Page 91 of Knot What She Seems
“Good morning, Princess,” Luka says formally as his scent wraps around me, luxurious and warm. There’s something both glamorous and feral about his scent, and I’m caught off guard by it. I end up inhaling and staring up at him from where I’m crouched, one hand frozen inside a pair of my jeans and clutching an old gum wrapper.
He stands immediately in front of me in crisp chinos and a well-pressed, collared shirt, his brown gaze as warm and delicious as coffee while I drink him in.
Damn. He looks so put together. Meanwhile, I’m in a sweaty T-shirt, fluorescent pink shorts, and have my hair tossed up in a ponytail. Lame.
My embarrassment over my appearance completely evaporates when it’s replaced by a much worse realization. Based on our current positions, it probably looks like I’m about to go down on him to that little old lady. Blazing chagrin rushes up my neck, scalding my cheeks.
I have to close my eyes as I turn toward a washing machine and try to maintain my composure. “What is going on? Are you guys taking turns stalking me?” I grumble as I load it with the pants I’ve already checked.
“Turns?” He’s genuinely curious, scratching at his cropped beard when I sneak a peek at him.
Does he really have no clue what his packmates are up to?
“This morning, Kylian brought coffee to my window at Darling. Breaking a zillion rules, by the way.” I arch a brow and study him as I speak, trying to gauge whether or not Alpha Team X is actively stalking me as a group.
“Wait, what? Kylian? Are you sure? The giant black dude covered in tattoos?” Skepticism is scrawled across Luka’s expression.
“Yes. I know who Kylian is,” I retort with an eye roll, though I immediately second-guess myself. Fuck. I forget. Should I know who everyone is as Brylee?
I’m about to scramble for a lame explanation, but Luka gives a whistle and that stops me. “Well, then, he must be fond of you. The hellion isneverup before noon unless he has to be. I meannever.” His hand swipes to the side to emphasize “never” as if saying it twice didn’t make the point enough.
Inhaling, I focus back on loading laundry for a second as I grumble, “Well, he shouldn’t be fond of me.” He doesn’t even know me—not this version.
“We all are.”
There’s a giggle from across the room, and both our gazes swivel to the old woman. She holds up a hand in apology as she gathers up her bag of laundry. “Sorry. Couldn’t help overhearing.”
“Here, let me help you carry that,” Luka offers in a very polite-grandson move that I totally should’ve expected from him. He seems like the type of man to help sweet, old, omega women across a street and then stab an alpha in the back when he thinks no one is looking.
He carries her things out, and she thanks him profusely, turning to me at the door and saying, “You’ve got a good set of mates, sweetie, if this one is any indication.”
It’s not worth arguing with a stranger, so I just give her a taut grin and finish loading my laundry. I debate calling Harper to rescue me, but honestly, I’ve been trapped in public with Luka before. What’s the worst he’s going to do?
I also stare long and hard for a minute at Ted’s laundry, but I decide I can simply explain that one away as being a good sister who’s helping him out.
Decision made, I head to the back corner of the room because, at the very least, I deserve to reinforce my defenses with extra caffeine if I have to put up with a handsome, arrogant alpha for the next few hours.
I’ve just cracked open the can and sat down in one of the chairs lining the back wall when Luka strides back in, looking oddly flustered.
“What?” I ask, suspicious of his expression.
He clears his throat, scratches absently at the stubble lining his jaw, and then says, “It appears as if that lady thinks we’re going to partake in…um…intercourse.” He focuses intently on a stray sock someone must’ve left behind, his lips pursed. “She told me to…um…clean up afterward.”
Am I mistaken, or is he blushing? It must be a trick of the light. Luka doesnotseem like the type of man to blush. He’s so confident and suave in the gym. I can’t imagine him being awkward or uncomfortable in any situation.
“Ew! What a perv!” I shoot a glare out the window at the woman’s car as she backs away. “I’m traumatized but also somewhat amused. ‘Traumused’?”
“That is not a word,” Luka critiques, apparently snapping out of whatever flustered funk he was in. Trust him to transform back into his bossy self just to chastise me about a made-up word.
Laughing, I shrug. “Might as well be a word. If ‘ate’ can be a whole thing, why not traumused? I definitely feel like that would be a permanent addition to middle-schooler vocabulary. Traumused basically describes their daily existence.”
He huffs in agreement as he sits down in the chair next to mine, making sure to keep a respectable distance between the two of us. Even still, I see his fingers twitch from where they rest on his thigh, as if he’s fighting the urge to touch me. I don’t know if I want him to keep his hands to myself…or touch me all over.
“So…” I trail off, unsure what to say.
“So, I see you took my comment about Brock seriously. I appreciate that.” He clears his throat and focuses straight ahead, his long fingers tapping an unfamiliar pattern against his leg.
“Well, it would suck to have to ‘eunuch-ify’ a friend,” I comment dryly.
