Catching Him (How to Catch an Alpha 1)

No such luck. When he looks at me, raising a brow, I sigh and tell him, “After our date, he texted, asking when we could have dinner again. I told him I was busy with work but I’d let him know. I never messaged him again, so he stopped by the shop today.”

“So he didn’t take the hint when you never messaged him back?” Tyler questions while I take a sip of wine and watch him stir a jar of pasta sauce into the sausage, eggplant, pepper, garlic, and onion mixture he’s already cooked.

I shrug. “It’s my fault. I really should have just told him then that I wasn’t interested. I just felt bad. I didn’t want to hurt his feelings.”

“He could have just taken the hint,” he says while looking over at me. “He knew you weren’t interested when you didn’t call him. Him showing up at the salon was about him putting you on the spot and forcing you to go to lunch. That old lady was right—his ego was bruised, and he knew if he cornered you at work, you likely wouldn’t refuse him.”

“Maybe.” I take another sip of wine.

“Known guys like him my whole life, baby. He’s not stupid. He had a plan showing up at your job, especially knowing that your mom likes him.”

“So are you still on track with the church?” I don’t want to talk about Charles—not now, not ever.

He grins at me, then asks, “Trying to change the subject?”

I roll my eyes. “Yes. Is it working?”

He sets down the wooden spoon in his hand and comes over to me, pushing my knees apart and settling his hips between my thighs. “I don’t like that guy in your space.”

“He’s not a threat,” I say as I stare into his eyes, swearing I see jealousy there.

Why do I like that idea so much? I’ve never made a man jealous before. If I’m honest, it makes me feel strangely secure in the way he feels about me.

“You’re right—he’s not, but I still don’t like him putting you on the spot. Hopefully, he doesn’t do it again. If he does, he and I are gonna have a chat.” I notice his jaw is hard before he brushes his lips over mine. He leans back, and his fingers curve around my neck. “Now, I wanted to talk to you about something.”

Oh no. Now what?

“Okay,” I agree, sounding reluctant, and he smiles before quickly brushing his mouth over mine again and pulling away.

“Thanksgiving.”

“Thanksgiving?” My head tips to the side in question.

“I’m gonna drive home to spend the holiday with my folks.” My heart sinks. Thanksgiving is still a few weeks away, but it won’t be long till it’s here, and then he’ll be leaving. Even if it’s for just a few days, I don’t like the way that makes my insides feel. “I was hoping you’d be able to get away for the weekend and go with me.”

“To spend Thanksgiving with your family?” Why does my voice sound funny and my chest feel so warm all of a sudden?

“Yeah.”

“Do you . . . do you think that’s a good idea?”

His brows pull together. “Why the hell wouldn’t it be a good idea?”

Because meeting your family is a huge step, I obviously don’t say. “I don’t know. It’s—”

He cuts me off. “I had dinner with your family, and I’ll be at dinner with you this Sunday.” Then his voice gets softer. “I’m hoping you like what we’re building as much as I do. I know we’re just getting to know each other, but I know what I feel when I’m with you, and I know I want more of that. I really fucking hope you feel the same.”

Holy moly.

I already feel the same, but hearing him say he wants more—no game playing, no doubt or worrying—I know I’d be an idiot if I didn’t take him up on his offer to spend Thanksgiving with him and his parents, no matter how much the idea freaks me out.

“I think I can probably swing Thanksgiving,” I murmur.

“Good,” he grunts, giving me a swift kiss before letting me go and stepping back. He picks up the wooden spoon once more and then asks, “Are you hungry?”

“Yeah,” I answer, even though the last thing on my mind right now is food.

“I’ll serve us up, baby. Let Bruce back in.”

“Sure.” I set my wineglass aside and hop down off the counter. I walk through the kitchen, then the living room, and open the front door. I expect Bruce to be sitting there waiting, so when he’s not, I call out to him. When he doesn’t appear after I’ve called for him three times in a row, panic starts to fill me. I step out onto the porch and shout his name. Since I’ve been around, he’s never once wandered more than the distance between Tyler’s house and mine. I run down the stairs, yelling his name while heading for my house. When I reach my front porch, arms wrap around me from behind.