Page 7 of Knot Forgotten

He grins. Then signs, ‘Like riding a bike.’

A smile tugs at my lips at him saying the same thing I just thought.

“I can read lips too,” he says out loud, touching his own bow-shaped mouth. “And mostly hear the vibrations of sounds and words. These things really help. But if I don’t have them in, I can’t hear anything.”

As he speaks, I get caught up in studying him, mentally comparing him to the boy I remember. There isn’t much physically left of my childhood friend. Especially with how he’s matured. His crooked smile is the one thing that has stayed the same, though, as well as his mossy green eyes.

Those are still the same shade of the greenery that grew on the large boulders near the watering hole we used to swim in. I’m lost in them for a moment, and then Matt clears his throat from the doorway, drawing both of our attention. He taps the frame and looks between us.

“All good?”

I’m not sure who he is asking so I turn my focus to making the second bed of the day. At least this one isn’t on the highest lofting. The room falls silent as I fight with the fitted sheet. Then Matt’s large arm reaches past me, the warmth of his body pressing into me as he helps secure the far corner. I squeak and back up, bumping more firmly into him. His musk washes over me, and I inhale a tantalizing breath of his perfect ginger scent.

Sweet but spicy—a killer combination for a musk.

He steps back, and I turn around, pressing my back to the side of the bed to face him. There still isn’t much space between us. Can I feel the heat from his body still? I think I can.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

I lick my lips. “It’s okay.” Was my voice breathy? Shit. Get it together, Erin.

“I didn’t catch your name,” he says, glancing over at Riley.

“Uh, Quinn,” I say quickly. “I’m Quinn.”

He squints at me and shakes his head as if to clear it. “Quinn?”

“Mmmm hmmm,” I hum while pressing my lips together.

“Beautiful name for a beautiful woman.”

His words carry the magic of a time machine, whisking me away to moments I thought were lost but now pulse with the heartbeat of reminiscence.

Matt laughs, boisterous and delighted, as he swings me around. He’s been more hands-on this summer, teasing my waking inner omega more and more each time.

“Awe, Rinny, what would I do without you in my life?” he sighs as my feet find the ground again.

My cheeks feel hot, and I attempt to smooth my curls down. He fingers one with a grin. So much for attempting to make myself pretty for them. I made it worse.

“Are you sure the shampoo you used wasn’t supposed to make your hair curlier? Because I’m positive it has more bounce than mine now.”

I swat his hand away and tug my hair back into a puffy ponytail. Maybe if I could get my hair out of my face, I would forget that my most recent attempt at smoothing my hair had only created more curls. Not exactly like Matt's corkscrew tight curls, but close. I still prefer his. At least his curly hair looks soft as it bounces around his head. Mine is half friz, half puff, and not the rich brown I adore on him, but a dull, almost dirty blond color.

His gaze narrows on my fingers tightening my newly created ponytail. He tugs my hands away, his face growing serious.

“You are the prettiest girl I know,” he says softly. My stomach flips, and my insides feel funny down to my toes. Is he finally seeing me? He laughs and exhales at the same time like he didn’t mean to say that, his hand going up to rub at the back of his neck. “I mean–”

I press my lips together as I watch him, my heart in my throat. His gaze runs a lap around my face before settling on my mouth, and I’m almost positive he is going to kiss me. But he pulls himself up and away, and I release the breath that got caught in my lungs.

“Anyway, the guys are waiting,” he says, changing the subject, nodding to the back of his house.

That’s right, I am late. His mom suggested a movie night; the guys would stay the night, and she would take me home after we hung out for a while. The sides of my throat heat up, and I know a flush is traveling up and over my ears.

“Right, I’m sorry I’m late,” I respond, coaxing my sluggish feet to move.

“You are always late,” he teases. “What would we do if you ever showed up on time?”

“Shock everyone?” I say with a laugh, attempting to regain my composure.

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