Page 6 of Such a Delicious Omega (His Alpha Desires #4)

Samuel

I never took anyone from Cuffed here, although it was only a few blocks away. It met every bit of the definition of a dive. The antithesis of our club with its perfect design, Salma and Amos had a whole different kind of flare that took place in the kitchen. As I walked in with the omega, I tried to see it as they might. As in, why would this alpha bring me here? He didn’t know I was a club owner—something I’d just started to figure out myself—but my suit told him I was not exactly the janitor, and he might have expected a fancier meal.

I could have taken him somewhere with better decor, more expensive menu items, and a sommelier who would turn his nose up at anyone who ordered the house vintage. But I could not have taken him somewhere with tastier food.

The cloth on the table where we sat had been washed so often it was frayed a bit at the edges, and not all the stains had come out, but I’d never paid attention to that before. If Echo minded, though, he didn’t say a word. No sooner had we placed our order than we were exchanging stories about our experiences with customer service. Echo worked at a hotel, which put him face-to-face with a lot of characters, and even though we were a private club, sometimes our members and their guests could be vastly quirky.

I was just finishing up a story about a member who brought their boss to the club in what must have been a major brain fart when our dinner arrived. I’d ordered the horchata after Echo said he’d have what I was ordering. The smooth rice beverage could be very helpful in cooling the burn of Amos’ favorite serranos.

“People always worry about things like ghost peppers and habaneros,” I warned, as Echo picked up his first taco. “But serranos are sneaky. Even if you can tolerate it, if it’s too hot for you to enjoy, say so. Understood?”

He nodded, opening his mouth wide and taking a big bite. He chewed and swallowed, but his eyes were wide and shining, face flushed, and he puffed in a breath. “Good,” he said, voice trembling just a little bit before he picked up his glass and gulped the horchata.

If he’d been in a cartoon, he’d have flames shooting out of his ears and nose. I crooked a finger and Salma came over, lips twitching in amusement. She set a glass of milk on the table and winked. “Would you like anything else, Samuel?”

“Maybe some carne asada tacos and an order of beans and rice for the table?”

“Right away.” As she disappeared back into the kitchen, I pushed the glass toward the omega who still appeared distressed. “Drink this. And don’t feel bad. Serranos can be sneaky.”

He grasped the glass and drank it down then sighed. “You’re not kidding. I usually manage whatever the Mexican place by my house can throw at me, but it never gets this hot.”

“I’ll finish yours. The asadas are just as delicious, but you add your own salsa to them, to taste.”

A few minutes later, Salma returned with a platter holding a half dozen tacos, bowls of their amazing rice and beans, and the little stand with the various salsas. “Should I bring more milk?”

I glanced at the omega, who shook his head. His cheeks were still red, though, either from embarrassment, spice, or both. It was a good look on him. “No, just a refill on the horchatas if you don’t mind.” After Salma left with our glasses, I reached over and picked up his plate, transferring the remaining tacos to mine. “Now…taste the asadas and tell me what you think.”

This time, when his eyes went wide, it accompanied a broad smile. “Oh my gods. How have I ever thought my local place knew how to make tacos?” He spooned a bit of each salsa onto a chip and tasted it carefully before adding some of the tomatillo version to his taco. “So good.”

“I’m sure the other restaurant is fine. This one is just extraordinary. Or maybe you haven’t tried their very best item. Try asking the employees what they like to eat. It’s often not even on the menu, but can be great.”

“What a good idea.” He beamed at me. “How do you know this?”

“Do you think I worked at a dungeon my whole life? I—”

“He was our best waiter when he was in high school.” Salma set our brimming drinks on the table and smiled fondly at me.

“The job came with free food,” I said. “My mother claimed it saved her food budget.”

“How is your dear mama?” Salma asked. “Is she doing any better?”

“A little.” The reminder sobered me. “Thank you for asking.”

“I have to call her and go visit.” Salma patted me on the shoulder. “She’s strong, mijo. You don’t have to worry.”

How could I not? But her words comforted me anyway. She moved to another table, and I sat back in my seat.

“Your mother is sick?” Echo asked. “I hope she’ll get well soon.”

I didn’t often talk about my family. My parents had left their pack behind, raising me in a mostly human world. “For a while, we thought we were going to lose her, but she’s doing better now.”

“Good.” He reached over and squeezed my hand, and if I’d had any doubt, or if my wolf had, that this was my mate, they were gone at that point of contact. “I take it Salma is an old family friend?”

“My whole life.”