Page 10 of Possessive Alpha

I clear my throat. “I forgot.”

His eyebrow lifts.

“Martha, are you okay?” Clara sounds out of breath. Probably from all that sprinting away and leaving me to fall in holes in front of Ty.

“Fine.” I turn around to leave.

Ty’s hand grips my arm, preventing me from falling down the same damn hole I fell in before. “Careful now.”

I look at him.

There’s still not a trace of amusement on his face. But it’s there. I know it’s there.

I turn around and walk past the assembled pack, head up, back straight, pretending I’m not caked in mud from my belly to my white sneakers.

Clara falls in beside me. “Martha…”

“Don’t.” I don’t look at her because I know exactly what I would find. A big, fat grin stretching her lips. “Just don’t say a word.”

CHAPTER 5

“You have to admit it was pretty funny, Martha. You falling down a hole like that and needing a well digger to save you,” Clara says brightly as we make our way down the stairs for breakfast early the next morning. “It’s like a joke come to life.”

She doesn’t even try to keep her voice down.

I stop and stare at her.

“What? And to think you nearly fell in the same hole again.” She shakes her head, and her eyes are laughing. “You must have it bad for Ty to be so?—”

I loudly hush her as I peer around to make sure no one is eavesdropping. Not that they would even need to eavesdrop with the volume my beloved sister is prattling away.

“I do not have it bad for anyone,” I hiss. “I just didn’t see the hole. That’s all.”

She snorts and resumes leading the way down the stairs. “It was a big hole. Someone even left a little warning sign next to it and a red flag. I don’t know how you could have missed it.”

Neither do I.

It was why I spent the rest of the day hiding out in our room. I even had her bring me food. My utter humiliation meant I couldn’t face seeing anyone.

Clara brought up a sandwich and soup for lunch for me, and then later, a knock on the door had made me think she was bringing me dinner.

It wasn’t her.

Ty Logan was standing outside my door, a smile on his face and a plate loaded with pasta, meat sauce, and salad. It’s a wonder it hadn’t spilled onto the floor.

“Missed you at dinner,” he’d said as he handed the plate over before asking if I wanted any dessert. His gaze had dipped over my shoulder and settled on my bed. Because he was very much open to the idea of dessert.

He’d actually said that. I’d nearly dropped my plate.

When a man asks you if you want dessert while looking at your bed, you know exactly what kind of dessert he means.

You.

I politely thanked him for dinner and couldn’t shut the door fast enough, pretending not to hear his husky laughter as he walked away.

Breakfast is usually a casual affair. In the month that Clara and I have called Dawley home, I’ve noticed it’s the most relaxed meal. Regan and Jackson like to have everyone sit and eat dinner together. Says it helps foster more connections, conversation, and community. Three important things in a pack still forming.

But breakfast, everyone helps themselves from big serving dishes on the kitchen island and takes their plate to eat anywhere there’s a chair. Sometimes they eat standing up in the entryway, talking to each other between bites.

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