Hooking Him (How to Catch an Alpha #3)(39)

“Anna, you with me?” He comes to stand in front of me, and I can’t seem to peel my eyes off his torso.

“I can’t think with you half-naked,” I confess, and he laughs. “I’m not being funny, Calvin.” I look up at him.

“Do you want me to put on a shirt?”

“I feel like that’s a trick question.” I eye his abs again, and he chuckles. “Maybe it would be for the best,” I say with a sigh. “I don’t think I can focus with you walking around like that.”

“You’re getting pink.” He touches two fingers to my cheeks, then slides them down my neck to the edge of my T-shirt. “I’ll put something on.” He steps back, and I release the breath I was holding as he pulls out a shirt from his dresser and puts it on over his head. “Better?” He turns to face me.

“Not really, but it will have to do.” I shift, feeling uncomfortable in my own skin, as if it’s too tight and every nerve is waiting in anticipation for something to happen.

“How about I pick the first movie, and you pick the next one?” he suggests, going to the TV and reaching above it to grab the remote there.

“Sure.” I get up off the bed and then ask, “What side do you sleep on?”

“The right,” he answers, and I nod and walk around to the left side to get in, then rest against the headboard. He flips on the TV, pulls up a movie catalog, and clicks on John Wick. “Have you seen this?”

“No, is it good?”

“Do you like action movies?” he asks as he gets into bed next to me and wraps his arm around my shoulders, and I rest my head against his chest and my arm over his stomach.

“I like Keanu Reeves,” I say, tipping my head back to grin at him, and he shakes his head and presses play.

Thirty minutes later, as I’m bawling like a complete baby because some bad guy killed a tiny adorable puppy, Calvin presses pause, then grasps my chin and turns me to look at him.

“Are you okay to watch this?”

“Are . . .” I sniffle. “Are any more puppies going to die?”

“No.”

“Then I sh-should be okay.” I pull my shirt up and wipe the tears off my face.

“Maybe we should watch something else.”

“Is he going to kick their asses and make them pay?”

“Yes.”

“Then I need to see that,” I say, and he grins, then starts to lean in to kiss me but pulls back when the doorbell rings.

“That’s dinner. I’ll be right back.” He quickly pecks my lips, then gets out of bed. A moment later, he comes into the room with a paper bag inside of a plastic one. “Do you want some wine?”

“You have wine?” I know I sound surprised.

“I got you a bottle on the way home.”

“I think I love you,” I say, then cover my face and groan. “I mean that in the friendliest way possible.”

He laughs and walks to the bed, setting down the bag of food on the side table. “So I take it you’d like a glass of wine?”

“Yes, please. I’ll help you.” I start to get up, but he shakes his head.

“I got it.”

“Okay.” When he leaves the room, I lean back, closing my eyes and tapping my head against the wooden headboard behind me. “‘I think I love you.’ Seriously, Anna?” I whisper to myself.

“Babe, do you want a plate?”

My eyes fly open, and I shake my head frantically as embarrassment creeps up my cheeks. “Nope, I’m good eating from the container.”

“Be right back.” He taps the doorjamb with his fist as he walks off, smiling. Even though I want to bang my head again, I don’t, because with my luck, he’ll catch me doing it. Instead, I fold my hands in my lap and mentally tell myself to stop being a dork and to act cool.

A few minutes later, he comes back carrying a beer, a glass of wine, and napkins. I take the glass when he holds it out to me and whisper, “Thank you.” Once he’s settled back on the bed, he opens the bag and hands me an overflowing container, then takes his out and starts up the movie.

We both dig into our food with abandon, and once I’m stuffed, I put the lid back on the container, then set it on the side table and lean back with my glass of wine. I take a sip, surprised when I find it’s my favorite. I smile to myself and fight the urge to laugh at the craziness that is my life. A year ago, I never would have considered a movie date in bed with Chinese food and wine, or a date fishing on the lake, because those wouldn’t have ever been options. Now I know what I was missing by dating men who would rather spend money on an expensive meal or a show that would bore me to death.

“Do you want another glass of wine?” Calvin asks as he presses pause on the movie, and I focus on him.

“I probably shouldn’t. I need to drive home.”

“I think you’ll be sober enough to drive in the morning,” he says, getting out of bed. “And don’t think I’m letting you leave now that I’ve got you where I want you.”

“In your bed?” I raise a brow.

“In my home.” He picks up the bag and shoves the garbage into it, then grabs his container.

“In that case, I’ll have another glass.” I get up before he can tell me to stay put, and then I grab my container and follow him to the kitchen. He pours me another glass as I put our leftovers in the fridge. When we get back to the room, he shuts off the overhead light and closes the door, turning the room almost pitch black. I take a sip as he pulls back the covers, then set the glass on the side table as he lies down. I get in with him and lay my head on his chest as I watch him press play on the remote.