Page 39 of Knot Mine

“Bell is a they, thank you. And no, they’re not.” I use the closest candle to light my joint before joining him, claiming the other edge of the soda.

“Why not?”

I inhale, holding it for a second before I try to blow a few sloppy smoke rings. “Because I’m not macho enough for them. They like their lovers big, strong and alpha.”

Zale tilts his head thoughtfully, “And a beta isn’t good enough?”

“Hm, something like that.” I don’t like the feel of his gaze on me, it’s like he sees everything as he tries to peel back the layers of my lies. “Besides, you know what they say about me.”

He pauses, taking another gulp of his beer, “I do.”

The bitter laugh that escapes my laugh is hollow. “Slutty beta. Fucked a professor. Fucked a janitor. Fucked half the football team. Anyone and everyone has knotted me. How can I be contained to one person?”

“For the right person you could be.”

I let his words sink in for a moment, shocked into silence that the footballer was a secret sweetheart? No, the math isn't mathing here.

“Oh please.” I snicker, taking another hit of my smoke. I was still too uptight for the type of conversation we were having. I needed my head to be wavy and my body to chill the fuck out. Zale was making my skin feel like I had pins and needles every time his gaze lingered on me a little too long, this damn pre-heat was driving me crazy. I was already half-hard and feeling like I was on a hair-trigger. “Enough about me, what’s the dealwith you and Romilly? Why didn’t you go to Crest Haven for her birthday celebrations?”

He glances away, rubbing the back of his neck before tugging on the back of his hair again. Double whammy on the anxiety.

“It’s not my thing.”

I think my eyes bug out of my head. Not his thing? Nightclubs, bars, restaurants, beautiful beaches, beautiful company? Private plane? And all on our parents’ credit card? If I wasn’t so determined to avoid…well, people, then I’d be tempted.

“I don’t understand how you can stand to be apart. Shouldn’t you still be in the honeymoon phase—fucking like bunnies and whatnot? Yet your girlfriend is in another city, getting drunk, looking hot and dirty dancing without you.” I narrow my eyes at him as he squirms, shifting from one side to the other as he finishes his beer and grabs the whiskey.

Why did I ask?Goddess, was I just a glutton for punishment? I watch in disbelief as he opens the bottle of single malt Welsh whiskey and guzzles almost half like he’s drinking Gatorade before placing it down between us.

“Alright then.” I snort as a thought occurs to me. “You can be honest Zale…are you shit in bed?”

A few strands of longer blond hair fall forward, giving him an oddly disheveled and vulnerable look as he flips me off. “Fuck you, Shiloh.”

Clicking my tongue against the roof of my mouth, I offer him my joint, which he takes with a frown. I don’t know why I’m pushing the topic.

I don’t really want to hear about his sex life with my sister. It would be just one more thing she probably excelled at that I was a failure in. That shouldn’t make me feel like shit, but when I was racking up a list of Romley’s virtues, I couldn’t help but let it get beneath my skin like an itch that went deeper. Like somethinghad borrowed beneath, digging and crawling inside until I was clawing at my own flesh.

“No thanks. Alphas may think any hole is a goal, but I’m good.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it, you prickly asshole.” He inhales with a wince. Exhaling slowly, he coughs a little but tries to hide it with the back of his hand. “Anyway, no. I’m not shit in bed. We’ve never had any issues being…intimate.”

“Ha! Intimate? Is this the 1800s?” I laugh. Zale’s prudish nature is not what I’m expecting. “Did you fuck on the first date?”

He takes another toke before rubbing his face with his other hand and staring up at the ceiling. “Technically…yeah, but we were drunk. So, we didn’t want it to count.”

He didn’t want their first time to be remembered as a drunken fumble? That shouldn’t do things to me, but it does. Fuck, I can’t think good things about my sister’s jock boyfriend. I notice the sweat beading on my skin, and trickling down my spine. Maybe we should let the fire dim a little? It was getting too warm in here.

“So what? You had a sexual do-over?” I open the bottle of whiskey and take a few mouthfuls, letting the sweetness linger on my lips. My father always had the best taste with his alcohol. “Who knew you were so soft? Were the rose petals on the sheets? Soft, squishy ickle jock, with tiny little?—”

He kicks out at me, his barefoot nudging mine. “Fuck’s sake, Shiloh!”

The skin-on-skin contact is like a bolt through my body, and I fucking hate it. I growl, taking another swallow of booze. “Stop saying my name, asshole.”

“Pft. Make me.” Zale waves me off, throwing the filter tip into the fire before reaching across for the whiskey. “Shiloh Vos.”

I hate how good my name sounds slipping from his lips. Like a prayer.

His foot is still touching me, so I shake him off. “I’m not adverse to shoving my fist in your face.”

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