Page 12 of Knot Mine

“I can email you and we can divide the workload without us having to actually be in the same space.” Stacking my books neatly, I can’t keep the attitude out of my voice when I say, “You clearly don’t want to be here.”

Neither of us say anything, the noise of the coffee shop bustle surrounding us while we sit there in silence. Just looking at one another.

He tilts his head, “You know, you’re nothing like Millie.”

That’s the understatement of the year. If we didn’t have the same surname, and the same eyes and mouth, at a push, I think people wouldn't even guess we were related.

I snort at his insightful comment, “That’s because Romilly is her own person. We aren’t the same, just twins.”

He still doesn’t make a move to leave, instead he seems more determined to stay as he reaches out and begins to play with one of my pens, tapping it against the table top. “You’re definitely…different. But aren’t twins supposed to be the same?”

Narrowing my eyes, it's my turn to glare. “If we were identical, then I would be a girl.”

“You’d also be an omega,” he pauses, as if something else has just occurred to him.

I know my suppressants work—they've been tried and tested for years…apart from that one occasion. That one random fucking night. So why can I feel myself starting to sweat as I sit opposite Zale?

Thankfully the jock can barely concentrate for longer than five minutes, constantly tapping, fiddling or moving. The alpha is too stupid and too distracted to notice anything amiss, so why is my heart racing like I’m afraid?

“And your point is?” I cluck my tongue and tear a scrap of paper out my notebook, handing it to him with a pen. “Look, give me your email, I’ll divide the work out and we can just do it from the comfort of our own homes, yeah? None of this risky socializing business.”

Zale blinks slowly, hand hesitantly reaching for the paper. “I’m not sure how I feel about this.”

“Am I hurting your fragile ego, Zale?”

He snatches the paper from me, my skin feeling like it’s on fire where he brushes against me. “You know, you don’t always have to be a prickly asshole.”

“I disagree.” If I let myself be soft around these people, I know exactly what will happen. They’ll use me up, take everything from me until I’m nothing more than a weathered husk of myself. I’ve seen it happen. You don’t get to live amongst the elite and ignore the cracks forever.

Zale scrawls his personal and college email on the scrap along with his phone number before handing it back to me. “No wonder people talk shit about you.”

“Yeah, because they all know me so well.” I snort, pushing to my feet and wrapping my scarf around my neck. As I slip my coat on and pack my bag, I ignore the way his mouth opens and closes like some sort of stunned goldfish. “See you later, Zale.”

“No, wait. Shiloh…” I know he’s going to try to claw back his words, but it’s too late. Let him think what he wants. Let him believe the gossip. It’s nothing new.

I move past him without so much as a glance backwards, and it isn’t until I’m standing on the frosty sidewalk with his details balled up in my fist that I realize my heart is still racing. Winter break needs to come quicker, clearly, I was losing my grip on sanity being around so many Alphas and power-hungry omegas.

Chapter Six

Zale

My heart feels like it’s going to burst out of my chest as the cheers and roars of the crowd hit me, almost like a physical blow. Tonight, we were playing against Fairfax Falcons, but they were no match for our defense, their last hope lost. Game over.

The raw alpha pheromones on the field feed into the frenzy, the testosterone ramping everything up. While the teams weren’t solely made up of alpha players, sports like this were a perfect outlet for the natural aggression of my secondary gender. It was one of the few places it was acceptable to encourage the animalistic sides of ourselves.

When the final whistle blows, I barely even hear it, just the screaming coming from the bleachers. With my chest heaving, sweat stinging my eyes, a grin splits my face. Playing for the Sentinels was the only time I felt like me. And tonight, we’d held. We’dwon.

Blake shoulder barges me playfully before tearing off his helmet. His smile is as wide as mine as he tosses back his head and laughs. “They thought they had it!”

“How wrong were they?! We smashed it, man,” Evans screeches as he runs at us. He’s clearly riding the adrenalinejust as hard as I am – his eyes flashing as he lands a few fake punches to Blake’s side. We may have evolved beyond our savage ancestors, but something about sport seemed to bring out the beast inside us more than usual.

The rest of the team swarms as Blake is lifted, pushed, slapped and hugged. He’d thrown three touchdowns, earning the praise. He was Oakley University’s golden boy, the quarterback everyone loved. He’d have more than his fair share of attention tonight at the party we’d inevitably be throwing back at the house.

The floodlights cut through the damp winter air, as we walked off the field. The cheering, replaced by the clatter of pads, the sound of cleats and the tired grunts of the team.

When we get to the locker room, the atmosphere is electric as the pheromones start to fade, the aggression and rage fading into smug satisfaction. As I strip off my kit, and get in the shower I realize that for a few precious moments, the weight of my parents' expectations, their endless lectures about family legacy had vanished. This is why football was my happy place. There’s a flicker of something close to stubborn defiance burning in my chest.

Today, I wasn’t heir to Blackwood Tech, I was simply a cornerback. A player on the winning team. Today, I was just Zale.

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