Page 45 of Coco and the Misfits (The Candyverse #4)

COCO

N o matter how tempted I am to ask him to stay the night, to try his cock and even his knot with me, to explore and take more pleasure, I walk him to the door and close it firmly behind him.

Dammit, why am I so strict with my decisions? Why can’t I say fuck it and invite him back inside?

The thought of a future with Zach is sweet. The way he touched me and pleasured me, with such reverence and attention… They say good sex matters in a relationship, right? If that’s the case, we’d literally rock this thing between us.

But what about Atticus and Ryder?

Chewing on my lip hard enough to draw blood, I lock the door, sprawl on my bed, my body still humming from Zach’s touches, and pull up my messages.

I have Atticus’ phone number because I worked for him, but not Ryder’s. I should?—

Wait. There’s a new message from Atticus. It’s from this morning. How did I miss it? In it are two phone numbers: Zach’s and Ryder’s.

‘Figured you might need these,’ it says.

I frown. Why? Why would Atticus give me their numbers? Why would he help their case? Does he want me for himself or not?

Some things don’t add up. The fact that the three of them were here that night, with a banner for Zach? That tonight Zach said that the others would be so jealous, as if he planned on telling them what we did?

And now this.

My suspicion returns. If this is a joke, it’s the most elaborate one ever played at my expense.

What else could it be?

You’re reading too much into this, I tell myself.

You’re full of doubt because you have an issue with yourself.

All this can be easily explained. Atticus and Ryder helping Zach that night is probably only because they’re becoming friends.

And Zach saying the others will be jealous is just his male ego speaking, imagining bragging to the other two.

Nothing weird is going on.

Stick to the plan.

So I send a message to Atticus. ‘My place tomorrow, dinner?’

Might as well keep the experiment parameters constant, so the results are measurable and comparable. Look at my science classes from school becoming relevant in real life!

Finally, suffering through education has paid off.

I wait for a reply, but don’t get one for a while. Here we go again, I think. He decided I’m not worth his time once again, or decided he’s not worth mine. The end result is the same. I refuse to acknowledge the way my heart twists.

I can’t have all three of them, I remind myself. Much better if I eliminate one of them right off the bat. It means less heartache down the line.

Falling asleep on the sofa is becoming a habit, my cheek mashed to a cushion, getting a lovely pattern of daisies embedded in my skin. At some point, I become aware of a buzzing, but I smack my lips and go on sleeping.

I find his text in the morning when I roll off the sofa, rubbing my crusty eyes:

‘Yes, a thousand times yes! Sorry, my phone fell and died. Just saw your message.’

I smile. And then continue smiling as I trudge to the bathroom to brush my teeth and tame my hair, as I ponder breakfast.

He didn’t blow me off.

He’s coming tonight.

How is my heart tangled up with three guys? Why can’t I be the beta my ID says I am and choose just one?

* * *

Walking home from the grocery store, I think I spot Zach across the street, but when I look again, he’s gone.

Are they really watching over me? If true, I… I like it. I like that they’re looking over me like guardian angels. I would only like confirmation it’s them, maybe a wave or a schedule with their bodyguarding hours, so I don’t have to worry that I’m hallucinating or that it’s another stalker.

For tonight, I’m making a sexy seafood pasta with cream. It’s easy and delicious, and it means I’ll have plenty of free time before dinner to stress out.

Excellent thinking, Coco. You should have prepared something complicated to keep your mind busy. Didn’t consider that, did you?

That I’d be biting my cuticles, staring out the window an hour before our rendezvous? No. Pacing my living room? Never. Dancing wildly in the kitchen to a tune I’m humming? Well… That has been known to happen on occasion.

What am I doing? What am I doing ?

Thankfully Atticus arrives on time, ending my spiral into madness before I do something drastic like start eating what I cooked, or the ice cream I have for dessert.

Like, oops, sorry, alpha. I ate what we were supposed to have for dinner. Take-out okay?

He glances up at me before he crosses the street, a smile spreading over his handsome face when he spots me at the window. The bunch of flowers he’s carrying is big enough to be mistaken for a small tree.

My smile mirrors his and I skip to the door. I still wait for him to ring the doorbell before I open it, and I find a scowl on his face and his phone in his hand.

“Coco. You should have waited for me to call first, make sure it’s me.”

The growl in his voice almost sends me to my knees. “Yes, alpha,” I whisper.

