Page 34 of Knot What She Seems
After sittingthrough Diplomacy class in agony, I’ve taken two over-the-counter painkillers and decided that figuring out how to fight better is an even higher priority than scent blocking those Alpha X bastards, who had the gall to smirk at me as I limped through the hallway, clutching my ribs this afternoon.
God, do I want to get better and shove it in their faces.
Because I’m so sore, I considered canceling on Sam, but I pulled on my big girl—big boy—pants and didn’t.
Now, we’re at a hole-in-the-wall bar that’s in a shotgun-style building that’s one long rectangle from front to back. Decorated with aged bricks and neon signs advertising every kind of alcohol under the sun, it’s not a spot I’d normally frequent. But it has turned out to be surprisingly low-key. I haven’t spotted anyone drunk off their rocker, every table has pretzels, which I highly approve of, and it’s ninety percent filled with betas.
And, as much as I don’t love the taste of beer, I have to admit that this lager is taking the edge off. I’m unwinding a little here with the low music and the scent of fries wafting over me, because apparently, they offer fries and onion rings here to soak up some alcohol. Perhaps the fact that Sam brought me to a mostly beta joint is helping too. All around us, the chatter is friendly. There are no alpha pheromones battling it out in midair. Nobody is trying to prove he’s the toughest motherfucker in the room. It’s just people being people.
I sag back in my chair in exhausted relief. “Thanks again for inviting me. This is exactly what I needed after that awful day,” I state.
Sam is perched on a seat next to me at our counter-height table. His going-out attire trends nerdy, with some science-saying T-shirt and bright blue slacks. Hair a bit frizzy because he can’t stop messing with it, he still looks cute, if you’re into that type. His gaze falls sympathetically on me, though I do notice it drifts occasionally to the cute waitress who served us, but he doesn’t make a move.
“Course. Just figured it was better to get away for a bit,” he states as he takes a sip of his beer.
“Oh, it is.”
We compare notes about the alphas we met today. Sam has Antonio in a class and thinks he might be a decent guy, but it’s hard to tell because he’s definitely already a professor-favorite.
“Whenever someone’s a teacher’s pet, I always wonder why,” he murmurs. “Is it because they’re a good student or because their family is tight with the royals?”
“Well, I don’t know him,” I reply, watching a couple of beta guys play darts. “Who knows, though? His parents could know my parents.”
“You don’t know?” he asks, one of his brows lifting.
Not wanting to dive too deeply into our family’s messed up power dynamics or my parents’ insistence that Teddie complete all the courses at Eros before he shoulders full responsibilities as the heir apparent, I just shrug and say, “They work long hours. I work long hours. We aren’t in the same buildings, so…”
“Hmm, yeah. Guess that makes sense.”
On the television to our left, a football game starts playing, and Sam immediately jerks his head toward the screen. “Oh man, I hope the Sharks don’t blow it tonight.”
I glance up to see a long green field and players in helmets and tight pants trotting onto it. Fuck. He’s talking about football. If there is one guyish thing I’m worst at understanding, it’s sports. With a fake grin, and a sizzling bit of panic cooking my stomach, I return, “Yeah, they better not.”
“I mean, that interception last game? Pathetic.”
“Yeah. Really. Was he throwing with his eyes closed?” I mock, cringing slightly when I realize I flicked my wrist a little upon making that statement.
“Right.” Sam chuckles before flagging down the waitress and ordering us two more beers. She gives him an interested smile, and he grins back.
I stare at the screen, pretending not to notice in order to give them the illusion of a private moment. I know betas don’t have scent matches, but having mostly been raised around omega nannies, I haven’t spent a ton of time around them. Watching them both be attracted to one another but too shy to do anything is both adorable and quite odd. Alpha males always make a move. There is no second-guessing. No thinking. Instinct drives them just as surely as it drove the ridiculous slick gliding down my thighs today.
As I rack my brain, I realize that I do know a few betas who’ve joined with alpha groups to mate with omegas, but I don’t know much at all about beta on beta interactions. Do they have more freedom from their instincts than we do? Can they just turn the primal urges off?
This is definitely not the time or place for those sort of questions, though. Tonight I just need to prove that Teddie’s a good dude before I slip back over to Darling and sleep for a million plus years.
A cheer goes up around me, and I throw my hand in the air though I have no idea what the hell just happened.
The waitress wanders off without handing out her phone number, and Sam takes a sip of his beer before asking, “Did you hear the over-under for this game?” His tone is conversational, not at all realizing that he’s speaking a completely foreign language to me.
Over-under? Is that a move? Is it a type of tackle?
Ugh. I always just read when my dad and Teddie wanted to watch sports. I have no clue what he means.
He’s staring expectantly at me, and this feels like a test. Panicked sweat starts to form on my forehead, and I swipe at it as I say, “Nah. Busy.”
He rattles off some numbers that sound impressive and intimidating and mean absolutely nothing to me. Fuck. I need to add sportsy shit to my to-do list. Where the hell am I gonna get enough hours in the day for that?
Teddie.
