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“Breakfast might be nice. Or brunch,” Oscar says. “I’m not sure what time it is.”
Cheryl nods, and leans in to hug his head to her chest. “I’ll bring you breakfast.”
She lets go and he slumps back in the bed.
He doesn’t look happy to be there, not like yesterday morning when we couldn’t drag him out until Cheryl suggested a whole night of sexy fun on their own together. Doesn’t look like any of us will be making the same request anytime soon.
She moves toward me, and I lose my breath.
That dress. She looks like a goddess in it. Nyx, maybe. Sultry and mysterious in dark colors, and capable of possessing any man she sets her sights on. I’m lucky I’m one of the men she chose. The first one, I like to remind Oscar, to knock him down a peg when he’s in bragging-mode.
“I’m pretty sure we only have oatmeal,” she says as she gets to my side. “But I have a surprise to make it taste like whatever you want.”
Oscar raises an eyebrow. “You can make it not taste like cardboard sludge?”
She nods, and I do the same. Her magic salt is something we’ve kept between us, but if it’ll cheer Oscar up even just a little, I’m happy to have the secret spilled.
“Just don’t get used to it,” I tell him. “It’s like ice-cream. You’ll want more but it’s only meant as an occasional treat.”
“Don’t worry,” he says. “I don’t have an addictive streak a mile long.”
He’s actually joking. I can’t help the smile that breaks out.
“You’ll definitely get addicted,” I tell him, glancing at Cheryl. “You’d better start making double batches.”
She nods, kissing my cheek before she leaves the room.
“Anything for my boys.”
“Well, we can tell who the favorite is now,” Oscar tells me. “Special treats and a color she wears just for you?”
“Nah,” I tell him. “You’re the one she shoved the rest of us out of the house to spend the night alone with.”
He rolls his eyes. “Extenuating circumstances.”
Right. Don’t bring the tone down, moron. He’s coming out of his depressive state. Try not to push him straight back in again.
“You’ll like the salt. It can make anything taste like anything else.”
He narrows his eyes at me suddenly. “Hey. Is that why you’ve been off the junk food lately? Because Cheryl can make salads taste like hotdogs? You’ve been using her magic to get buff. That’s cheating.”
“Busted,” I mutter. “It was easier than giving up burgers and nachos. I’m not addicted. It’s just a convenience thing.”
And I might slightly be lying to myself on that one.
Shit. I thought of it as harmless. It’s a fucking addiction.
“Oh, yeah, right,” Oscar tells me. “Like smoking’s not an appetite suppressant and drinking doesn’t make you forget.”
“I’ll give up the salt,” I snap. “If you just shut up about it.”
“Moody. You need some real junk food. That’s your problem.”
“No. I had some last night. If I’m cranky it’s because I barely slept.”
This is more like normal. I’m relieved as much as I’m agitated when Oscar continues to goad me.
Keeping him distracted while Everett meets with the other pack’s Alpha seems like the best idea.
