Page 43 of Coco and the Misfits (The Candyverse #4)

COCO

D ecision taken, I do my best to return to my routine. But the guys are always on my mind.

Get to know them. Easier said than done. I thought I knew Atticus. I spent many evenings with him and he told me bits and pieces about his life. Of the three, I’d say I know him best in the way you can only know a person in whose apartment you’ve been. I’ve been in his life.

Ryder is the one I know the least. Apart from mapping his tattoos and piercings, I know practically nothing about him.

Yet it’s Zach I decide to call first. I’ve known Zach for years in passing, though I don’t think I really know him because of it. But he doesn’t have a tragic story to deal with and I want to start with a shot of sunshine—and a knot.

Heh. I’m serious. I’m… interested. Fascinated. I think we should explore his problem together.

Call me horny. I’ve lusted over Zach for a while now. And he’s the only one of the three I haven’t been with apart from that one scorching kiss.

Time to remedy that.

Now that I’ve made my decision, I find myself excited.

Sure, there’s some lingering resentment, but the truth is, I’m starting to believe the validity of their reasons for doing what they did.

It doesn’t excuse it, because hello, that’s the behavior of three-year-olds?

But it does redeem them enough in my book to get a second chance.

One second, last chance, because the need to protect myself is strong. Protect my heart. I need to go in this time ready to bolt out again. Ready to cut ties, no matter how it hurts. If they treat me badly again, that’s it for this girl.

Zach’s response to my text asking him over for dinner is enthusiastic, at least. I grin as I read his, ‘Hell, yeah! I’ll bring the wine’ with a row of exclamation marks and laughing cat emojis. ‘Anything else? Desert?’

I text back that wine is fine.

After work, I pass by the grocery store for my dinner shopping. I won’t deny I haven’t stopped looking over my shoulder all the time, and that grocery shopping has become an exhausting experience, but I refuse to let it get to me.

As I cross the street, I think I catch a glimpse of Ryder, but when I look again, he’s gone.

They aren’t playing bodyguard to me again, are they? I make a mental note to ask Zach about it tonight. They wouldn’t dare.

Yet I find myself smiling as I head on home. Letting myself inside, locking the door behind me, I get to cooking. I love cooking and baking. I’m in my element in the kitchen. A cliché for an omega? So what? You can be a living, walking cliché as long as you have fun, right?

I’m checking on my lasagna and adding the dressing to my salad when my phone starts ringing, scaring the living shit out of me. It’s Zach.

“Hi, Coco,” his warm voice says over the line.

“Not coming after all?” I ask, half-teasing and half-fearing the answer.

“What? No, I’m right outside. I wanted to let you know it’s really me this time.”

“Thoughtful.” I grin even as a shiver runs down my back at the memory of the almost kidnapping. “Then let me get the door.”

This time, when I unbolt and unlock the door, peeking over the chain, there he is, holding a bunch of flowers and a wine bottle, looking adorable and sexy in his button-down white shirt and dark jeans.

“You dressed up,” I breathe as I remove the chain and open the door. I look down at the blouse and shorts I threw on the moment I entered the apartment. “I haven’t.”

“You look fantastic,” he says breathlessly, tipping his head back and giving me a sexy look. “Love the shorts.”

“Thanks… They have teddy bears and strawberries on them. So sexy.”

“I love them,” he repeats, grinning widely.

“Come on in.” I wave him inside, cursing inwardly for not changing into a sexy outfit, then remembering that this is still a test, where I am testing him and not the other way round. It’s not going to be a sexy night. That’s not why I invited him over, not really.

Damn. Let’s see how long I manage to hold out…

* * *

The flowers—pink roses and lilies—go into a vase and the wine gets opened. I check the oven and he jumps to my side.

“Let me do this.”

“It’s okay, I?—”

“I wanna help.” He gives me that boyish, dimpled grin that makes me go weak at the knees, grabs the potholders from my hands and takes the lasagna out of the oven. “Where shall I put it?”