“Fuck.” He pockets his phone, licks his lips. “Don’t submit so easily or else, instead of dinner, I’ll eat you out on the table.”

Gasping, I step back as he steps forward, his eyes dark and narrowed. “Ace?—”

“Or take you right here, against the wall. The way you wind me up, girl… Nobody has ever affected me like that.”

This situation is spiraling out of control, and fast. I’m getting wet between my thighs and he’s standing there, wine in one hand, with the enormous bunch of flowers in the crook of his arm, and the other hand clenched into a fist.

I need to defuse this.

“Dinner is ready,” I breathe, backpedaling. “That’s the only thing you’re eating tonight.”

His jaw unclenches. “Zach said?—”

“Why would Zach tell you anything?”

He holds my gaze for another second, then he sighs and looks away. “He said you had a great evening. I’m sorry. You’re just so hot, it blows my mind.”

I swallow hard. He’s the personification of hotness, once more dressed in tailored formal clothes, black slacks and a fine green-gray shirt that matches his eyes. His gray hair and beard frame his face so perfectly, highlighting those high cheekbones and intense gaze.

A berserk Viking, I think, in a tailored suit.

Thor, but older.

And his hammer…

Now fighting an insane urge to giggle, I hurry into the kitchen to check on the food. I hear him closing the door and following me. He hesitates at the small kitchen door.

“The flowers…” he says.

I turn back around, pressing my ass to the cupboards and the counter. The bunch consists of pale pink and white roses. It almost looks like a bride’s bouquet, I think randomly and feel my face heating up.

Packs usually don’t perform weddings. That’s for betas and their ceremonies. Packs pledge their love and the main thing is the knotting, biting and marking of one another.

And Atticus sure looks like he wants to bite me.

Rawr.

“Do you have a vase?” he asks, snapping me out of my reverie. “I hope you like the flowers.”

“Love them,” I whisper as I receive them. An armful of flowers. I feel like a flower fairy, which has always been my number two preference of a job description, the first one, of course, being a queen. “I’ll find a vase. Go ahead and take a seat at the table.”

I never thought I’d have more than one bouquet in my home, but I think I have a big water jug somewhere that might fit all these flowers.

“How can I help with dinner?” He places the wine bottle on the counter. My tiny kitchen is full to bursting with his presence. “I brought chilled white wine.”

“Perfect,” I murmur, carrying my load of flowers to the living room. “I hope you like seafood pasta.”

“My favorite,” he calls out.

That makes me grin. I end up abandoning the flowers on the table because Atticus is here and I can’t be bothered to dig around and find the jug, not now.

Returning to the kitchen, I find him pouring the wine into wine glasses he pilfered from my cupboards. He passes me one and raises his, along with a silver brow.

“To second chances,” he says.

I hesitate, then nod. “To second chances.”

His answering grin is brilliant. We both sip at our wine, which is fresh and crisp, and then I lead the way back to my living room, where the round dining table is.

“Let me bring the pot,” I say, leaving my glass there and hurrying back to the kitchen. The air is filled with the scent of roses, and I’m loath to dispel it with the aromas of the seafood, not to mention my stomach is so full of butterflies I don’t know if I can eat.

I grab the pot and start toward the living room, only to almost drop it when he appears in front of me. “Let me take that,” he says. “It’s heavy.”

Before I can say a word, he grabs it and carries it to the table. Then he walks around and pulls my chair out for me.

Old-fashioned gallantry.

My face warm, I take my seat and he sits across from me. Then he proceeds to serve me and himself, too.

“Thank you for the invitation,” he says, somewhat formal and sweet, “and for cooking for me. I admit I’ve missed having you around very much.”

I busy myself twirling my fork in my mound of pasta. “Thanks.”

“And so have the plants on the terrace,” he says softly. “They had been greener with you around and now they’re drooping and lonely.” He swallows audibly. “Like me.”

I glance up and what I see in his green eyes has me gulping. I search for something neutral to say. “I hope you like the food.”

After a moment, he takes a bite and I watch him like a hawk. The moan he produces makes me shiver. “God, that is so good. You’re the best cook I’ve ever met.”

“I’m glad you like it. I don’t think I’m the best cook there is.”

“Honest to God, kitten, if you cooked with sugar instead of salt, if you burned the food every day, I’d still love it because it was you who cooked it.”

