Page 80 of Claimed By the Band

Before I can dwell on that too much, Alex emerges one final time in his original clothes—well, my sweatshirt, technically. But it looks better on him. If I can't be wrapped around him protectively, it's the next best thing. "I think I've made my choices," he announces, holding a small pile of carefully selected pieces.

"Let me see!" I bounce over excitedly, pleased to note he's kept most of my suggestions, including both sweaters and that leather jacket that made Dante actually walk into a rack when Alex first tried it on.

"You've got good taste," I tell him, genuinely impressed by his selections. They're all pieces that will work together in different combinations, practical but stylish. Just like him.

"I had help," he says softly, giving me a small smile that has no right to affect me the way it does.

As we head toward the checkout counter, Dante starts listing off takeout options for lunch. He never stops thinking about food. Not that I'm much better.

I'm reaching for my wallet when I see Alex pull out a guard and practically trip over myself lunging for the counter. "What are you doing?"

"Paying for my stuff," he says, blinking.

"Uh-uh," I say firmly. "It was my idea to come here, it's my treat."

"But—"

"You're not letting us pay you," I remind him, ignoring the curious glances the clerk is giving us. This shopping trip is probably going to be break room gossip for a solid week. "But you said we could cover supplies, and this definitely counts as that."

He opens his mouth like he wants to argue, but Dante interrupts, bless him.

"You guys coming? We're literally wasting away to nothing over here."

Gotta love my most dramatic alpha. Sometimes his timingisperfect.

"Fine," Alex grumbles like I just asked him to sign away his firstborn, but I'll take it.

I hastily make my way through the transaction, tip the clerk even though I'm not sure that's something you're supposed to do, and grab the bags before Alex can fuss about that, too.

Damon reaches to take them but I'm pretty sure I look like I'll bite his hand if he does because he yanks it back. Smart man.

"Dante is right. We should probably eat before tonight's mission," he says with a knowing chuckle. "Something light but filling."

"Thai?" Damon suggests. "That place near the hotel had good reviews."

My stomach does a nervous flip at the mention of tonight. I almost forgot what all this was for. But it's our best chance at getting answers, both about the attack on my concert and about whatever connection there might be to Alex's past.

"Thai sounds perfect," Alex says, pulling me from my worried thoughts. "As long as they have those spring rolls you were talking about yesterday."

"The ones with the peanut sauce?" I perk up immediately. "Oh my god, yes. You're going to love them."

It's one of about a million things in this world I want to experience for the first time all over again by sharing them with him. If he'll let us.

But first, we need to get through tonight. Need to figure out what his brother is doing here and how it connects to everything else. Need to make sure Alex knows he never has to run again, that he has people who will fight for him now.

As we load our shopping bags into the SUV, I find myself studying his profile. He's more relaxed than I've ever seen him, chatting with Dante about different types of curry while Damon calls in our lunch order. He belongs here, with us. I just hope he'll let himself believe that.

Soon, I tell myself. Soon we'll have answers, and then maybe Alex will finally feel safe enough to stay. Safe enough to let down those walls completely and let us—letme—in.

But for now, I'll take this.

Alex in my borrowed sweatshirt, debating the merits of pad thai versus drunken noodles, slowly but surely becoming part of our strange little family.

31

JORDAN

Iadjust my tie in the mirror, smoothing down the burgundy silk shirt that somehow makes my eyes look bigger, my skin warmer. Asher was right. The color does something magical that I can't quite explain. Or maybe it's just the memory of his fingers rolling up my sleeves, careful and gentle.

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