The Alpha's Mate

Chapter Seven

I yawned and sat up, surprised to see Diesel asleep in the armchair located in the corner of the guest room. The corners of my mouth tugged up upon seeing him and hearing his soft snores. I climbed out of the queen-sized bed and tiptoed out of the room, hungry for breakfast. It was past noon, but it still seemed like breakfast for me.

I gently closed the door with a barely-audible click and made my way down the hall and into the kitchen. My breath caught when I saw Adrian. He was only wearing a pair of jeans. They hung low on his hips and his lack of a shirt exposed the dip of his hip bones, making my heart quicken and my skin heat up. His bronze skin was stretched tightly over pure muscle, wonderfully exposing his defined chest and eight pack. Adrian's biceps and back were toned and I could see his shoulder blades contract as his arm moved to grab the cereal box. Realizing that I had been staring, I blushed and quickly entered the room.

The kitchen had cool black tiles that were icy beneath my bare feet and pristine white walls. Dark, mahogany cabinets lined the walls and a few bay windows were displayed over sparkling granite counter-tops. It was a chef's dream. A stainless steel table was placed in the middle of the room, and it had mahogany stools surrounding it.

He turned upon hearing me enter and gestured toward the box of Honey Nut Cheerio's. "Want some?"

"Sure." I applauded myself internally for keeping my voice even.

I took a seat on one of the stools at a table in the middle of the large kitchen and watched Adrian, doing my very best to be inconspicuous in the process. His jaw was lined with stubble, giving him a ruggedly handsome vibe, and he had dark circles under his stormy eyes, showing how tired he was. His ebony hair was mussed in a bed-head mixed with I-don't-give-a-crap way. Memories of kissing him at the vending machine and at the party flooded my mind and I silently cursed myself. Even the memory of the two of us on my balcony a few weeks ago came back to visit my imagination and fantasies.

Adrian sat in the stool across me and slid my bowl across the table so it landed right in front of me, smirking when I grinned at him. I took a bite and swallowed, doing my absolute best to keep my eyes on the cereal—not him.

"Isn't it a bit late for cereal?" I raised an eyebrow at him.

"You're eating it, aren't you?" His husky voice sent tingles down my spine.

"I just woke up."

"Maybe I did too."

This time I raised both eyebrows, unbelieving.

He chuckled. "Fine. I can't cook to save my life. Cereal and sandwiches are about all I can make."

I smiled to myself and shoved another spoonful of cereal into my mouth.

"What's so funny?" He wondered.

"You're exactly like my brother. He only makes grilled cheese sandwiches. One time when we were younger—he was fourteen and I was eleven—he nearly burned down the house trying to make Ramen. Apparently he forgot to add water."

Adrian laughed—not a chuckle, a real laugh. It warmed my heart and flooded me with happiness that I was able to make him laugh like that.

"Sounds exactly like something I would do."

We talked easily after that, though I was still extremely aware of our closeness. Only a thin table and two bowls of cereal were between us. We stood up and walked over to the sink at the same time.

"You wash, I'll dry," Adrian offered.

"Okay."

The process of washing two bowls and two spoons was easy and only took a few minutes, but it was a lot more enjoyable with Adrian helping me. While he was waiting for me to wash the next bowl, he pumped some soap on his palms, rubbed them together, then gently formed his hands into an 'O' shape. He faced me and blew softly on the glassy surface between his palms, forming a glistening bubble that popped on my face. I squealed and laughed, hearing his low chuckle as I did the same thing to him.

Adrian dried the last bowl as I rinsed out the sink, then tossed the dishtowel over his shoulder. I gasped as he flicked me with ice cold water and snatched the dish towel, doing my very best to ignore the electricity that ran through my veins when my fingers brushed against his warm skin.

I used the dish towel like a whip and grinned, holding it up like a shield whenever he'd flick more water at me. I wrung it into a whip-like shape and swatted his abs, laughing as he fell to the ground. Realizing that he was blocking my exit, I attempted to jump over him, but my plan failed miserably. He grabbed my ankle and pulled me down. I yelped as I fell on top of him and felt the blood rush to my cheeks.

"Gotcha," he smirked.

The corners of my mouth tugged up and I pushed myself off of him, pulling him up with me. I felt his eyes on me as I hung the dish towel and turned around, giving him a questioning look.

"What?" I wondered.

His lips curved up, "I want to show you something. Come on." I followed him out of the kitchen, watching as he headed toward the stairs. "Wait here—I'll be right back."

He took the stairs two at a time and came back down a minute later wearing a thin t-shirt. He tossed a large hoodie toward me—I guessed that it was his—and twirled a key ring around his fingers. I pulled on the hoodie as we walked out the door and followed him to the same black convertible. The car shone and it wasn't hard to tell that Adrian loved his convertible.

The two of us climbed in and I found myself basking in the soft leather seats once again. "So, what's her name?" I asked.

His head jerked up and he shot me a questioning glance, "I don't have a girlfriend."

I laughed. "The car!"

"Oh," he grinned. "Lèa."

"Ooh, French."

"The only girl you'll ever have to be jealous of, Rosie."

"I'm glad I rank below a car."

He smirked. "So you admit you'd be jealous."

I shoved down the urge to blush. "I never said that."

"You didn't deny it," he pointed out.

"Just drive."

A corner of his mouth quirked up and he started the car, pulling out of the garage. "Yes, ma'am."