Page 60 of In Knots

“Yeah, and the older alphas were always telling me to fuck off back then too.” He pulls back a bar stool for me and I sit down. “I’m going to help Buzz with those drinks. What would you like, princess?”

“Whatever you’re having.”

“A pint of bitter?” I crinkle up my nose. “Maybe a lager shandy would be better?” I stare at him blankly and he shakes his head. “Look after her, will you?” he says to Cam.

“‘Course,” he answers, dropping down onto a stool at the opposite side of the table. Ryan gathers up the empty glasses scattered across the tabletop and disappears into the throng of people.

I watch him go and then turn back to Cam, his eyes dart away and I know he was looking at me. His gaze drops to the table, and he drags a square bar mat made from cardboard to the edge of the table, letting one half hang over the edge. Then he flicks it with the back of his fingers and snatches it from the air. He does it again.

“So you took some pictures in the shop?”

“Yes,” I say, my own fingers tapping the tabletop.

“Can I see?”

“Oh, I don’t–”

He looks up at me, missing the bar mat so that it tumbles to the floor. “Why not?”

“It’s just, I don’t know. I never really show anyone the pictures.”

“Why do you take them then?”

I trace a groove scraped into the vanished tabletop with my thumbnail. “For me.”

“I think you should show them to me.”

My gaze rises to meet his of its own accord. “Why?”

“Because … why not? I’m not some art critic so what does it matter? I’ll give you my honest opinion if you want. But I just think you should. You shouldn’t be afraid.”

I consider him.

“OK,” I tell him because he’s right. I’m bored of being afraid, of being meek. I’m realising the power of grabbing what I want.

Lifting my bag onto my lap, I dig out the camera and switch it on, my thumb ready to flick through the pictures and choose one to show him.

He holds out his hand. “Don’t edit them. Show them to me as they are.”

“You’re very bossy,” I mumble as I hand it over.

“I’m an alpha, Omega, what did you expect?” He’s not looking at me anymore, he’s looking at the screen, flicking through the pictures on the screen.

“You just didn’t seem the type,” I confess.

“Because I’m not loud like the others?”

“I guess.”

“Sometimes there’s power in the quiet. You ever noticed that?”

“Ha, yes,” I say, nodding. “When my father’s really cross with me, he’ll just stare at me without saying a word and I feel myself wilting.”

“You’re not exactly loud yourself.”

“Yeah, I know.” I scrape at the table again with my nail. “My mother hates it. She’d love me to be more of a social butterfly.”

“I think it’s why they like you.”

---