Page 23 of Pack Plus Three

Taking out my phone, I snapped a photo of Gilbert looking longingly at the beaming omega, begging for food.

They looked perfect together.

Chapter 11

Devon

When Jeremy had told me he needed extra plywood for the project apartment in an offhand comment, I decided that I needed to be a good packmate and take some to him.

It had nothing to do with the fact that I wanted to catch a glance of the omega who Jeremy was falling for, hard and fast.

He had sent me a photo of the omega sitting with Gilbert, feeding him a fry. Her face was obscured somewhat by her hair, but it was a cute scene.

On the drive over, I had thought about how I would need to be sneaky to catch a glance of her without seeming like a total creep-show stalker.

Turns out, I didn’t need to be careful at all, because she was standing in the recently renovated kitchen in the project apartment, blaring some sort of bubble-gum pop as she baked.

While forming dough of some variety, she sang along with the music. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail of cascading red curls, and she wore a tight, long-sleeve black shirt that hugged her bump beautifully and leggings that showed off every curve of her body.

She was stunning, and either she was baking with apples and some sort of rich brown sugar—which was a possibility—or she smelled fucking divine.

She hadn’t even noticed me entering the apartment, which gave me pause. Her lack of awareness was worrying; I could have been anyone. Then again, Jeremy had outfitted the place with a sturdy door and two separate locks—I just happened to have keys to both locks. Jeremy had mentioned putting a deadbolt on her door, so clearly, she needed the extra security.

“You don’t look like Jeremy,” I said from the doorway, not bothering to stifle my chuckle.

“Holy f—” She jumped, the ceramic mixing bowl in her hand falling to the floor, shattering against the very tile I had helped Jeremy install a few weeks ago.

I darted forward, driven by instinct, holding my hands out. “Don’t move!” I ordered, putting all my alpha growl behind the words to ensure she listened, since the ceramic was sharp and could easily cut her. She had nothing on her feet, not even a pair of slippers. Why hadn’t Jeremy bought her some slippers? The tile was cold and not ideal for bare feet. If she hurt herself, I would feel terrible, and Jeremy would probably do his best to maim me—and succeed.

“Who are you?” she asked, panting. One hand rested over her heart while the other reached behind her, pressing against her lower back, which no doubt ached from the sheer pressure of her baby bump. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m Devon, and I should be asking you why you’re here,” I said, leaning down and picking up the larger bits of broken bowl. Even though it was fairly obvious who she was, I still wanted her to introduce herself, so I didn’t come off creepy and stalkerish.

“Oh! You’re Jeremy’s packmate, the one he owns the construction company with?” she said. Up close I could tell that the delicious smell was, in fact, her and not whatever she was making.

“I am. He’s told you about me?” I asked, looking up. She was still panting from the surprise, and it only drew my attention to her low-cut top. I didn’t think the top was meant to be revealing, but she was spilling out of it, exposing curves that had my cock standing to attention and straining against my zipper.

“He talks about you and Nate fairly regularly.”

“And I’m guessing you’re Daisy?” I asked, doing my best to avoid looking at her chest. I couldn’t let myself have dirty thoughts about a noticeably pregnant omega I’d just met.

“I am.” She nodded in confirmation. Not that I needed it. How many heavily pregnant, redheaded omegas would be in my packmate’s apartment?

“Whatever you’re making smells amazing. Sorry for startling you,” I said sheepishly, taking in the mess I had caused. From the looks of it, she’d been having a nice day of baking, listening to music, and playing with the dog.

“No worries. You have more right to be here than me.”

What I didn’t say was that her presence warmed the apartment in a way we’d never experienced at the packhouse. The apartment felt homey—full of sweet smells and music—and that was because of her.

I shrugged. “You have every right to be here if Jeremy invited you.”

“He did.” She nodded. “I kept baking him cookies to say thank you for all the help he’s been giving me, but a pipe burst in my place, and now my oven just refuses to work, so Jeremy offered his kitchen.”

“Ahh, you’re the reason he’s consuming a million cookies a week. His coach is pissed he’s gained weight, but Jeremy couldn’t care less. He loves those cookies. I stole one from him, and he nearly threw me out the window!”

“Well, that’s not very nice of him! To answer your earlier question, I’m making snickerdoodles. There are some about to come out of the oven if you want some? There won’t be as many as I planned...” She looked at the discarded dough being cleaned off the floor.

“If I ever say no to cookies, could you just do me a favor and put me down? Because something would be very wrong with me to reject freshly baked treats.” One thing about me—I had a sweet tooth that could rival a feral toddler’s. If it was sweet, I would eat it.

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