Voices drifted out from deeper in the house. The smell of something sweet baking had my mouth watering already.
“Apparently, Wilder has the oven going. Let’s go see what he cooked you up. I said they needed to put some meat on your bones,” Conrad teased. “Maybe our resident beta took that as a challenge. Word of warning, though. He’s shy.”
I didn’t have it in me to offer him anything more than an eye roll. “That hardly requires a warning.”
The kitchen was full of life when we walked in. The walls were painted a soft yellow, lemon-colored towels hanging from the stove, and there was a burly beta in an apron that matched his surroundings. His shoulder-length hair was layered and styled in messy waves that made it look like he spent his morning on the beach. He had it tucked behind his ears as he slid oven mitts on and pulled open the oven, reaching to grab out a tray of cookies.
They were huge, the kind you’d find in a bakery, and my stomach rumbled.
A smile drifted across his face before he even saw us. He just seemed happy to be in his element.
Conrad practically deposited me onto a stool at the kitchen island and snagged one of the cookies piled on a heaping plate in front of me, biting into it.
A redhead walked in, then froze when his eyes drifted over me. His scent was sharper and clean, still holding that delta electricity. Two deltas on one team. I glanced at Con, but he just gave me a reassuring nod.
“That’s Lennon, resident asshole.”
“Fuck you, man,” Lennon said, running a hand through the red curls on top of his head. “I’m a fucking gentleman.”
Everyone else started laughing. Apparently they disagreed.
“It’s alright. I can handle assholes,” I said. “At least they’re honest. I could use some honesty in my life.”
The surprise on Lennon’s face was almost comical, but he just nodded once, as if he understood where I was coming from, before walking away. Apparently, nodding was the universal hockey player form of communication.
“Ignore him. I promise you’re wanted here,” Kieran said as he tapped the counter in front of Wilder, who seemed to be in his own little world. Wilder startled and looked up at him, eyes widening as he turned around to face me. Maybe he wasn’t just in his own little world; it seemed he couldn’t hear well. I’d have to keep that in mind.
Now the beta, who just looked so peaceful and happy, had nervous sweat breaking out on his brow. His smile was a bit shaky.
“Hi, Lana. I’m Wilder. I wasn’t sure what kind of cookies you liked, so I just made my favorite,” he said. Despite being built like a mountain, his voice was soft and soothing.
“Can I—” I gestured to the plate in front of me.
“Of course,” he said quickly, reaching for the plate to shove it toward me at the same time I went to grab it, forcing me to knock a few off the plate. His cheeks flushed, but I just gently placed them back before taking one for myself. I took a bite, my eyes rolling back at the burst of sweet, rich chocolate and just the right amount of salt to round it out.
“Don’t worry, you’ll win her over with chocolate every time,” Conrad told him, pitching his voice just a bit louder.
Wilder gave me one last quick smile before turning back and moving the new batch of cookies to a cooling rack.
So far, no one was raising any major red flags, including the guy they said was an asshole. There was a big difference between someone who just didn’t connect with people well and people like my exes, who were truly assholes that never saw past their own cocky egos.
The back door slammed open as yet another alpha joined us, several pizza boxes stacked in his arms. His hair was bleached white and styled in that messy way that guys liked to do. I never quite understood the style, but damn, on him, I was here for it.
He was gorgeous. He had a sharp jawline and strong, handsome features. His eyes were an icy blue that was stark against his white hair. I wasn’t sure what it was with my brother’s hockey team, but they wereallattractive.
His serious face split into a friendly smile when he saw me. “There she is, the infamous Lana,” he said. “We heard that you needed to regain some weight you lost over your heat, and I thought pizza would be the perfect carb overload.”
“Aren’t you guys supposed to be athletes?” I teased, finding myself smiling easily at the guy.
“Right you are, sis,” Conrad said as he snagged a box and pried it open, serving me a plate before grabbing his own. “Usually we save this for post games and grueling practices, but none of that matters today.”
“Oh, is it cheat day?” I snarked, falling back into our usual banter. It made me feel normal again.
He narrowed his eyes. “Why don’t you worry about yourself? I’ll worry about me.”
“See, that’s the beauty of living in the hockey house,” the new guy said. “We don’t have our dietitians watching over us.”
I bit back a laugh, and even Conrad chuckled.
