Page 54 of Heat Clinic

“What do you think he’s saying?” I whisper.

Tom’s hand slides to my hip as he pulls me against him. “How dare you endanger my precious omega, the future mother of our children? She should be wrapped in bubble wrap and fed ice cream with a golden spoon.”

I snort. “Please tell me you guys don’t actually own any golden spoons.”

“I may have to talk Marcus out of adding a set to our registry.”

I look up at him and study Tom’s profile. He’s a handsome man. As tall as an alpha, but lean and with a quiet strength instead of brawn and bite. He keeps his jawline more clean shaven than Marcus, who seems to always sport some degree of stubble. Long, dark eyelashes frame his piercing green eyes.Why do men always have the prettiest eyelashes? It is seriously not fair.

“We have a registry?”

“Oops. Let that slip, did I?” He looks at me and grins, then winks, and I forget how to breathe. “It’s mostly for the family. So they have something to spoil us with. Everyone is excited. They can’t wait to meet you both.”

Oh, God.They’ve told everyone already. The idea of being swarmed by so many new family members makes my neck itch. I’m not just adding one set of in-laws, but three. It’s daunting.

“Do you both have large families?” I ask. There’s still so much we have to learn about each other.

“Marcus has a sister who owns a bakery in the city. I’m an only child, but I have many cousins. We see them once every few years, sometimes at Christmas and other times in the summer. I think this coming Christmas is supposed to be in England. Marcus would know for certain. He’s the one who keeps track of those details. Have you ever been?”

“To England?” I’ve never left the state let alone the country. “No.”

“We’ll rectify that then. You’ll love it during Christmas. And we’ll do all the terrible tourist things that are absolutely mandatory for someone to do on their first trip to London. If you’re very good, and by that I mean incredibly naughty, you might even convince me to go down to Bath and see Stonehenge and the Roman baths. They have a Christmas market and these sweet buns that are sort of like a brioche and… Well, you’ll have to try one and tell me what you think.”

I try to imagine what that sort of life will be like. Living in New York City. Taking Christmas trips to London. It’s exciting and terrifying. Marcus pulls Sam into a bear hug and pats his back.

“Looks like they’re done.”

Marcus holds the door open as Sam ducks inside.

Sorry, I mouth at him. He rubs his hand through his hair, messing it up, and shrugs, looking sheepish.

“I’ve called her a car,” Tom says. “Oh, I think that’s it.”

A sleek black Town Car pulls up to the valet stand and idles. Sam presses a kiss to my cheek and whispers for me to text him when I’m safe at home, and then Marcus comes up next and holds out his hand for me to take. Tom takes his arm from around my waist and ghosts it down my ass, giving a cheek a squeeze before he lets me go.

Marcus curls his fingers around my hand and leads me to the door, holding it open. The driver gets out and comes around to get the car door for me. When I’m settled on the seat, Marcus shoos the driver off and leans in. His enormous body fills the whole doorway as he presses a kiss to my forehead.

“I hope you feel better soon. If there’s anything you need, let me know and you’ll have it.”

“I will.” He shuts the door and stands there while I give the driver my address and he pulls away. Tom and Sam come up and join him as they all see me off, and I spend the entire ride home wishing I hadn’t gotten sick and ruined it because there’s so much I want to learn about them.

At home, my key sticks in the lock until I shimmy it and push at the same time so it opens. I lock it behind me and drop my purse on the coffee table and collapse on my sofa, kicking my heels off and lying down as I get a pillow into place. My stomach settles once I’m horizontal for a bit and I debate what I want to watch as I fish my phone out of my purse and text Sam that I’m home. Marcus and Tom will want a text too, but I realize that I don’t have their phone number.Wasn’t it on the paperwork?

The folder’s on my coffee table, unopened since I got home. It feels invasive and weird to read it now that I know they’re not kidnapping murderers. Like an invasion of privacy. But if they’re my packmates then it’s stuff I should know, right? Even if we haven’t had a ceremony or marked each other. Deep inside of me, I know they’re mine. The feeling scares me. Like looking down at the drop before you let go of the rope swing and let yourself fall into the lake. You know you’re going to fall, and you know the water will catch you, but your heart still races when gravity takes control.

I’m overthinking things again. Exactly like I did when it took me four terrible heats to work up the courage to go to the free clinic instead of roughing it at home.

Plenty of people jump all in when they find their packmates. But I’ve never been an impulsive person, and it’s difficult to break old habits even if everything inside of me is screaming to let go and enjoy it. Let them spoil me if they have the money for it. Let them take me on fancy vacations abroad. But I draw the line at the golden spoons. That’s absolutely ridiculous.

At the very least I need to thank them for lunch. I find Marcus’s number on the form and send him a text. Should I mention the end? Maybe apologize for ruining things? But I don’t want him to think about how mad he got at Sam. I decide not to bring it up at all.

Emily

Hi. It’s Emily. Thank you for lunch. The restaurant was lovely.

Marcus

It was wonderful to see you again, sweetheart. How are you feeling?

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