Page 146 of Knotting the Cowboys

Both men stare at me.

I stare back, wondering why this is controversial.

"Room temperature water and the check," Mavi says finally. He leans in closer to the bartender, voice dropping. "And if you tell Cole about any of this, I'm shutting this whole establishment down."

The bartender laughs, deep and rumbling.

"Your secret's safe with me, Cross. Though if you need to crash, suite upstairs is empty tonight. On the house."

"Appreciate it." Mavi glances at me as I attempt to drink water with the focus of someone defusing a bomb. "Might take you up on that, considering there's no way I'm driving with this disaster."

"Disaster?" I set the water down with exaggerated care. "Who's the disaster? You?" I gesture at myself with both hands, nearly knocking over my glass. "Because I'm too sexy of a package to be close to a reckoning."

The words make perfect sense in my head.

Out loud, apparently not so much, because Mavi starts choking on nothing, coughing and sputtering while his ears go that pink color I'm beginning to recognize as his tell.

"What does that even mean?" he manages between coughs.

"It means," I say with great dignity, "that I'm very attractive and therefore cannot be disastrous. It's basic math."

"That's not how math works."

"That's how girl math works."

He stares at me for a long moment, something soft and incredulous in his expression.

Then he's standing, shaking his head with resigned fondness.

"Alright, we're going. Up you get."

"I can walk," I insist, sliding off the barstool with complete confidence. My legs have other ideas, going wobbly like a newborn colt's. "Mostly."

"Nope." Before I can process what's happening, he's bending down and scooping me up, one arm under my knees and the other supporting my back. "Not dealing with you face-planting on these stairs."

"This is kidnapping," I inform him, but I'm already wrapping my arms around his neck because the world is spinning and he's very solid. "Alpha kidnapping. That's probably double illegal."

"You can file a complaint in the morning." He nods to the bartender and heads for a door marked 'Private' that leads to a narrow staircase. "Right now, you're going upstairs without breaking your neck."

I consider protesting more, but being carried is actually nice. His shirt smells like him—smoke and cinnamon and that particular scent that makes my hindbrain purr with contentment. So instead of fighting, I occupy myself with lightly kicking my legs, watching my feet move through the air like it's the most fascinating thing I've ever seen.

"You're being very still," he observes as we reach the top of the stairs. "That's concerning."

"I'm being have," I correct, then frown. "I'm behaving. Being have. Having been good."

"Sure you are." He manages to open the suite door while still holding me, which is impressive. The room is clean and basic—queen bed with white linens, small seating area, everything in shades of beige and brown. "Bathroom's through there."

He sets me down carefully, hands lingering on my waist until he's sure I'm steady.

The room only spins a little, which I count as a victory.

"Go pee," he instructs, gently steering me toward the bathroom. "And whatever else you need to do so you can sleep."

"You're very bossy," I inform him, but I'm already heading for the bathroom because he's right and I do need to pee. "Bossy Alpha with your carrying and your instructions and your stupid pretty eyes."

"My eyes are stupid?"

"Stupidly pretty. It's different." I wave him away from the bathroom door. "Go away now. I need privacy for human things."

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