Did he intend that pun? My face flames as a few answers leap to mind, answers of where he could put it and make me moan in pleasure…

“Here.” I lead him to the table that I’ve set for two. No candles. No fancy romantic touches.

I’m trying, okay? Trying not to take this too seriously, not to put my heart on the line again, not right away.

But when he sits down across from me, the air is sucked out of the room. Who needs flowers and candles when you’re spending the evening with the most gorgeous alpha in existence?

Damn, I think, June will be so jealous.

Could that be why she has withdrawn? Until she tells me what is really going on, what’s happening with that pack and why she has to keep it all a secret, I’m going to live in doubt.

“You smell delicious,” he says.

“It’s the lasagna.”

“Trust me, I can tell the difference between a hot girl and a hot lasagna dish.”

“A connoisseur.” I bite my lip and look down to hide my blush. “Maybe I should shop the idea around. Eau de lasagna . I bet it would be a success.”

“Only if you wear it.”

Such a silly thing to say, and we both crack up, but pleasure fills me anyway.

Such a silly, flirty, mad thing to say.

“I’ll serve the wine,” he says, unscrewing the top. “Fuck, I miss corks.”

I giggle. “This is progress, Zach. Don’t diss it.”

“I also like screwing.”

I roll my eyes. Giggle some more. I feel like a schoolgirl. Serving him a piece of lasagna, I stick my tongue out in concentration, and when I look up, I find his gaze fixed on my mouth.

“Coco…”

“Let’s eat before it gets cold.”

“I’d rather eat something else,” he says and I gulp.

No. Bad girl. We shall not jump the bones of the gorgeous alpha tonight. Repeat after me. We shall not jump anyone’s bones. Tonight is for conversation.

I wonder if his knot has inflated for me already? If he’s fully hard under the table, if he’s uncomfortable and hot for me in his pants?

How the hell am I supposed to eat without choking when my thoughts are going down the drain and right into the gutter like that?

“Eat,” I say, fighting a smile when he obediently takes his fork and digs in. “Good boy.”

He chews a forkful, his gaze locked on mine. “Did you just call me a good boy?”

“Is that a problem?” I smile around my fork tines.

“That’s usually my line.”

“Good boy or good girl?”

“I’ll be a good boy for you,” he breathes, putting his fork down. His blond lashes are long, shielding his eyes, but even so, I can see how bright they are. That grin… damn, but it’s hot like the bowels of hell.

How are we supposed to have a serious conversation when it keeps veering off course?

I make a big show of eating my food. When he raises his glass, I clink it with mine. The wine is a shot to my head. A couple of weeks without going out and drinking like a fish have lowered my tolerance threshold. I feel dizzy, giddy.

“This lasagna is excellent,” he says as the silence stretches.

“You haven’t eaten not even half of what’s on your plate.”

“I know. I’m… nervous.” He chuckles. “Haven’t felt this nervous since my mom came into my room to tell me she and Dad were getting a divorce and I had that bad feeling in my stomach.”

“Do you have a bad feeling now?”

“No. It’s not bad. Just… uncertain. When it comes to you.”

I grimace. “That sounds bad.”

“No, no. I’m explaining it badly. I’m certain I want to be here, with you. I’m certain I want… to be with you, period. But I’m not sure of what you want.”

We have both stopped eating by this point.

Grabbing my wine glass, I take a generous gulp. “I barely know you, Zach.”

He leans back and opens his hands. “I’m an open book. Ask me anything.”

“Would you bake cookies with me if I asked?”

His brows go up. “Yeah, but?—”

“Would you do a buddy reading of fantasy books?”

“Um, sure. You?—”

“Would you build me a pink nest with donut-shaped cushions?” I demand.

He grins. “Yeah! If?—”

“Will you take me shopping in bookshops and never tell me I bought too many books?”

His grin turns into a warm smile. “You got it.”

“Will you always praise my cooking and my sense of fashion?”

“That’s easy,” he says. “Always.”

“Goddammit,” I breathe, “come here and kiss me.”

I said I was going to resist, dammit. But I’m dying to see his knot. And his cock. And all of him.