Baiting Him (How to Catch an Alpha 2)

“I need to talk to you about New Year’s,” she tells me as she brings a bowl of boiled potatoes to the counter and then grabs a masher from the drawer.

“Are you coming to my place?” I ask, wondering if I should invite her to Gaston’s club to hang out with everyone before we all go back to my place to watch the fireworks and ring in the New Year. After I’ve told her about Gaston, of course—something I plan on doing today, especially after seeing how okay she seems to be.

“Sorry, honey, no; that’s what I need to tell you. I’m actually going on a cruise, and I won’t be home for New Year’s Eve.”

I blink, sure I heard her wrong. “Did you just say you’re going on a cruise?”

“Yes. I leave the day before New Year’s Eve, so I’ll still be able to see your brother and Sam, who both thought it was great I was doing something for myself.” She smiles, then adds, “I’m excited. The first stop is in Acapulco, and from what I’ve read online, the beaches there are beautiful.”

“You’re going on a cruise, and you told Chris before you told me?”

“Oh, stop.” She laughs, knowing my brother and I still argue to this day about who she loves most. “I wanted to make sure he wouldn’t be upset if I went, with him and Sam coming into town. And I’ve only had these plans a few days. I knew I’d tell you today.”

“Are you going alone?”

“Yes.” She smiles nervously. “The cruise caters to people who are traveling alone. They hold events and gatherings so you can meet new people, and if I don’t feel comfortable going to those events, there’s gambling, which is something I know I’ll enjoy.”

“Gambling?”

“There’s a casino on the boat.” Her face becomes animated. “I went to Vegas once when I was in my twenties, a little before I met your dad, and I had a great time. Plus, I was awesome at that red-ball, black-ball game.”

I don’t know what the red-ball, black-ball game is. I also don’t know who the woman is standing in front of me. My mom has always frowned at even the mention of a cruise and has never even talked about gambling before.

“Who are you, and what have you done with my mother?” I question, and she laughs like I’ve never heard her laugh before.

“I told you, honey. I’m going to find my happy,” she says, and I close my eyes briefly in relief. This is what I’ve wanted for her for months, and I feel overwhelmed with happiness that she’s finally, finally taking steps to move past my dad. And seeing her happy lets me know that I can share that I am too.

“I have something to tell you.”

“What?”

“I’m seeing someone. And, well . . . he’s amazing.”

“What?” she cries, her hands flying—including the one with the masher she’s using, causing a spray of potatoes to fly across the room and splatter against the cupboard. “Why haven’t you told me?”

I look away, trying to figure out how to tell her without making her feel bad.

“It’s my fault,” she says stiffly, and my throat gets tight when I hear the pain in her voice. “I . . . you didn’t want to tell me because you were scared of how I would react.”

“You weren’t in a good place. I wanted to tell you; I just didn’t know how to tell you. I’m sorry.” I shift uncomfortably on the stool.

“You have nothing to be sorry about. If I wasn’t acting like an idiot, you wouldn’t have felt the need to keep this a secret. I’m sorry for making you feel like you couldn’t trust me.”

“You don’t have anything to be sorry about either. I understood what you were going through. I’m just glad you’re dealing with things better now.” I reach across the space between us and clasp her hand.

“Your advice helped. I didn’t realize how much having to hear about your dad was hurting me. After I told all our old friends to stop telling me what he was up to, I was able to stop being angry all the time.”

“That was actually Gaston’s advice,” I say, giving her hand a squeeze before letting it go.

She tips her head to the side in confusion. “Gaston?”

“The guy I’m seeing—his name is Gaston.”

“Like the villain in Beauty and the Beast?”

“Yeah.” I laugh, not surprised that her reaction to his name is the same as mine was. “And get this: his dog’s name is LeFou.”

“I love it.” She grins. “Gaston and LeFou.” She shakes her head. “Perfect.”

“Most people call him Gus, but I agree, I love his name,” I say softly.

“Is he with his family today?” she asks, going back to mashing the potatoes.

“No, his dad passed away a few years ago, and his mom lives in Jersey and Florida, depending on the season. She’s flying in for New Year’s, but today, he’s spending Christmas with his best friend, who’s married and has a little girl.”