Page 45 of Wicked Truths

I’m such an idiot.

Then again, if I hadn’t made a move that night, then I may not have ended up with Marcus.

It’s incredibly confusing.

I open the menu and start browsing to distract myself.

Sullivan stretches a hand down, wrapping it under my feet and pulling my legs up to rest next to him on the couch.

I peek over the top, blinking in shock or possibly confusion. Sulli laughs and my stupid heart pounds. Maybe he misses me too? I’d really like it if we could forget what happened and just go back to being friends.

“Are you going to share, or do I have to guess what they’ve got?” He nods to the menu. The top halves of our bodies are facing opposite directions, but I shimmy to the side a bit to give him the chance to check it out. His arm brushes mine, and my heart tries to pound right out of my damn chest.

Sullivan’s cedar and citrus scent floods my nose, and it’s hard to focus.

Those stupid suppressants are totally failing. Marcus is right. I don’t know why I still take them.

They’re kind of a safety net or a shield. Being an omega makes me feel weirdly vulnerable. It feels like when I admit my designation then I’m admitting I can’t survive without alphas.

“Are you eating light since we’ll be on stage tonight?” He bumps his arm against my legs. “Or is there a chance I can talk you into splitting a plate of chicken nachos with me?”

My mind races.

What is going on? Did he and Hawk sit down and decide they were going to be the most frustrating human beings on the planet?

I was going to get a Cobb salad or something similar for the protein, but the appeal of sharing anything with Sullivan is too strong. “Yeah, we can share. Just no jalapeños.”

“God, neither of us need a repeat of that debacle.” He chuckles, swiping a tattooed hand over his face. “Can you imagine that kind of heartburn on stage? We better ask what level of heat is in the pico.”

He just said more words to me at one time than he has since that night. My eyes fly to his as I try to get myself together. If he’s offering an olive branch, then I’m taking it.

“Yeah, and ask for extra sour cream,” I say, shoving the menu at his chest. He knows me well enough that I always get nervous and mess up the order. Sulli used to call in our food all the time.

My heart beats funny when he shoves himself off the couch, stepping over to the phone without argument.

I’m seriously wondering if I slipped into an alternate universe or something. This is absolutely wild.

Sullivan orders food and gets a bunch of extra stuff, including the salad I was going to order. It’s crazy that he adds it on without me having to ask. Or maybe he’s just getting a ton of food because he knows we won’t get another chance to eat until after the show tonight.

Once he’s done, he tosses himself down on the couch at my side rather than taking one of the other seats. “Want to watch the show about aliens and ancient civilizations?” He yanks his phone out of his pocket.

“Yeah, okay, but I haven’t seen any of the new episodes.”

“Me neither. I bet it’s still saved on the last one we watched.”

Well, damn. That definitely makes my stomach feel all fluttery and chaotic. “Let’s do it.”

“Here, so we can both see it.” He tosses a throw pillow on his chest. I blink for so long that he continues, “I don’t know how we can both watch my phone if we don’t face the same direction.”

He’s right. I struggle against the tight hold of the compression material and snuggle into the hole between him and the back cushion of the couch.

Sullivan’s scent hits my nostrils, and it becomes clear this was a really bad idea. He’s so familiar it makes me ache to wallow around his chest to catch deeper hits of his scent. Instead, I cross my arms over my chest and miss everything in the episode as I obsess about what this means.

When the food comes, Sullivan shoves himself off the couch to answer the door to the suite. The waiter, or whatever you call the guy who delivers the food, sets up the tray next to the couch and leaves the rest on the table. This place is so fancy it actually has a nook with four chairs to eat next to the patio. Once everything is set up, Sullivan tips the guy, which is nice because I’m damn hungry, and trying to climb off the couch again in the snuggle contraption feels impossible.

I rip it off, tossing it in the chair next to us while Sulli chuckles.

“What? There’s no way I could eat properly with that thing pushing on my guts.” I shrug.

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