***
Now I’m thinking about that flu ten years or so ago. And that soup. I’ll never forget that fuckin’ soup. A flu spread through the pack and had everyone down and out of commission for a week. All the alphas in the pack got it last across two stretches, like it was ingrained that we couldn’t all get sick at once and leave the pack vulnerable even though we had no threats looming.
I was one of the last to get it so by this time, she’d already had it and recovered. And she showed up at my house with a big container covered in a red heart pattern.
“I made this soup for you. I hope this helps you feel better, Jason.”
Ty and Mase have bragged about their women’s skills in the kitchen. I’ve tasted Grey’s new mate’s baked goods and her stuff is gourmet. Riley jokes about the fact his mate can’t be bothered to cook, that she’s happy to eat a sandwich over the sink instead so she can spend her time doing other things she does enjoy doing.
But my mate? Bailey shouldn’t be allowed anywhere near a kitchen.
That heart-patterned bowl was full to the brim with the most god-awful soup I’ve ever tasted. But she handed it tome with a look that sticks out in my mind now. I vividly recall the look of longing on her face.
***
Tyson had just been shot, and I was heading into the clinic to check on him while Amelia was working on stopping the bleeding. Bailey ran at me and threw herself into my arms, saying, “Thank God you’re okay!” It was awkward and I told her I was fine, that the shooter was aiming for Tyson, and she looked into my eyes with that adoring, melting expression and so much relief that I wasn’t hurt. Tyson was injured, bleeding and unconscious, and Bailey was worried most about me.
***
The way she touched my face in Grey’s driveway all drunk and cute a while back, then me driving her home, her leaning over and saying, “You know what, Jason? I have something really important to say to you.” And I didn’t want her to say what I suspected she’d say. And I was saved because then she made those awful throat noises and I should’ve gotten out of the way. I didn’t, got puked on, then had to deal with her apologies and tears of embarrassment.
***
Early on at Erica’s birthday party, Bailey asked me to dance. I blew her off making some off-handed joke about the song sucking. She was following me around all night, being my shadow, smiling, making small talk. She was there getting a drink when I got one, getting food when I got some. Getting too close. And I was irritated by it.
I asked Danica to dance, and the blonde witch flirted with me for the first time, letting me get close, licking her lips,then asking me if I wanted to get some air, so I grabbed us a bottle and we headed out. We were in an eye lock which would’ve transitioned to a lip lock out in the grass when we heard and saw the text pop up. Erica asked her sister not to go there with me because of Bailey’s feelings, and this was the straw that broke it for me, making me storm into the town hall and lay into Bailey just enough to make my point clear.
Erica owned the blame. Eyes filling up, Bailey asked to talk to me, but I told her the bullshit had to stop.
And that crushed look on her face keeps flashing in my mind now as she sleeps on the floor beside me. Then the look on her face when I reamed her out in my hotel hallway when she got to Rome. That look wasn’t the same. Bailey reacted in a much different way that time.
When she came to my door in Rome and I lost my cool she talked about it being the nail in the coffin. So, my efforts to push her away finally worked. Yeah, just in time for me to realize she’s mine.
I’d say I’ve got some work cut out for me based on how she’s been since then.
But this is Bailey. She’s been infatuated with me most of her life. She’s getting what she wanted. The minute I’m free of this magic bubble, I’ll pull her close, lay a hot and heavy kiss on her and find out if she tastes anywhere near as good as she smells. And we’ll head toward all the good stuff from there.
Bailey Blackwood. Who the fuck knew? Fate, yeah. Some meddling witches, undoubtedly. But… I’m feeling like I’m all right with it, even looking forward to it.
11
BAILEY
I wake up with a jolt, disoriented for a second as it’s still dark with the window boarded up. I put my glasses on and make out his form about three feet away. My eyes adjust some more and now I make out the outline of his face. There’s the shadow of what’s undoubtedly that sexy stubble I usually enjoy seeing on his face. His brown button-down is half-open, sleeves rolled to his elbows. If it were a little lighter down here, I’d see his tanned skin, black ink, and that oozing sex appeal.
And I don’t know how to feel about the way he looked at me last night. With that look in what I used to think were the sexiest eyes I’d ever seen. He’s been lookingatme instead of through me or past me.
My eyes adjust even further and now the look on his face is clear. And Idoknow how to feel about the look on his face, the little smirk on that mouth.
I feel exposed. Jason Creed is looking at me like I’m naked and like he wants to take a helping of what’s on display. And beyond feeling exposed, I’m feeling anger. Yup, I’m very, very angry.
He’s staring at my chest now, which is sort of spilling out of my shirt. I sit up and rub my eyes.
“You should drink that water if it’s really unopened,” he says.
I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t drink the water when he can’t have any. I didn’t eat the sandwich or the piece of fruit, nor open the bagof nuts or chips included in the paper bag. Because as angry with him as I am, I won’t sit and eat or drink when he can’t do either.
I do need a restroom, though. And he must be holding nature’s urge, too, but I’m not about to feel bad about not peeing my pants if I can help it. Since they left, I’m hoping the basement door is unlocked. I get up and climb the stairs, turning the light on when I get to the top step.