Page 72 of Knot Your Sugar

"Yes! The competition. The TV deal. Proving my father wrong." I tap my temple with more force than necessary. "Eyes on the prize, baby."

"And Elena?"

"Elena can… Elena will be fine," I say, a little too forcefully. "Besides, I can have any omega I want. Or beta. Whatever. This town’s crawling with them for the festival." The boast sounds hollow even to my ears.

Cole gives me a long look, unimpressed. "Didn’t you give me a whole lecture earlier about not hiding behind bullshit to avoid what's in front of you?"

I let out a slow breath. "Yeah, I did." I scrub a hand through my hair. "Turns out I'm a massive hypocrite."

His stare doesn't waver. "Alright, fine!" I throw my hands up. "I'm lost, okay? I care about her. I care way more than I should about a woman I've known for less than a week."

"Same," Cole replies simply, finally turning his attention to his drink.

"She doesn't want us," I continue. "She made that pretty clear tonight." I take a long gulp of my beer. "I’m terrified of feeling this much, this fast." The admission slips out. "It's not just… scent, or whatever. It’s… her."

Before Cole can respond, a wave of obnoxious laughter crashes over us from a nearby table.

"—she was giving off vibes today man," Max Fleming says, gesturing wildly with his beer, sloshing some on the floor. "That Avery girl. The pretty one, with the eyes."

My spine stiffens. Every nerve ending goes on high alert.

"Can't believe she's a beta," another one sneers.

"I don't give a shit about that," Fleming declares with a lewd smirk, his words slightly slurred from both alcohol and his swollen nose. "All that…flavor… is just waiting for someone to tap it, I tell you."

I'm halfway out of my seat, fists clenched, a snarl ripping from my throat before I even register moving.

But Cole, damn him, is already halfway to their table with a steady, measured approach that somehow feels even more menacing.

The effect is immediate.

Max's face drains of all color beneath his bruises. His beer slips, crashing to the floor. His buddies follow his horrified gaze to Cole's approaching figure.

"Oh shit, oh shit," Max whispers, practically shrinking into his chair.

Cole stops beside their table, looking down at Max with calm expectation, not saying a word.

"I'm sorry!" Max blurts out, his voice cracking. "I'm really sorry! I was just—I didn't mean—please don't—" He's practically hyperventilating now, one hand unconsciously touching his bandaged nose.

His buddies are already backing away from the table, mumbling their own apologies and excuses as they scatter.

Cole nods once, satisfied, then turns and walks back to our table as if he'd simply gone to check the weather.

Max remains frozen in his chair for exactly three seconds before bolting for the door.

The bar falls silent for a moment before erupting in scattered chuckles and approving murmurs.

I stare at Cole returning, a mixture of awe and something akin to hero-worship bubbling up. "Damn, Cole.Again. That was… surgical."

"You were about to get disqualified throwing a punch," he says, sitting down and taking a sip of his beer as if he just finished discussing the weather. "Couldn't have you disqualified before the final."

I can’t argue with that. I signal the bartender. "Get this man another beer. On me." I raise my own glass. "Thanks. For… you know."

Cole just nods with a tiny smile, accepting the fresh beer.

We drink in companionable silence for a while. The bar's energy swirls around us, but it doesn’t quite penetrate the bubble of our thoughts.

"I'm leaving tomorrow," Cole says eventually, his gaze fixed on the condensation trailing down his glass.

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