“Just some grilled cheeses and tomato soup.”
“Oh, my favorite,” I said, doing a little excited clap. For a moment he almost smirked, but he hid it quickly. He was determined not to like me.
“How about this? You cook, I boss you around,” I offered. “Then you can take all the credit.”
“They’re going to know. I’m not exactly known for food that’s edible,” he argued.
“And yet you tried anyway.” His head fell back and he looked at the ceiling as if he were praying for a break from my insanity. Unfortunately for him, I was already set on this, and he mentioned my favorite food. There was no way I was letting this go now.
“First things first, do you have an immersion blender?”
He stared at me blankly until I rolled my eyes and started sorting through the pantry and drawers, trying to find what I was looking for. It didn’t take me long to find something that would do. He looked skeptical but curious, when I pulled out the regular blender and set it on the counter. It wasn’t exactly an immersion blender, but close enough.
As I moved through the kitchen, I couldn’t help stealing glances at the delta. He was gorgeous, but he had more walls up than I did. Deltas weren’t new to me, but everyone had their own opinions on them.
Lennon was definitely my type. He was muscled and strong, and downright gorgeous with his freckles and copper hair. He wasn’t as bulky as Wilder or the other alphas, but he had that signature delta build.
There was a dusting of freckles over his nose and down his forearms. I bit my lip to keep myself from staring too much. The hint of pain grounded me enough to focus on my task of gathering ingredients.
I wasn’t sure what he knew about culinary skills, but he was about to learn.
“I thought we were making grilled cheese and tomato soup,” he argued. “Why do you have actual tomatoes out?”
“It’s almost like the main ingredient in tomato soup is—” I gasped dramatically. “Tomatoes.”
“Ha ha. Wise ass.” His glare lost heat this time, and I did a little mental victory dance. “Are you going to make your own tomato soup?”
“No,” I said, raising an eyebrow in defiance. “You are. It’s so much better.”
“Lana… look,” he said, clearly startled.
“Just deal with it. This is beginner friendly, and I get to boss around by my very own private chef. Would you really deny methis? I’m recovering, remember.” I put on my best pout that had him throwing up his hands.
“Oh, now she doesn’t want independence.”
“I do, but I also want to eat,” I argued.
“Sure. And Idefinitelywon’t give you food poisoning.” He deadpanned.
“You won’t.” The confidence in my voice had him shaking his head.
Then I went into full drill-sergeant mode. “Grab the tomatoes. I want you to slice them in half, then half again, longways.”
Despite what he claimed about his lack of cooking skills, the man at least knew how to use a knife. He got lucky because the only garlic they had was a paste, so he didn’t have to smell like garlic for hours afterward.
I settled on a stool at the kitchen island, ready to watch as I instructed him on how to cut an onion. It was probably the most entertainment I’d had in a long time.
His eyes were burning and watering, and he kept shooting me glares that just looked pathetic with tears streaming down his face.
“What the fuck kind of torture are you putting me through? You’re taking pleasure in this, aren’t you, omega? I always knew you guys were sadistic.”
“I am not. This is part of cooking. Everyone needs to know how to cut onions.”
“Everyone except me, apparently,” he grumbled.
“Who did the cooking when you grew up?” Asking about his past could backfire, but I wanted to know more about all of them. I was slowly getting pieces of their pasts, compiling them in my mind, committing the details to memory.
I could lie and say it was all for revenge. They knew my shitty past, and I needed to know theirs in exchange.
