Page 38 of The Omega Trials: Part Three

Sinclair

We stayed in the vault for hours, pouring over documents and material, and only made it through a fraction of the records. Being so far underground, we didn’t even know it was morning until Bishop’s phone alarm went off at six thirty, reminding us to sneak back to our wing.

“We need more time.” Titus drags his hands over his face, exhausted.

Ecker slumps onto the couch, equally as tired. “We’ll just have to go back tonight.”

“Yeah, and when are we supposed to sleep?” Titus huffs.

“How about now?” I answer, an idea percolating. “We can nap now, and later, if we have a valid reason for being at the cottage, we can spend as much time there as we need. We won’t have to sneak around or worry about being caught.”

Titus leans back. “What are you suggesting?”

“A family dinner.” I smile, turning to Ecker. “You said your dad’s ribs took all day, right?”

Something soft and warm reflects in his gaze. He returns my smile. “Right. But we’re not talking about boxed mac and cheese here. Do you know what to do?” He quirks a brow.

“I have three alphas to take care of now. I gotta start somewhere.”

He tucks a lock of hair behind my ear. “You don’thaveto do anything but sit pretty, baby girl.”

I laugh. “If you’re worried about me accidentally giving you all salmonella or something, don’t—I’ll have Seventeen help me.”

He sits back with an exaggerated sigh of relief. “Okay,phew.”

Bishop laughs. “Right, because you only ever poison us onpurpose.”

Ecker peruses the spice aisle like he’s at a fine art museum, tediously taking in every label.

“I’m sure I’ll recognize it,” he mumbles to himself as he scours row after row, looking for the specific steak seasoning his father used.

“Ah-ha!” He swipes one off the shelf triumphantly. “This and about five hours in the oven is all that’s needed for the best ribs you’ve ever had.”

I sling my arm around his waist, slipping my hand in his back pocket and smiling up at him. “Can’t wait.”

We find Titus and Bishop, just as Titus is loading a few cans of kidney beans into the cart. Bishop looks at the cans in thought, and I’m beginning to think these boys take grocery shopping way too seriously when he says, “If we use dry beans, it will go from a thirty-minute recipe to a three-hour one.”

“Good call,” Titus agrees and swaps them out while Bishop grabs a bag of rice.

This moment is so painfully mundane.

And I love every single thing about it.

Giddiness blooms in my chest, and I can’t help but stretch onto my toes to kiss Bishop’s and Titus’s cheeks. Titus gives my butt a light slap in return, and I feel my cheeks turn pink.

“This is nice,” I admit almost bashfully.

“What is?” Titus asks.

“Being normal.”

He bites his lip, fighting a smile, and I resist the urge to squeeze his sides and tickle him just to get him to crack a full smile.

Is Titus Cerulean ticklish?

The thought makes me laugh, and he looks at me with playful suspicion. “What now?”

“Oh, nothing,” I lie with a smirk, then mimic a camera with my hands, pretending to take a photo of my three gorgeous men with the most unexciting backdrop of rows and rows of beans. “Just capturing this slice of normalcy before we return to casually planning a coup.”

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