Blind Tiger
Page 32

“I’m sure the learning curve is different for everyone,” he said, evidently unaware of the salacious turn my thoughts had taken. “And I’m just as sure that there are things you’re better at than I am.”
“Any idea what those things are? Because off the top of my head, all I can come up with is menstruation and makeup application. And I couldn’t swear to that second one.”
Titus laughed, and the sound filled me with joy in a deeply felt but incomprehensible way. As if his mood were connected to mine through some psychological puppet string.
Would it be like that with any Alpha? I hadn’t spent much time around any of the others—an intentional choice on my part.
Did that connection work both ways? If I smiled, would he feel happier?
My gaze wandered over the photographs again. “These are your parents?” I asked, cringing over how obvious the answer must be. But he only nodded. “May I ask what happened to them?”
“Car crash.” Titus slid both hands into the pockets of his casual slacks. “I was twenty-five, and my brother was fourteen.”
“How awful!”
“Really. It’s okay. It was five years ago.” He turned to a freestanding bar along the wall and pulled a crystal decanter full of amber liquid from the shelf. “What about your family?”
“My parents are still alive, in the clinical sense, at least. Though neither of them has had anything I’d describe as a real life in at least a decade.”
“And how would you describe a ‘real life?’” He poured an inch of whiskey—as my nose labeled it—into a short glass, then wordlessly offered it to me.
I shook my head to decline politely. “I’d be happy if either of them ever left the house for something other than work and grocery shopping. Though I’m not sure they actually leave to shop anymore, since my sister showed them how to order groceries online.”
“And your sister? What’s she like?”
“Married with a two-year-old daughter. Dana’s a guidance counselor at an elementary school in Kentucky, in a town full of women just like her. Seriously, she wouldn’t stand out in a random sampling. But at least she and her husband have a date night every Friday. She’s the one who encouraged me to apply to graduate school.”
“How much do they all know about what happened to you?”
“Nothing.” Despite the size of the room, instead of echoing, that word hung there in front of me, like a cloud of smoke in the air, tainting every breath I took. “The council said I couldn’t tell them anything, for their own good. And I’m only allowed to talk to them on supervised phone calls.” My voice dropped into a bitter growl. “The Di Carlos confiscated my cell phone until I’m ‘rehabilitated’.”
“We keep several disposable cells on hand. I’ll have Naveen set one up for you after dinner. And of course, you’re welcome to call your family while you’re here.” He took a long sip from his glass. “Do they know you’re no longer in school?”
“No. But I told them I’d need another semester to graduate. That I was short two classes. With any luck, I’ll be finished serving my sentence in time to graduate next December.”
“I’m sure you will be.”
I kept my doubts to myself and changed the subject. “What about—”
“Knox says it’s time to eat,” Brandt said from the doorway. “He made me actually come find you instead of shouting. It’s not a very efficient system.”
Titus chuckled. “Sounds like the manners are chafing.”
“Like burlap underwear,” Brandt confirmed.
The guys were already in the dining room when we arrived, each standing behind one of the eight chairs in a very formal posture, in spite of the fact that they all wore jeans. At each place setting, nested inside the other dishes, sat a steaming bowl of orangish soup. A beautifully browned dinner roll lay on the small plate at each setting.
Brandt took up his position behind one of the empty chairs, leaving only Titus’s seat at the head the table, and mine to his right. Titus pulled out my chair for me, and only once I was seated did the others join me.
I’d never felt more conspicuous in my life. Or more…esteemed.
If this is what chivalry looks like in the twenty-first century, sign me up.
“Since we have no service staff, this will only be a semi-formal dinner,” Titus announced as he took his seat. “Please forgive any breaches of etiquette caused by the lack.”
“I wouldn’t know the difference,” I mumbled as I stared down the length of the polished, leaf-shaped table. The most formal meal I’d ever attended was my high school’s annual honor’s banquet. Which was a buffet.
“Knox, what are we starting with?” the Alpha asked.
“Our first course is curried pumpkin soup.”
“The soup spoon is the one on the far right,” Brandt stage whispered from across the table as he lifted his. I couldn’t resist a laugh as I dipped my own spoon into the gold-rimmed bowl atop my nested place setting.
I moaned around the first bite, then glanced around the table in embarrassment. Which turned out to be unnecessary. Most of the guys had their eyes closed, their expressions frozen in near orgasmic pleasure.
“Holy shit, man, that’s really good!” Brandt said.
Naveen laughed from his left, and Titus shot the kid a censuring glance. “While the phrasing is coarse, even for a semi-formal meal, I do agree with the sentiment!” our host declared.
Knox shrugged off the compliment, but I could see that he was pleased.
“So, if you can eat like this, why bother with the paper plates?” I asked as I lifted another steaming bite toward my mouth.
Drew huffed. “You’ll understand when you see the pile of dishes waiting in the kitchen.”
“My mother’s china is hand wash only,” Titus added. The table groaned unanimously.
Spencer pointed his spoon at his Alpha. “I know I’m only a guest here, but it seems to me that he who requested the formal dinner—and didn’t help cook—should do the dishes.”
A chorus of cheers went up around the table.
“Insurrection already? The Pride hasn’t even been formally recognized!” Titus laughed. “Fine. I’ll do the dishes. You can all relax and eat.”