Chapter 47: My food, my bill

I ordered two pounds of high-quality chuck roast from the butcher, carefully taking the wrapped package. When I turned around, Reid was already standing right behind me, dropping a bag of yellow potatoes and a carton of heavy cream into the basket.

"You know," I said, leaning in slightly so only he could hear me, "if anyone from the Serpents or the media sees us buying groceries together on a Saturday afternoon after I got benched for an injury, the rumor mill is going to explode. Russo’s already running his mouth."

Reid didn’t even blink. He picked up a container of beef broth, checking the label with an annoying amount of focus before tossing it in with the rest.

"Let them talk. Let the media print whatever stupid narrative they want. They can make up their stupid theories just to get our names on their papers and make a name for themselves," he let out a mocking scoff. "But once we get back on the ice, we’re playing to win. And that’s the only thing that shuts their mouths. You know that too, right?"

I didn’t answer, and his smoky grey eyes shifted down to look at me, the lazy smirk creeping back onto his face.

"Besides... I told you. I keep my word, Cap. Nobody out here knows what you are. You’re completely safe with me."

A cold shiver, entirely separate from the store’s air conditioning, ran down my spine. Safe.

It was a ridiculous word to use when describing a predator who held my entire life in his hands, but as I looked at the heavy basket in his grip and the careful distance he was maintaining from my left side, I couldn’t entirely deny the weight of it.

Better to feel safe than threatened.

"Just get the carrots so we can leave," I muttered, turning away to hide the slight tightness in my throat.

We finished up in the dairy section, grabbing some extra butter and a block of sharp cheddar to grate over the top of the dish. When we reached the checkout counter, I automatically reached for my wallet, but Reid already had his card out, tapping the reader before the cashier could even read the total.

"What are you doing?" I hissed as the receipt began to print. "This is going to my house."

"My food, my bill," Reid said simply, grabbing the two heavy paper bags from the counter and lifting them effortlessly.

He gave the cashier a quick, charming smile that made the young girl blush, then turned his gaze back to me, his eyes dark with amusement.

"Lead the way, Captain. Let’s see if your cooking can actually back up that attitude."

I stared at him, mouth wide open, but no words came out. This guy... He just does whatever he wants.

The walk back to the apartment was much faster. The sun was beginning to dip, casting long, golden shadows across the concrete sidewalks of Seattle.

Reid carried both bags without a single complaint, his long strides forcing me to quicken my pace just to keep up, which kept my mind entirely focused on the rhythm of my breathing and the dull ache in my side.

The moment I unlocked the front door and stepped into the warmth of my apartment, the familiar, lingering trace of his scent welcomed us back. It felt like stepping right back into the cage.

Reid set the bags down on the kitchen island with a heavy thud, immediately shedding his jacket and rolling up the sleeves of his shirt, exposing his thick, vascular forearms.

"Alright, Cap," he smirked, leaning against the counter and crossing his arms as he watched me pull the cutting board from the cabinet. "The kitchen is yours. Don’t disappoint me."

Just get out. I hissed in my mind, but my inner Omega was taking in those vascular arms like a dessert.

I washed the yellow potatoes and grabbed the chef’s knife, trying to ignore the towering presence leaning against my counter. The kitchen was quiet, save for the steady thump-thump of the blade slicing through the vegetables.

"You’re cutting those too big," Reid remarked, his voice a lazy drawl as he leaned in closer, his shadow completely covering the cutting board. "They’re going to take forever to soften up."

"I’ve been making this since before you were in high school, McCoy," I muttered, not looking up. "They’re exactly the size they need to be."

To prove my point, I reached for a stalk of celery, chopping it into neat, uniform pieces.

But Reid wasn’t the type to just stand by and watch. Before I could stop him, his hand darted into my prep bowl. He picked up a freshly sliced piece of raw carrot, tossed it into his mouth, and chewed it with an obnoxious, loud crunch.

"Lacks flavor," he smirked.

"It’s raw!" I hissed, swinging the knife pointedly toward the sink. "Get your hands out of my prep, or I swear to god I’ll make you eat the peels."

Reid didn’t back down. In fact, my frustration only seemed to feed his amusement. He let out a low, rumbling chuckle and stepped directly into my space.

Before I could even brace myself, his massive frame pressed right up against my back. He leaned his weight entirely over me, his large arms coming forward to wrap securely around my waist.

I froze, the knife hovering an inch above the cutting board.

He was being careful with his placement, his right arm resting safely just below my bruised left ribcage, but the sheer shock of his proximity made my breath hitch. He wasn’t using his dominant, heavy pheromones to force me down this time, but the casual, unbothered way he held me was infinitely more dangerous.

My heart began to race, a frantic, erratic thudding against my ribs that I was terrified he would feel through his chest. Beneath my skin, my inner Omega was completely betraying me all over again, practically swooning at the thick, warm envelope of his scent wrapping around us in the small kitchen.

It was a terrifyingly addictive sensation—having this dangerous, arrogant Alpha hold me so easily while I stood there completely vulnerable.

"Reid, move," I managed to choke out, trying to keep my voice steady, though my fingers were trembling against the handle of the knife.