Page 39 of Outnumbered

“Oh, we’d be cooking alright,” he replied making me chuckle.

That was one of the things I loved about Triston, he was funny and always made me laugh.

After getting dressed, I finger combed my hair and walked out to his kitchen, taking out vegetables for a salad. Triston pulled out frozen chicken breasts so they could defrost for dinner.

“Do you want to play a card game after dinner?” I asked.

Triston shrugged. “Whatever you want to do. Sounds fun to me.”

“What would you like to do? I feel like you guys are always asking me what I want and not doing what you want.”

“We like doing the things you want to do,” he replied and washed his hands before helping me chop vegetables. “It makes us happy to see you happy.”

“Isn’t the point of courting or dating to see what both sides enjoy, to help you make your decision on whether you want to be together the rest of your lives? What if you find out you don’t have things in common and don’t have a shared interest?”

“We all have a shared interest in videogames and card games. We have plenty of things in common.”

“Like?” I probed.

“Being hybrids. Wanting to protect other hybrids and end the hatred against us.”

“What else makes us a good unit?” I thought we were a good group, but sometimes I liked to hear their points of view on things. After being around Leona’s group, it was obvious to me now that this was the pack I wanted, the mates I wanted, but we hadn’t been together long enough for me to voice that. Plus, I had a niggling worry that something awful was headed our way that would test our connection.

Triston chopped carrots as he answered. “We vibe well together. All of us have different personalities, but together we’re like a completed puzzle. Branson’s quiet counteracts Caleb’s boisterousness. Riddick’s anxiousness is countered by my calmness.”

That was very true. They balanced each other well and having all of them around me helped balance my hectic mind.

Someone knocked on the door, so I set my knife down, walked over, and looked through the peephole. Caleb’s blue eye stared back at me, startling me.

“You brat,” I grumbled as I opened the door for him.

He kissed my cheek with a wide smile as he came in carrying a grocery bag. “Hello, beautiful.”

“You got groceries delivered already?” I asked, shocked. They’d just asked for items less than ten minutes ago.

“These are snacks I already had,” he explained. “Was easier to carry them in the bag.”

I followed him to the living room to watch what he pulled out of the bag to set on the coffee table. Four bags of chips and a six-pack of beer.

He handed me a beer, grabbed one for himself, and another he carried over to Triston. “Cheers,” he said as he tapped his can against Triston’s.

I tapped mine against theirs and we opened them and took a sip.

“Do you need any help?” he asked Triston.

Triston shook his head. “I’m almost done.”

Unlike Branson’s and my place, Triston didn’t have stools to sit at the island. Instead, Caleb grabbed two of the dining table chairs and turned them around to face the island. I sat on one while he sat on the other.

“My mom called and yelled at me about the park fight,” Caleb told us. “I forgot to call her afterwards to let her know what happened.”

“Whoops,” I said and chuckled, able to picture exactly how mad she would have been and what she would have said.

He took a drink of his beer. “My dads also gave me grief for not having at least one of us stay with you.”

“Hey, I protected myself just fine.”

“They said to tell you they were impressed with your shifting abilities and proud of how quickly you used them to defend yourself. Especially your warrior form.”

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