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More wrong than my worst day in Brandon’s lab.
“Eat. You look pale.” Jin loads my plate with kebabs, then passes it to Lisa to fill in white space. She adds coleslaw, chips, and cut watermelon.
I’m holding strong until she scoops into a bowl that taunts me with a gooey glorp.
“My famous potato salad.” Lisa ladles chunks dressed in mayo thicker than setting concrete. “It’ll get some more meat on your bones before your heat.”
My insides squeeze toward freedom.
When I go green-gilled, gulping instead of digging in, Lisa’s head tips in unconscious submission. “If you don’t like—”
“No. I love potato salad.” The words fall out just like the gummy blep of potato salad falling off my spoon. Letting Lisa apologize for my damage feels worse than the stomach churn.
I’ve beaten black-ops agents, guinea pig drugs, and enforcers with tear-drop tattoos.
I’m not surrendering over room-temp mayo.
But the guys’ stares give me an easy reason to delay the bite of doom. “Why are you watching me eat?”
“Why not?” Dutch asks.
Dany kicks her brother under the table. “Don’t make lunch weird.”
“Be weird if I didn’t watch.” Dutch licks his lips, gazing dreamily at my mouth. “That’s my mate.”
My stomach swoops for a whole new reason.
Maybe I’m coming down with the vapors.
“Water.” Reese cracks the seal, then sets an ice-cold bottle at my side.
I sip, painfully aware of the silence.
They’re watching my throat.
I tuck my neck into my shoulders, letting the sloshing water settle.
“Go ahead.” I wave, trying to deflect. But Dany’s the only person at the table with food on her plate.
“I’ve read about this.” She munches sour cream and onion chips, enjoying the show. “It’s one of those primal alpha things. Maybe because you skipped meals? If you don’t eat first, they won’t be able to take a bite.”
“That’s not a thing.”
Is it?
I got spoiled asking Lilah for homework answers instead of paying attention in class. Never thought weird alpha behavior would send me spiraling into a life-or-death gastrointestinal crisis.
I’m not even theirs.
“Totally a thing.” Dutch leans a chocolate chip cookie on the edge of my overflowing plate.
“Yeah.” Reese spreads his hands. “Take a bite and see.”
I try not to make eye contact with the potatoes, let alone the guys, but Bish and Jin trade one of their psychic, lie-piercing looks.
Tension squeezes their harmonious beach party.
I refuse to be the buzzkill.
