Page 75 of In Too Deep

And signing for the delivery of the centerpieces.

And grabbing the special linens and passing them off to the venue’s event team.

Aren’t there supposed to be other people helping you?

Allegedly.

So... what’s your answer?

I grin to myself as I pull into my parking garage and glide smoothly into one of my designated spaces. I fire off my address before I turn off the car and rush toward the elevator. Moments later, Tori shares her location, and my breath catches. She’s only minutes away, which makes the ride up twenty floors in the slowest elevator in the world that much more excruciating. I can’t help but sprint down the halls, but I’ve kept myself in fit enough condition to only be slightly out of breath by the time I make it through my door and into my apartment.

Looking at the space through a stranger’s eye, I toe off my shoes and place them on the mat just inside the door, using that to narrow down what needs to be addressed in the limited time I have before Tori arrives. The walls are a soft gray, only a few framed prints of abstract grayscale art breaking up the expanses. I gather up the few dirty button-downs draped over the backof the plush sectional, depositing them directly into the washer tucked away in a closet just inside the entry door. The kitchen is spotless, as usual, and I manage to get my bed made before there’s a buzz at the intercom next to the door.

Smiling, I allow Tori admittance into the building, looking around again. The sun is setting through the sliding glass doors leading to my balcony, the view one of the best things about this place. People gather in the streets nearby for a parade that’ll be rolling along the downtown route any minute now, the purple, green, and gold flickers of their outfits standing out among the streetlamps and headlights. I’m pulled from the view by a knock on my door, and I almost skip to answer it.

Tori’s face lights up in a smile as I pull the door open, and I let out a breath, tension leaving my back and shoulders as I usher her over the threshold. She’s stunning, as always, dressed for comfort today rather than her usual business attire. The dark-wash jeans highlight her ample curves, and I admire the way her team-branded quarter zip hugs her breasts and waist as I help her out of her coat. I hang it in my hall closet as Tori slides out of her shoes, dropping three inches in the process. Her steps are soft, her bare skin hitting the wood floors like whispers in the night. Something primal within me loves seeing her here, even if it’s not my permanent home. But having this omega in my domain, where I can watch her and care for her and keep her safe, is comforting in a way I’ve never felt before.

“Is the team paying for this?” she asks, looking around at the high ceilings and the surrounding trappings.

I grin sheepishly and shove my hands into the pockets of my slacks as I pace toward her. “What gave it away?” I ask.

She points to the ridiculously oversized vase full of faux grass and sticks in the corner of the living room, and then to the shelves of books surrounding my television, the spinescompletely blank and pages painted on cardboard. Smiling a little wider, I nod, and she laughs.

“It’s temporary, until I buy a house or something, I guess. Not that I’ve been looking,” I admit, closing the remaining distance between us and gently placing a hand on her lower back.

She turns more fully into my arms, allowing me to wrap both of my arms around her and pull her to my chest. Looking up at me, her two-toned blue eyes wide with curiosity.

“Why not?” she asks innocently.

I shrug, not sure of the answer myself. Something inside me isn’t quite settled, reluctant to set down roots in a place. Maybe things will change after our press conference, or after the season is over. Or maybe it’s because I know in the depths of my soul that my location doesn’t matter, and my home will always be the incredible woman in my arms. But I don’t speak the words out loud just yet. Too many things are still uncertain, and she doesn’t need the extra pressure of my feelings when she’s already carrying so much. Instead, I lean down and kiss her, our lips brushing gently at first, and then with more desperation. When we pull away, I rest my forehead against hers and close my eyes, just breathing in her sweet and floral scent. She didn’t need to wear any scent blockers today, a rarity these days considering how much time she spends with her alphas, but I won’t deny that I’m grateful not to have the Play-Doh-y aftertaste of them on the back of my tongue.

But the peace is shattered when my stomach lets out an almighty growl, making Tori snort and cackle. I pull back and give her a playful glare, which only makes her laugh more. I growl and lunge for her, and she shrieks with mock fear as she dodges me, fleeing toward the kitchen. I give chase, letting her evade me for a moment before finally cornering her against the sink, boxing her in with my arms as I kiss her again, trailing my mouth along her chin and nipping playfully.

“When’s the last time you ate, baby girl?” I ask, nuzzling her temple with mine.

The long pause makes me growl again. Tori yelps as I reach down and grab the backs of her thighs, hoisting her into my arms before depositing her on the breakfast bar counter so I can work on getting some sort of meal prepared for us. But as soon as I turn my back, Tori slides down, brazenly picking her way through my cabinets. I whip around and repeat myself, ignoring her petulant little huff as I plop her ass on the granite again.

“Stay,” I growl, locking eyes with her for a moment before turning away.

“I’m not a dog,” she snarks.

“If your feet touch the floor again, I’m putting you on top of the fridge,” I snarl, turning halfway around.

Tori stills, halfway down from her perch before she slowly reverses and sits on the counter again. For a few minutes, I’m able to work in peace, settling on a quick meal of fried rice, using some day-old takeout rice I’d brought home from a team meal, and some shrimp I’d been defrosting. I’m warming up the wok when a motion out of the corner of my eye pulls my attention. And when I turn around, I let out a true warning growl. Tori is on her feet, carefully balancing on the edge of the counter as she rifles through my spice cabinet. There are two bottles already cradled in her arms when she freezes like a deer in headlights.

“What the fuck did I just say?” My pitch drops into my “Daddy voice” as Tori calls it.

“But my feet aren’t touching the floor!” she protests.

I let out a sharp sigh, using every ounce of willpower I have not to laugh. That’s the way with brats; they’re too smart for their own good, and sometimes they’re funny as hell as they do everything they can to rules-lawyer their way out of instructions.

“Get down before you fall and break your neck,” I say.

Looking down, she chews on her lower lips pensively. I don’t make any moves to help her, just to see what she’s going to do next. If she hops down to the floor, she’ll wind up sitting on the incredibly tall fridge, and there’s no way she’s able to get down from there without help. But she needs her hands to safely return to the breakfast bar, and they’re currently full of whatever the hell she found in the back of my cupboards. She could ask for help, but that’d mean admitting that she can’t do it herself, something brats will never do willingly. I rock my weight forward slightly as she takes a tentative step forward, my muscles tensed to leap into action. And not three seconds later, she steps on the hem of her jeans, and pitches sideways. But I’m right there, arms cradling her before she even has a chance to scream.

“Good catch,” she mutters as I set her back on the island, face an adorable shade of bright pink.

“Couldn’t have you breaking your neck on me,” I tease, looking down at her with a soft smile.

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