"Two pumps of vanilla, a splash of oat milk," I confirm, following her into the kitchen. "I pay attention to the important things."
"Apparently." She peers into the pastry bag. "Chocolate croissants? You're spoiling me."
"You need to raise your standards if you think that's spoiling, gorgeous," I say, winking at her. "But plenty of time for that. I just figured you might be hungry after last night. We talked a lot."
"And ate a lot," she says with a laugh. "I should still be full from all the baked goods."
"You'll develop a secondary dessert stomach," I say with absolute certainty. "For survival."
We settle at her small kitchen table, knees bumping in the limited space. I don't mind. Any excuse to be close to her.
"So," she says after finishing her croissant, "what brings you by so early? Besides being a very hunky breakfast delivery service."
"Hunky delivery, huh?" I muse, scratching at my stubble. "Sounds like a business in there."
She laughs. "If you get tired of hockey, I'm sure there is. Zayn could plan it out."
I snort. "We already come close enough to killing each other on the ice. I don't even want to think about adding numbers into the mix."
I take a sip of my coffee, buying more time to answer her question from a second ago. The truth is, I couldn't stay away. After last night, after the pack's revelation and Lexie's cautious acceptance, I needed to see her. To make sure she hadn't changed her mind in the cold light of morning.
"The truth is, I came over because I wanted to check in," I admit. "Make sure you were okay after everything last night. It was a lot to take in."
She studies me over the rim of her coffee cup, those warm brown eyes seeing more than I'm comfortable with. "I'mprocessing," she says finally. "Still wrapping my head around the whole 'scent match to five professional athletes' thing."
"Yeah, that's not something you hear every day. For what it's worth, I'm still processing too."
"Really?" She looks surprised. "But you've known for days."
"Knowing and understanding are different things." I pick at my second croissant, suddenly not as hungry. "I still can't fully smell it—the match, I mean. These suppressants dull everything. But I feel it. Have since we met."
"What does it feel like?" she asks, genuine curiosity in her voice. "For you, I mean."
I consider the question, trying to put into words something that exists mostly as instinct and feeling. "Like... recognition. Like meeting someone and immediately knowing they matter, even if you can't explain why." I meet her eyes, wanting her to understand. "It's not just biology, Lexie. The scent match might be what drew me to you initially, but it's not why I keep coming back."
"No?" Her voice is soft, almost vulnerable.
"No," I say firmly. "I come back because you're smart and funny and kind. Because you make incredible sweaters and climb through bathroom windows to escape insurance salesmen. Because of that cute little way your nose wrinkles when you laugh."
A flush spreads across her cheeks, but she holds my gaze. "You make it sound so simple."
"It can be," I say, reaching across the table to take her hand. "If we let it."
Her fingers twine with mine, warm and delicate against my calloused palm. "What about the pack? Are you sure they're as on board as they say?"
"Are you kidding? They haven't shut up about you since you left," I tell her. "Even Zayn is smitten."
She blushes the most perfect shade of pink I've ever seen. "And what about the omega thing? How are you handling that?"
The question catches me off guard, though it shouldn't. Lexie has a way of cutting through bullshit, of asking the questions that matter.
"Some days are better than others," I admit, more honest with her than I've been with anyone since the presentation. "The suppressants help with the physical stuff, but the rest..." I shrug, not sure how to articulate the identity crisis that's been raging inside me for weeks.
It's only intensified since finding out Lexie is my scent match and I realize it's because I want to get the full effect, to indulge my endless curiosity about this woman and her scent. But I'm also afraid. Afraid that if I let that side of myself out, if I stop fighting the omega nature I only recently found out about, she'll decide I'm not enough. Or that I'm too much.
"The rest is harder," she finishes for me, understanding in her eyes.
"Yeah." I squeeze her hand, grateful for her perception. "It's like I spent twenty-seven years building an identity around being a certain kind of player, a certain kind of man. And now I'm supposed to be someone else entirely."