Aw, that was sweet. And romantic. Strangely, it makes me work harder on my self-restraint, but maybe that’s not strange. He’s getting under my defenses so easily it’s as if they’re made of paper straws.

We finish eating in easy silence, clinking our wine glasses together once or twice, both of us smiling.

It’s cozy. And I shouldn’t let it be. I haven’t forgiven him, still working through his story to decide if I’m ready to do it. I’m certainly not ready to accept him back in my good graces yet.

Or consider anything more with him.

“Dessert?” I ask once we’ve polished our plates. Turns out I was hungry after all.

“Let me guess. Something with chocolate.” He smirks. “Chocolate ice cream?”

“Ten points to the bearded gentleman,” I quip and hurry away to the kitchen before I self-combust—out of pleasure that he remembers what I like, and out of embarrassment.

Okay, and lust , but that’s a given by now.

“How are you feeling?” he asks when I return with the ice cream and bowls. “Since that awful night, I keep thinking about you, hoping you’re safe, and feeling safe, too.”

“It’s getting better. I need to ask you something.”

He spreads his hands. “Anything.”

“Did you, or Ryder, or Zach follow me around on the streets since then?”

“Yes.” Said with no hesitation whatsoever.

I take a bracing breath. “Stalking me?”

“Guarding you,” he corrects.

“Without telling me.”

“We weren’t sure you’d want us to,” he says quietly.

“And still you did it.”

“Your safety is paramount. You may hate us, not want to see us ever again, but until we’re as sure as can be that nobody else is coming after you and that those two bastards haven’t managed to get bail and come for you, yes, we will be stalking you.

Like it or not, we’ll be your shadows and make sure you get home safely every day. ”

“Knowing you are out there, watching over me, helps,” I admit. “Was… was it Zach’s turn today?”

He nods gravely. “You noticed him. Well, it wasn’t really a covert operation. Is that okay?”

“Yes. Yes, it’s fine, but instead of hiding in the shadows, could you just… tell me?” I keep my voice steady. “Talk to me? Come walk with me? Then I won’t feel paranoid and think it’s someone else I’m seeing.”

“Fuck, I didn’t think we were stressing you out more.” He frowns. “Of course. I’ll tell the others.”

“And there’s… another thing.” I don’t look at him as I scoop out the ice cream. “The thing of the three of you. You three… talk? About me?”

I glance up and see his cheekbones flushed. “Well, we need to coordinate our shifts, as you called them.”

Oh. That was a simple explanation I hadn’t anticipated. I feel relieved and also slightly… disappointed? What’s up with that?

He draws one of the bowls and spoons toward him. “Are you okay?”

“Um? Oh yeah. Yeah.” I sit down and dig into my ice cream, barely tasting the chocolatey goodness. “Thinking, is all.”

“About me?” He winks and I stare at him. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s…” I huff. “I am thinking about you.”

“Have I outstayed my welcome?” He puts the spoon down, his green gaze on me. “For what it’s worth, I’ll never forgive myself for letting you go the first time.”

I lick the chocolate off my lips and force myself to show no emotions. “Okay.”

“It was the biggest mistake of my life. Do I still have that second chance, or have I?—?”

“You have it, Ace. I… I just need time.”

“Understandable.” He gets up, grabbing plates and bowls, his expression guarded. “I’ll wash up.”

I gape at him as he takes the dishes away, then jump up and follow him to the kitchen. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I only let you wash up back at my apartment because I had to let you believe I needed a cleaning lady. You never have to clean and wash with me.”

“Wait… wait. You didn’t really need cleaning help?”

“I’m paying a cleaning crew that comes in three times a week.”

“I knew it!” I crow. “I knew that apartment was too spotless. But then…” I take a step back. “It was charity. You gave me a job out of pity.”

“No. Never.” He turns around and my gaze snags on his rolled-up sleeves and corded forearms, those strong hands covered in suds. That’s sexy. “I wanted to help you. Because I could. And… I wanted selfishly to be around you.”

“You could have just asked me out!”

“You know already why I didn’t do that, and why I regret it. But I’ll never regret wanting to help you.”

“Ace…”

He wipes his hands on his immaculate slacks and is in front of me in two strides. He cups my face. “Always. Always want to be with you.”

“I wanted to get to know you better.”

“You will. Give me this chance and I’ll never keep another secret from you. I’ll make you my queen, I’ll always take care of you. Ask me anything you want.”

I nod against his palm. “Okay. Are you ready?”