldn't want to tempt you. It would upset Tadeo too much.”
“Fuck off,” I say with a snort.
Alex flips me off with a grin, then grabs a paper towel and wipes his mouth. “Also, the screen door is about to fall off its hinges again.” He takes another bite. “I might need your help this time,” he mumbles through his mouthful of food.
“No problem.” I walk to the fridge and open it wide. The light flickers weakly. There’s a questionable jar of salsa, a single lime, and an egg carton with maybe one egg rattling inside. I shut it again and lean against the counter. “This place is a damn frat house.”
“A high-functioning frat house,” Alex says proudly.
“Barely.”
He shrugs again and chews. “We have food. We have walls. We have hot water—most days. What more do we need?”
“Hey hey!” Dakota’s bright voice drifts from the front room, followed by the thud of Tadeo’s heavier footsteps. “We have breakfast!”
My face breaks into a wide smile. That beta’s voice always sounds so bright, like he won something—or stole it and got away with it.
Alex perks up too, licking his fingers clean and setting aside the last half of his monstrous sandwich. “Thank goodness,” he yells out. “I’m starving.”
I can’t help but laugh.
Dakota bursts into the kitchen first, arms full of paper bags, wearing yesterday’s hoodie and basketball shorts. His short hair sticks out in wild, chestnut-brown tufts like he’d styled it with a blender.
Behind him, Tadeo steps in, more composed. Crisp jeans. Simple button-down, sleeves rolled enough to show off the lean muscle of his forearms. He’s carrying a bakery box like it holds sacred treasure, and honestly, it kind of does.
“That smells good,” I say, stepping forward.
“Don’t touch it yet,” Tadeo warns, holding the box up and out of reach like a mom protecting a birthday cake. “Let me at least set it down before you savages rip it open.”
“Don’t be dramatic,” Dakota chirps, shouldering past him and setting a few grocery bags on the stovetop. “It’s not a bomb. It’s magdalonas.”
“Magdalena,” Tadeo corrects softly, his Spanish accent slipping just slightly on the word. It adds a smooth, rollingedge that always makes Alex’s ears twitch. “Say it with respect.”
“Whatever you say, Papí,” Alex says with a grin, and I swear the air shifts with the change in Tadeo’s face.
The second Tadeo looks across the room at Alex, his mouth tightens.
Our red-haired alpha is chewing again.
