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Well… I guess that stops me from having to say it back. Do I want to? Do I love him? It’s too early, right? You can’t love someone that fast.
But it’s different for fated mates…The voice inside my head screams at me. And maybe I didn’t feel it last week. But accepting it, listening to Dr. Tanner earlier, and seeing the test results, it’s like I know in my soul that they were sent to me directly from the Goddess.
Maybe he won’t even remember telling me. That’s probably it. It was a post-orgasmic, half-asleep confession. He’ll wake up in the morning and not have any recollection. With that semi-depressing thought, I lay back on his chest to wait for his knot to deflate and fall asleep.
Seven
Summer
“Hey,pretty girl. Time to wake up.” Someone is shaking my shoulder. I try to lift my head to look at him–to turn my body at all–I really do, but I can’t. Each of my limbs feels like they’re strapped down to the bed, my eyelids are so heavy I can’t even crack them, and to top it off, my lower back hurts. Overall, I’d say getting hit by a truck and then rolling down a steep, rocky hill in a tire would feel better than this. All I can offer him is a groan. Not the fun kind, either.
“I know. I’m sorry. But Houston is waiting in the kitchen for you. You’ve gotta get up and get ready, or you’ll be late for work.” His voice is soft as he brushes his fingers gently through my hair. Somehow, I manage to crack an eye open and peek up at my mate. The smile he gives me is soft, sweet, and understanding. Which melts me. But he also looks wide awake, which has me wanting to grumble at him to go away.
“Come on, up and at ‘em,” he laughs, grabs both my hands, and pulls me into an upright position. He’s standing off to the side of the bed, so instead of getting up, I use the opportunity to procrastinate getting ready for just a little longer. I wind my arms around his middle and rest my head on his chest, breathing in his sandalwood and orange scent. It wraps around me like a soft blanket, as do Hudson’s arms. Nothing about his comfort and warmth makes me want to get up. Which must occur to Hudson, too, because in the next breath, he has me shooting out of bed to get ready for work.
“I sure do love you, you know that?” His warm, raspy laugh follows me all the way down the hall to the bathroom, where I spend the next fifteen minutes hiding from him and taking a quick shower before work.
“Summer? Can I come in?” Brooklyn’s voice is barely audible over the shower and through the closed door.
“Yeah!” I shout back and turn to shut the water off. The door creaks as it opens, and the sharp tapping on the tile tells me she’s already dressed for work and in her heels. I wrap the towel around my body that I hung over the rod and then open the curtain. In one of her arms are slacks and a dress shirt, and dangling from her other hand is the singular pair of black heels I own and the purse I take to work that usually has a manuscript or two in it.
“I figured you’d be in a hurry. The rest of your clothes have already been hung in the closet in your nest. We really need to take you shopping, by the way. You’ve got next to nothing in there.” She places the clothes on the bathroom countertop and leans her hip against it, facing me. Today she’s in a tight, knee-length burgundy pencil skirt with a white button-up. The sleeves are rolled artfully up to just below her elbow, and her heels are the same burgundy color as her skirt. I’ve never seen anything or anyone more beautiful than Brooklyn. It makes my heart race just looking at her. But instead of acting on my attraction–it’s not like I’ve got the time this morning–I focus on her words.
“I don’t need to go shopping. I’ve learned to make do with less these past few months, and it hasn’t been bad.” I shrug.
“Well, if you truly don’t want to get new things, I won’t badger you about it. But if you’re just being stubborn because you don’t want to spend our money, then you should know that our money is your money. Not only by law since you’re our mate but also because you’re our family. I already called Renee to get you added to our will and had your name put on all of our accounts. Your card should be delivered in the next week or so.” I stand there with my jaw touching the ground, gaping like a fish, and trying to come up with something to say.
But I can’t.
She grins, a toothy, self-satisfied smile, and walks over while I’m still standing there mute. Her finger tilts my chin up, and she plants a quick kiss on my lips before turning around and walking out, leaving me to get ready alone.
When I walk into the kitchen ten minutes later, hair thrown up in a neat bun and work clothes on, Houston is standing in the kitchen talking to Mason. Or rather, Mason is chattering away while flipping pancakes, and Houston stands near him with a mug of coffee in his hand, listening. None of my other mates, Wells or Damien, are anywhere else to be found.
“Hey!” Mason half yells when he sees me. “Pancakes?” I shake my head, opting for a banana out of the fruit bowl they keep on the kitchen island.
“Sorry, I’m in a hurry this morning,” I explain as he pouts at me. I walk up to him and give him a kiss on his cheek as he flips another pancake, to which he leans down slightly to give me better access.
“Are you ready, ma’am?” Houston confirms, sets his mug in the sink, and turns to me.
“Summer,” I correct. “Yes, I’m ready.”
“Wait, at least take a protein bar for breakfast,” Mason says as he walks to the pantry, leaving a pancake unattended in the pan, and rummages around until he pulls out a chocolate chip breakfast bar. I take it to appease him, not sure I’ll eat it until closer to lunchtime, but it makes him happy, and my omega preens at the caring gesture.
The drive to work with Houston is a little awkward. I try to get him talking. About anything. I ask questions about his family, how long he’s worked with Wells and Damien, what his favorite flipping color is, and even if he’s got a pack or mate. All I get in return are one-word responses and grunts of confirmation or denial if my questions are yes or no in nature. I do my best not to take it personally. His job is to protect me, not be my friend. But it does frustrate me a little.
My phone pings. I rummage around in my purse for a minute before pulling it out. It’s a text from Hudson.
Hudson
Have a great day at work, pretty girl.
The frustration lifts, and a smile stretches across my face. Before I can even begin to type a response, another one comes through.
Hudson
Oh, and I love you.
For some reason, I turn my phone away from Houston instinctively and try to hide my blush. There’s nothing sexual or risque about the text. But for some reason, I feel like a teenage girl who doesn’t want her dad to know she’s dating. Which is ridiculous on so many levels.
