Page 41 of Sold to the wrong Alpha
“It’s not that it’s not funny… it’s all of it.” Jax wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. He took a breath to compose himself, and looked at him. And the laughter cut off abruptly, as if someone had pulled a switch.
“Wait. You’re serious.”
Ren didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. The color of his cheeks spoke for him, red from his ears to his collarbone, a visible fire beneath his pale skin.
Jax rested his elbows on the island and leaned forward. The smile curving his mouth was different from the laughter: precise, sharp, surgical.
“You’re jealous.”
“No.”
“Yes, you are.”
“I’m not jealous.” Ren pushed the plate away from him. “It’s a question. Simple curiosity.”
“Simple curiosity.” Jax repeated the words, savoring them like a piece of candy. “At seven in the morning. With that face. Tearing bread with your hands. Simple curiosity, he says.”
“Jax.”
“No, no, let me enjoy this.” He raised his hands. “I’ve been here three years and never, never, have I seen someone blush for asking something out of simple curiosity.”
Ren closed his eyes. The blood was pounding in his temples.
“Zev’s like his little brother,” Jax said, and his voice lost some of its edge. “Brody got him out of a shitty situation a long time ago. But there’s nothing like what you think. Zev’s an alpha, too.”
Ren opened his eyes.
“What you saw last night is exactly what it is. Brody makes sure he eats because Zev forgets. He forgets to eat, to sleep, to exist outside of whatever he’s doing on that tablet or his laptop. So Brody reminds him he has a body. That’s all.”
The information settled in Ren’s chest like cold water on a burn. Relief. Shame. Relief again, more intense, followed by a worse shame because the relief existed and it shouldn’t.
“It doesn’t matter,” he muttered.
“It does matter.” Jax picked up his coffee. “You’re jealous that Brody’s looking out for someone else right under your nose. That’s what’s going on.”
“I’m not…”
The kitchen door opened.
Brody entered with damp hair, wearing a gray t-shirt that clung to his shoulders, its thin fabric seemingly unable to conceal what was underneath. He paused as he took in the scene: Ren lit up like a match, Jax with the look of a cat that had just found a bowl of cream.
“What?” Brody asked.
“Nothing,” Ren said.
“Everything,” Jax said at the same time.
Brody looked back and forth between them. His jaw tightened. The scent of raisins and walnuts flooded the kitchen, subtle at first, then thick, as if Ren’s presence were stealing the essence from his body without permission. Ren held his breath.
Brody poured himself some coffee and leaned against the counter. His gray eyes, rimmed with red, settled on Ren.
“Did you sleep?”
“I slept well.” The answer came out sharp. Cold. Ren felt it leave his mouth like a shard of glass and did nothing to soften it.
Brody held the cup halfway to his lips.
“Are you sure?”
