Chapter 29 Crazily Stupid
Kristen's POV
I've never had anyone cook for me before except my mom, it's always ordering take-out meals or going to restaurants to eat because I'm certain I will be a bad cook even in my next life
So when Calhoun settles the plate of sandwich in front of me, my chest is swollen as I have bath foams in there.
"Here you go," he stands aback and watches me.
Sluggishly, I pull the plate closer to me and sigh.
"Go ahead," he urges me.
It's not every day one can have a hot man preparing breakfast for them.
An Alpha who has thousands of people and all packs on the Eastside under him.
"You keep staring at the food, you don't like it?"
"No, no," in a rush, I push all the sandwich in my mouth, something which makes my cheeks bulge like a bulldog's.
Calhoun puts his hand on his chin and lowers his eyes into a squint as he observes me.
The sandwich is good but I'm not comfortable with the awareness of his gaze fixated on me like this.
I'll bet he thinks I'm clumsy with a bad eating habit, but it's not true. I'm just nervous about the fact that he's here with me, watching me eat when he should be attending to his duties as Alpha of the Greyhound pack.
Mom barely eats anything on the table, just to maintain her slim build like a model.
Aside from the fact that we're mates, why is Alpha Calhoun interested in me?
He told me right to my face that he'll never reject me.
Maybe if I become irrational, he'll find me very unattractive and regret everything he's ever done to hurt Mom. Then he'll reject me, stay married to her, try to resolve whatever issues between the two of them, and what happened with me and him will be buried forever. Except his beta lets the cat out of the bag, or the elders at the council hall confront Mom.
Right, Kristen? I ask myself inwardly but my wolf is against this. She likes me being around Calhoun and doesn't want me to
create a mess.
Calhoun doesn't say anything else, he just sips his coffee and stares at me from time to time.
Shoving the last of the sandwich in my mouth, I push the empty plate to his side.
"Can I get more?" I ensure my voice is groggy enough to disgust him.
"Sure," Calhoun avoids my eyes and hardens his jaw as he picks up the plate. I am unable to fathom if he's repulsed by this act or if he finds it hysterical.
Nevertheless, I won't back down until I succeed, even though my heart is nursing stupid stupid feelings for him. I'm sure I'll get over it later, after a successful rejection.
Calhoun is preparing another egg sandwich for me, this time I walk until I am standing in front of him.
Then I leave him astounded by stabbing my fingers into my nostrils and peaking for booger.
This is totally unhygienic, no man would want to stay around a girl this messy.
When I find a tiny booger, I rub it on my shirt.
There'd be time to wallow in shame but not right now.
Not right now, Kristen. Inside, I am cringing but outside my face has an innocent expression, as if everything I just did isn't disgusting.
In my mind, Calhoun is gagging but in reality, he just stays still, unblinking and not moving.
He doesn't even correct me.
In grade school, I learned this trick on how to force gas out of my butt. And the silly idea just pops right in my head, right at the time Calhoun shifts his attention from me to his cooking.
Pushing my fists through the pockets of my denim trousers, I whistle a song, suck in my butt so hard until I can't anymore, then I release it and fart so loud that it sounds like a groaning old man who was forced to exercise.
Calhoun flinches like he saw a ghost, snaps his head in my direction with eyes raised in their sockets.
Suddenly I wish I hadn't forced a fart right out of my butt.
Because he's laughing so hard right now.
"Believe me, Kristen. You'll have to try harder to make me think low of you," he says amid laughter and pinches my cheek," Christ, you're just so adorable."
Swatting his hand away, I facepalm in shame and defeat.
It's not working.
Ten minutes later, Calhoun serves me three plates of sandwiches.
But I'm already full, I just need to save Mom's marriage from crumbling before Calhoun and I leave this place.
Speaking of Mom, I'm clueless on what lies to tell, to make her believe nothing happened between me and her husband when something in fact did.
She'll literally die if she discovers the reason why Calhoun hasn't touched her since her wedding night is because of me. "Kristen?" Calhoun's deep voice slips me from my thoughts.
I don't eat the food, I just pull away and look around the kitchen until I find a bottle of juice.
But what's juice doing inside a cupboard and not in the fridge?
My throat seems like it could use the help of liquid right now after I've made such a fool of myself by failing to displease Calhoun.
"Not that one, Kristen," Calhoun heaves deeply when he finds me drinking the juice straight from the bottle.
I ignore him and drink as if I'm dying of thirst and I need it to survive.
But something doesn't seem right.
The juice tastes like alcohol, it doesn't even taste like the orange juice that I expected.
Eager to know if it's indeed alcohol, I continue drinking with raised eyes because it's burning my chest. But I don't stop. Calhoun curses so deeply under his breath and snatches the bottle away from me before I can empty it.
"Give it back,"
Calhoun shakes his head and holds the bottle away from my reach.
"You're so fucked, Kristen. It tastes like juice at first but then it's induced with 90% alcohol." He drops this bombshell. "What?" I ask after taking a rough gulp. It doesn't help that I feel woozy and my body feels like life is getting sucked out of it. "Females don't drink this, even men get high after taking half a glass. But you drank almost everything," Calhoun pants, puffs, and stares at me with displeasure.
"Oh my God," I suck in my own breath as I hold onto the kitchen island for support.
"Kristen?" Calhoun looks at me with worry on his face.
Just then, there's another of him and another, and another!
"Just stay where you are and don't move, I repeat, don't move," all four of him instructs me, nearing my side at once.
"You never told me you're a quadruplet, Alpha Calhoun," my grip on the kitchen island loosens and I fall, landing face flat on the floor.