Page 105 of Knot for Me
I raise my eyebrows. “There’s nothing better than vanilla ice cream with chocolate sauce. Chocolate is just chocolate but when you add the sauce—”
“The secret sauce?” she interrupts me.
“—Pervert. When you add in thechocolatesauce, it changes the entire texture.”
“So you don’t like ice cream.”
“What? I’m telling you I like it and I want some…” I trail off, a little confused.
“No, you like to destroy ice cream in its perfect form in order to eat it.”
I cross my arms and scowl. “Don’t kink shame me, Amelie.”
“Whoa, whoa. Don’t be dramatic.” She takes a step back and holds her hands up.
I growl softly, squint, and take a small step toward her. “I’m not being dramatic.”
The color drains from her face. Once I’m sure she’s properly freaked out, I cackle and point at her.
“You should see your face.”
“Bitch! I thought you were omega-raging on me.”
I stick my tongue out and head for the stairs. “That’s what you get for talking shit about how I like my ice cream.”
“Asshole,” she grumbles and follows me downstairs.
* * *
Humming happily, I turn over the chocolate sauce and squeeze until there’s enough to make it look like the giant scoop of ice cream is ready to drown.
“Ugh, that’s disgusting.” Amelie slips her spoon in her mouth, savoring her lame chocolate ice cream.
“Listen, if you’re boring, just say that.” I smirk at her and add a little extra sauce, internally laughing at the way her eyes widen.
“That’s so much sugar. You’re going to crash hard.”
“Eh, maybe I can sugar-coma my way through the heat.”
“My therapist would scold me and walk me through a better coping mechanism. Maybe you should try three-six breathing exercises.”
“Ooooh, therapy. You okay, little beta? Want me to kick someone’s ass for you?”
“So that’s a no to the breathing then?” She takes another bite. “My trauma is nothing fancy. Some parental abuse is all.”
“I’m sorry, are you dick measuring trauma?” I stab my spoon into my bowl and stir until I get that wonderful, almost purplish grey color.
“I only mean my issues aren’t as serious as other people’s.” She makes a face when I scoop up some of my dessert, which in reality is nothing like ice cream, but I’m not going to tell her she was right.
I close my eyes and appreciate the chocolatey flavor before responding. “Last time I checked, trauma is trauma.”
“You and my therapist would make great friends.”
Smiling, I nod. “Well, you’re not the only one who has gone, you know.”
“Trauma bonding? I’m here for it. Hit me with it. What fucked you up?”
My grin fades, and I stir my ice cream again. “My brothers and their friends.”
