Chapter 3: Born ready

~∆~ Mariah's POV ~∆~

I wake up to the smell of bacon and the sound of Ethan humming off-key in my kitchen. For a split second, I forget about last night's hallway encounter and just feel grateful that my boyfriend is the type of guy who makes breakfast without being asked.

Then I remember green eyes and a rough voice saying "sweet dreams," and the guilt comes flooding back.

"Morning, beautiful," Ethan calls when he hears me padding toward the kitchen. "I made your favorite."

He's standing at my stove in nothing but his boxer briefs, and objectively, I know he looks good. Ethan works out religiously, has to, to keep up with his werewolf metabolism, and it shows.

Lean muscle, perfect abs, the kind of ass that would make most women weep with gratitude.

So why do I find myself comparing him to broad shoulders and a black t-shirt stretched across a chest that looked like it could stop a fast-moving train?

"You didn't have to do that," I say, accepting the plate he hands me. Eggs Benedict with fresh hollandaise, perfectly crispy bacon, and sliced strawberries arranged in a little heart shape.

Because, of course, they are.

"I wanted to." He drops a kiss on my forehead, and I catch his scent, cherries and a mix of sandalwood. "Besides, you seemed stressed last night. Thought you could use some pampering."

Stressed. Right. If only he knew why.

"Work stuff," I lie, taking a bite of eggs that taste like sawdust in my mouth. "The Morrison account is being difficult."

"The hockey player?" Ethan's eyebrows rise. "I thought that was going well."

"It is. Was. He wants to rebrand his whole image, and his management team keeps changing their minds about direction." I'm improvising now, but it sounds believable. "Athletes can be... demanding."

"Tell me about it." Ethan rolls his eyes. "Remember that defensive lineman I represented last year? Wanted to sue a reporter for calling him 'surprisingly articulate' because he thought it was racist. Which it probably was, but good luck proving that in court."

Right. Ethan's job. I should ask about it, show interest, and be a supportive girlfriend. Instead, I find myself wondering what Rain Cross does for a living. Professional hockey, obviously, but for which team? And why did his name sound so familiar?

"Earth to Ria." Ethan waves a hand in front of my face, grinning. "You're somewhere else this morning."

"Sorry." I force a smile. "Just tired. You know how I get when I don't sleep enough."

"Which is why I'm taking care of you." He sits across from me with his own plate, loaded with about three times as much food as mine. Werewolf metabolism is no joke. "Eat up, and then you can go back to bed for a while. I don't have to be in the office until noon."

The implication is clear. He wants to take me back to bed, and not for sleeping. The thought makes my stomach clench with an emotion I don't want to examine too closely.

"Actually, I should get some work done," I say quickly. "The Morrison thing really is behind schedule."

Disappointment flashed across his face, but he nodded. "Of course. Work first. Maybe tonight we can..."

A loud crash from next door cuts him off, followed by what sounds like an entire furniture store being rearranged. Ethan's head snaps toward the sound, his nostrils flaring slightly.

Oh, shit.

"New neighbor," I say casually, praying my voice doesn't shake. "Moved in last night. Seems like he's still unpacking."

Ethan's eyes narrow, and I can practically see his wolf pushing closer to the surface. "Male?"

"I assume. I haven't actually met him." The lie slides off my tongue so easily that it scares me. When did I become someone who lies without even thinking about it?

Another crash, followed by more creative cursing. This time I recognize Rain's voice, and my traitorous body responds with a flutter of awareness I absolutely do not want to feel.

"Sounds like he's having trouble," Ethan says, standing up. "Maybe I should offer to help."

"No!" The word comes out harsher than I intended, and Ethan's eyebrows shoot up. "I mean, he might not appreciate strangers barging in. Some people are private about their space."

"Since when are you concerned about bothering strangers? You're the one who brought cookies to Mrs. Chen when she moved in."

Damn it. He's right. Normally I would be the first person to offer help to a new neighbor. The fact that I'm actively trying to prevent Ethan from meeting Rain is going to seem suspicious.

"You're right," I say, forcing enthusiasm into my voice. "We should introduce ourselves. Be good neighbors."

But even as I say it, panic is sinking its nails into my chest. If Ethan meets Rain, he'll smell him on me from last night. Werewolves can detect scents hours after contact, and Ethan is particularly sensitive to other males around me.

He says it's because I'm his mate. I've always assumed it was just normal boyfriend jealousy. Now I'm wondering if there's a difference.

"Great," Ethan says, already heading toward the door. "Let me just put on some clothes."

While he's getting dressed, I frantically try to think of a way out of this. I could fake a sudden illness. I have an urgent work call. Set the apartment on fire.

Okay, maybe not that last one. That was too elaborate.

But before I can come up with a reasonable excuse, Ethan is back, dressed in jeans and a fitted t-shirt that shows off his gym-sculpted physique. He looks good. Really good.

So why do I feel like I'm about to walk into a minefield?

"Ready?" he asks, offering me his arm.

No. Absolutely not. This is the worst idea in the history of bad ideas.

"Ready," I lie.

" You don't look ready though, are you okay?" He comes towards and then touch my forehead.

" I am fine. I just feel a little sick." Another lie.

" Come then, let's go. I will take care of later."