When He's an Alpha (The Olympus Pride 2)
“What are you doing?” she asked him.
Glancing into her cart, he replied, “Wondering how hard it will be to convince you to share that chocolate trifle with me. We had fun with one of those once, didn’t we? It tasted better when I was eating it off you.”
She almost spluttered. This was not a conversation she wanted to have. And that was not a memory she wanted to revisit in the middle of a damn grocery store. “Don’t you have Alpha stuff to do?”
“If someone needs me for something, they know how to reach me.”
Alphas were often on call 24/7. It couldn’t be easy, but she doubted Tate would ever find it something to complain about. He was a man of action. He seemed to thrive on it.
“Now, about that trifle …”
“You’re not getting any of it,” she said. “You want one, buy your own.”
Aspen came into view, her basket full, holding a pizza box. “You done yet?”
“Almost. Just got to grab some milk.” Havana nearly ran over something with her cart. Noticing what it was, she sighed. “Okay, now things are just getting weird.”
Tate’s brow furrowed. “Weird how?”
“Last night, I had a dream that I was trying to check into a motel, but it was closed. Earlier, a woman walked past me singing Moonlight Motel to herself. And look what we have here.” Havana picked up the object off the floor. “A DVD of Bates Motel, season one.”
He pursed his lips. “And you think all this means … what?”
“I think the universe is trying to tell me something, but I can’t figure out what. It clearly has something to do with motels, though.”
He clamped his mouth shut, clearly fighting a smile. He looked at Aspen, as if expecting her to share his amusement. The bearcat only stared back at him.
“Wait, you both believe the universe is reaching out to you?” he asked.
“Not to me,” said Aspen. “I believe it’s reaching out to Havana. It often does. We just can’t always work out what it’s trying to communicate.”
His gaze bounced from her to Havana. “Right. Well, whatever.”
Havana huffed. “Fine. Don’t believe us. Now, I have to finish my shopping.” She gave him a breezy smile. “Later.”
He didn’t return the “later.” He also didn’t stalk off. He followed her to the refrigerator, whistling a merry tune.
Walking around the store with him was just … odd. During their fling, they never went places together. They certainly hadn’t done anything as mundane as shop for groceries together.
Reaching the fridge, Havana grabbed the bulky jug of milk, plonked it in her cart, and then headed to a checkout stand with Aspen. Havana cast him confused, sideways looks while he helped pile the groceries onto the conveyor belt.
Her devil, not liking his insistence on sticking close, urged Havana to smack him over the head with her prickly pineapple. The animal wasn’t pleased that Havana resisted.
Havana paid no attention to his nosy pride mates, who were watching them curiously, seeming under the false impression that she and Tate had come shopping together. It would appear that he hadn’t yet made it clear that he and Havana were over—especially since Valentina had been completely unaware of it.
He helped Havana bag the groceries and, by the time she’d paid and was ready to leave, he’d returned the cart. “I’ll help,” he said. Not an offer, a statement of intent. He grabbed a bunch of her bags before she could protest.
Outside, Luke and Farrell each took a bag from her, and then all three men stuck close as she and Aspen walked to their apartment building.
When they reached the main door, Havana tried to take the groceries from the guys. “I can carry them upstairs myself.”
Tate smiled. “Can you? Clever girl.” He held tight to them and, whistling that damn tune again, keyed in the entry code to unlock the door. He and his bodyguards then followed both her and Aspen into the building and up to Havana’s apartment.
Although he agreed it likely wasn’t necessary, Tate had Luke and Farrell do a walk-through of it to ensure there were no intruders. The three men then wordlessly helped her put away the groceries so that Aspen could return to her apartment to get ready for her dinner with Camden.
Once the task was complete, Tate politely dismissed his brother and Head Enforcer. The moment Havana heard the front door close behind them, the sexual hum in her blood went up a notch with the simple awareness that she and Tate were alone. A sudden tension thickened the air like sultry summer heat, so she knew that same awareness was having a similar effect on him.
“Where’s Bailey?” he asked.
“She’s working an extra shift at the rec center. Purely because the new guy’s cute and she wants to get to know him.” Havana opened the warm box to reveal her pizza.