“Been there, done that,” Gareth said dryly.
“Even have the free T-shirt,” Harris added.
At least they’d knocked up omegas. Dom sighed, giving them a flat look.
“Wait.” Gareth looked hard at Dom, before glancing out the kitchen door. “You don’t mean... It’s not possible.”
“You talked to Nate, right?” Dom scowled. Gareth was probably the one who had dug up the most information about Sinclair.
Gareth stared. And all the amusement evaporated from his face. “No way.”
Dom turned his mug around on itself, thinking maybe he should’ve gone and bought a donut. Or maybe ten of them. “I want the baby. He doesn’t. Bear in mind he didn’t ask for this ability.”
Harris winced. “So... Is he keeping it?”
“I wouldn’t look like this if I knew, Harris.”
“So... what happens if he keeps it?” Gareth asked. “In a few months, he’s gonna get big. Have you talked to him about it?”
“Hell, no.” Dom rubbed his temples. Knocking Sinclair up, and then putting him on forced vacation? Sinclair would hate his guts forever.
“I’ll take the hit for you,” Harris said. “Perks of being team captain.”
Dom rolled his eyes. “My fault, Harris. I’ll do it.”
Even though it made his stomach twist.
As if on cue, the soft hum of a bike engine seeped into the station. Dom heard it before his friends did—he’d grown sensitive to that sound. His heart thudded. These days, he almost knew exactly how long it took for Sinclair to step in. Pulling off his helmet, putting it away, grabbing his duffel.
Dom waited. Sure enough, footsteps thudded closer—Sinclair had to pass through the kitchen, even though there was another way into the locker room.
The moment he stepped in, Dom’s skin prickled. As always, Sinclair’s presence felt like a surge of electricity. He was there, and Dom could taste Sinclair in the cinnamon-scented air he filled his lungs with. There was a trace of honey, too. Now that Dom knew to look for it, he smelled it every time.
“Morning, Harris, Gareth,” Sinclair rumbled.
Then he stalked off into the locker room, and Harris and Gareth both stared at Dom.
Yeah, Dom would’ve preferred not to let them witness that.
“Fix it,” Harris said. “I know it hasn’t affected the team’s performance, but it’s not a good example.”
Dom sighed again.
When Sinclair stalked back into the kitchen, he had his usual burrito with him. Gareth glanced sidelong at his abdomen, sniffing; Dom kicked Gareth’s ankles surreptitiously.
Sinclair took a seat at the other end of the table—as far away from Dom as he could. Which grated on Dom’s nerves; he wanted that alpha. He wanted Sinclair closer. And he was so damn tired of them fighting, when he knew how Sinclair reacted to his kisses. When Sinclair stiffened up at his hugs, leaning closer, as though he was afraid to let himself enjoy something he craved.
“No donut today?” Dom asked.
Sinclair unwrapped his burrito with a vengeance, not looking at Dom at all. “It’s just sugar. I don’t need it.”
Fact was, Dom hadn’t been leaving donuts on his locker since the day they’d fought. For one, Sinclair was still nauseous. For another, Dom wanted Sinclair to ask for them. He wanted Sinclair to need him, even now.
“Funny you should say that,” Dom answered. “I’ve seen you inhale them.”
Red crept up Sinclair’s cheeks. “I’m on a diet.”
“So if ten of them were to show up on your locker...”
“It’s not like they will, anyway,” Sinclair snapped, his lower lip jutting out. Dom wanted to kiss him so badly. He wanted Sinclair to look at him, just once.
“Yeah? You’re asking for them?”
“So what if I am?”
There it was. A sign that he still wanted Dom, on some level. Dom’s heart quickened. And maybe... it didn’t matter what Dom had to do, as long as Sinclair would look at him again.
Maybe that made it groveling.
“You sound just like an old married couple.” Gareth sipped from his mug.
Sinclair tensed, staring hard at his burrito.
“Fuck off, Gareth,” Dom muttered. They hadn’t even been together long enough to think about that. Hell, they weren’t even dating. So he stood, heading out. There was time before the shift started. More if he hurried.
He drove to Ben’s Buns, where Sinclair’s favorite donuts came from. Today, Dom didn’t even bother with a butt-shaped tray and tongs. He slid the whole rack of donuts out of the display case, and brought them to the cashier.
Ben was a thin omega, all sweet and cheerful. Alec’s fiancé. Sometimes, he reminded Dom of Mal—needing protection. When Ben saw the donuts, his mouth fell open. “You could’ve put in an advance order if you wanted more.”
Dom shrugged sheepishly. “No time. It’s an apology.”
“Oh.” Ben grinned. “How is Jesse?”
Dom wasn’t sure how Ben knew who the donuts were for, but it didn’t matter. “He’s pissed.”
Ben winced. “Well, I hope this works out. Would you like them in a box?”
Dom had him wrap a few in individual bags. The rest went into a pastry box. Then, he drove back to the station—five minutes late for work.
The guys were all in the kitchen now; no one had started any meetings, which was good. Or bad, because the moment Dom stepped in, six pairs of eyes looked up. Sinclair glowered at his mug. His nostrils flared, though. Could he smell the donuts?
“You’re late,” Gareth said.
“Yeah, well.” Dom stalked around the table, his heart thumping. Maybe this would flop, and he’d make a fool of himself.
“Is that for us?” York asked. Alec elbowed him.
Dom ignored them all; he pulled out a bagged donut, setting it in front of Sinclair. Then he set down another. And another. With each donut, Sinclair’s eyes grew rounder, until there was more shock than anger on his face.
Dom added the pastry box to the pile. “The rest are in here,” he said, unwilling to grovel much more in front of the team.
Sinclair gaped. Then, ever so slowly, he looked up, meeting Dom’s eyes.
There
