Filed To Story: Alpha's Regret: His Wrongful Rejection
His lip twitches again. “Maybe you’ll decide to challenge me for alpha of our pack. I have to stay on my game.”
A sprout of warmth unfurls in my belly, near where the pup is growing. “You can’t have a pack of two,” I kind of grumble to play it off.
“Sorry. You don’t make the rules. I’m Alpha.”
He’s in a good mood this morning. “What are you doing on the computer?”
“I’m liquidating a VC fund, making some of the proceeds accessible, re-investing the rest in CDs and municipal bonds. It’s gonna be a process. And I’m going to need your social security number.”
I don’t understand a single word of what he just said. “I don’t have one of those.”
“A social security number?”
“And what are you liquidating? Where are you going to put it?” We have tons of space, but storage containers are at a premium.
“Do you understand what I said?”
“Not at all.”
“You didn’t take Economics?”
“Did you take Fabric and Solid Material Care?” I know for a fact he didn’t. It’s only required for scavengers.
He scrubs a hand across his newly clean-shaven chin. “I’m getting us money.”
“What do we need money for?”
He looks at me with his usual blank eyes, and for a second, I think he’ll brush the question off. I don’t mean to be flip. I genuinely want to know.
“The old den. I told you about the plumbing. It needs to be updated. We need generators for refrigeration. You need things. Clothes. Blankets for your nest. The pup will need things.”
He’s right. We’re not getting rations up here, and there’s no one to trade for baby clothes and diapers.
A rumble rattles his chest. “You don’t worry. I’ve got it covered.”
“I don’t have a number.”
“I’ll figure it out.” The corner of his lip sneaks up. “You’ve got a number. Number one.”
I blink a few times. His stern face cracks into a full-on grin, and my belly drops. He’s ridiculously handsome. And cheesy.
“Was that a line?”
“Yeah.”
“It was terrible.”
“You’re not frowning anymore.”
“I had no idea you could flirt.”
“First time for everything.” He turns back to his keyboard, inordinately pleased with himself.
I busy myself around the campsite, flustered for no good reason. I make a cup of tea, forget about it on the Land Rover trunk ledge, and when I find it a half hour later, I force it down cold since I don’t have enough left to waste. I visit the latrine, brush my teeth, throw the quilt over the mattress and arrange the lumpy pillow.
Cadoc ignores me, focused on his screens. He’s different here. Maybe it’s the absence of an entourage or the dirt on the cuff of his pants, but he seems more approachable. Not diminished, not at all. If anything, his spine is straighter, his muscles more pronounced. But there’s no invisible force field that makes my steps falter when I come near him.
It’s a real cheap thrill, but I cut a path closer and closer to his makeshift desk on my way over to the fire to add a log and back to the trailer step to sit while I scour the pot with steel wool.
Mid-morning, I’m in the mood for tea—hot tea—so I fill the kettle from a jug and hang it from the tripod over the fire. While it heats, I wander over to Cadoc. His mug is empty. I lean my hip against his desk, careful not to let my full weight rest against it.
Cadoc raises his eyes from the laptop screen. He straightens and becomes very still. “Are you well, Rosie?” he asks, a slight furrow on the bridge of his nose.
“Yeah.” I run my finger along the rim of his mug. “Want a refill?”
“Yes. Thank you.” His throat bobs, his gaze flicking from my face to where I’m still touching the cup.
“We’re almost out,” I say.
“Of tea?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ll get more. No worries.”
I want to ask how, but my brain’s caught on how attentive he is to every little thing I do. I move, and his eyes dart, predatorial but patient. He’s not annoyed that I’m interrupting.
My playful wolf comes out. Without warning, I plop my butt on his lap. He sucks in a breath.
“Am I squishing you?”
“No.” His reply is immediate. After a beat, he takes my hips and drags me back until I’m flush with his chest. It’s not an aggressive move. More like he’s securing me in place.
I swing my legs, gently drumming his shins with my heels. He doesn’t complain.
“What’s this?” I ask and tap a few buttons on his keyboard. He swats my hand away, tucking it in my lap with a hard forearm.
I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m not a brat or a flirt. I’ve seen Brynn and Lowry and the others, though. I’ve seen how they tease.
“It’s my email inbox.”
“It’s long.”
“Yeah.” I can’t see his face, but there’s a smile in his voice. His raspy cheek brushes mine, and shivers dance across my skin. “What are you doing, Rosie?”
He’s not warning me off. I know because the arm holding me tightens, and I feel a poke in the cleft of my bottom. I wriggle. His wolf growls low in the back of his throat. All my nerves sparkle.
“Flirting like a nob. How am I doing?”
He buries his nose in the crook of my neck, inhaling, then groaning. “Perfect.”
My face is flaming, but I don’t care. The embarrassment is secondary to the excitement. Our bond is fizzling. He likes me here.
“How do scavengers flirt?” he asks, his voice rough.
“Usually, the male chases the female.”
“Texts her and stuff like that?”
“No. Like chases her.” I wriggle a hand free and run two fingers up his arm like legs.
“Seriously?”
“Yeah.”
He stiffens under my back and thighs. “Who chased you?”
“No one. Everyone’s afraid of Abertha. I guess they thought she’d be mad if I blew off work.”
He relaxes, and I sink back into his chest. I can feel his heart beat against the spot between my shoulder blades. He’s quiet for a minute, and then he says, “I wanted to chase you.”
I tilt my neck, resting my head on his shoulder and looking up at his stern face. “Yeah? When?”
“After the library. After the Commons. After the trailer.”