Page 15 of Santas' Elf
I licked my lips, thought about it for several seconds, then nodded.
Might as well…
“S-sure.”
Warren beamed at me. “Great! I know this is last minute. You can invite your alpha if you want.”
I shook my head. “No alpha.”
His smile made my cock twitch and a shiver ran up my spine.
“We’ll go straight from here,” he said. “Pete picked a casual place so no need to worry about being underdressed.”
“Ok.”
He smiled again, then rested his hand on the small of my back as he held the break room door for me, and it took everything to not lean into the contact.
Maybe dinner was a bad idea, but part of me couldn’t bear the thought of backing out.
∞∞∞
I followed Warren and Pete’s car to a hole-in-the-wall restaurant a few miles from the mall. I parked and frowned up at the sign—Nonna Sofia’s—lit by bulbs that were so dim they needed to be replaced.
I started to wonder if accepting had been a mistake. It felt more like the kind of place you’d see in a bad mafia movie than someplace you’d actually eat, but Pete gave me one of his signature smiles as I got out of the car.
“I hope you like Italian,” he said, bouncing slightly on his toes. “It might not look like much, but…” he patted his stomach. “It’s fat-guy approved.”
I couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped.
“Plus,” Warren added. “They aren’t usually overrun by kids. That makes it one of the better spots to avoid the ‘Why is Santa eating with Santa?’ questions.”
“And the sauce…” I could almost hear Pete drooling in his tone. “After bland sandwiches? This tastes like heaven.”
Pete’s enthusiasm, and Warren's practicality. Seeing them together, they made sense as a couple.
“Shall we?” Warren asked.
I nodded, and had to hold back a whimper of desire as his hand once again found the small of my back.
My stomach rumbled as soon as we walked in and I got a whiff of the food.
“I heard that,” Pete teased.
My face heated, and Warren laughed.
“My Pete knows good food.”
Pete patted his stomach again. “A figure like this doesn’t come from bad food.”
We were led to a small table in the back corner, out of sight of most other tables.
“Order anything you want,” Warren stated. “Our treat.”
“Are you sure?” I asked. “I can pay for myself.”
Pete nodded. “You’ve been good to us. You deserve a treat.”
“Besides,” Warren said with an unsure tone. “We… kinda… do have ulterior motives.”