Page 30 of Knot Giving Up 2

I smile, give her a thumbs up, and pull McQuinn away. “Come on, let’s give them a minute. Plus, you still need to sign my shirt.” I spin the marker in my hand and hold it out to him.

“I have my own, remember?” He shakes a black marker at me. A smile almost breaks past his grumpy demeanor.

“Where do you want it?” I smirk, intentionally putting a little purr into my voice.

McQuinn’s jaw flexes. With one hand on my shoulder and the other holding both the head of the beer bottle and the pen, he spins me so my back is to him. Still holding my shoulder, he writes something right along the top of the shirt at the base of my neck. The cold bottle pumps against me as he writes, creating chills that match the shivers caused by his touch. His breath rustles the hair at my nape, warm and inviting. His scent thickens around me like the warmth of the sun on a summer’s day. Wedges of citrus sucked before licking salt from skin and shooting back shots of tequila that warm stomachs and lower inhibitions.

“There,” he says. The thumb of the hand on my shoulder drags slowly across the skin at my neck.

“What did you write?” I move my hair to the side, twisting to see what he wrote even though I know I won’t be able to.

“It’s nothing. Just my name.” His voice is gravely and low.

I turn all the way around to face him, my palms coming to his chest. “I like the idea of your name on me, your mark.”

The music fades from the background. All there is in this moment is McQuinn and me. The flex of his muscles under my hands, the hit of his breath. His eyes darken, and I see the same lust I'm feeling reflected back at me. I want to kiss him so badly it feels like a physical ache. Without thinking, I lift on my toes, trying to close the distance between us.

He leans closer, licks his lips, and… a glass breaks somewhere behind us. McQuinn clears his throat and steps back.

Not wanting to show how much his withdrawal hurts, I glance around the space, taking in the crowd of people in white clothing. “Do you see many people who were at the last Olympics?”

“Some.”

“Introduce me.”

He looks down like he’s trying to decide something, then sighs, leading me to a group nearby. If I had to guess, I’d say they’re runners, from the lean muscles and long legs.

“But she’s a beta, so really, what did I expect?” An alpha woman with sleek black hair is laughing at her own story, but the others around her seem reluctant to join in.

“That’s pretty fucked up,” says a guy with blonde hair and an Eastern European accent before he takes a swig of his beer and shoots her a furrowed brow. The short Black man and the Asian woman beside him wear matching uncomfortable expressions.

“Oh, come on,” the female alpha whines. “We’re all alphas here. Let’s call a spade a spade.”

Is she purposely choosing to ignore the beta woman standing right next to her, or can she really not tell?

I catch the set of McQuinn’s jaw and note the awkward posture of the others.

“Betas are fun, but alphas are unarguably superior. There’s a reason there are more alphas at the Olympics than betas, and omegas aren’t even allowed. The games belong to us.” She finally notices that McQuinn and I joined their huddle, and turns her focus on us. “Don’t you agree?”

I don’t know what the story was before we walked up, but based on what I’ve heard, I don’t like this woman one bit. I take a breath, prepared to put her in her place, but McQuinn speaks before I can make a sound.

“Actually, I think alphas can be arrogant, hot-headed, egotistical, domineering, and dismissive. And some of the best athletes I know aren’t alphas at all.” McQuinn flashes his best fake smile and extends his hand to shake hers. “I’m McQuinn, and what bug crawled up your ass and died?”

The female beta chokes on her drink and the blonde man gives McQuinn a hearty slap on the back. “Amen, brother!”

“Leave it to McQuinn to say it straight.” The shorter man throws an arm around my teammate. Dark skin contrasts with McQuinn’s light freckled shoulders, which are on display in the white tank-top he’s wearing. It’s clear this is who McQuinn already knew and why he chose to join this group.

The pissy alpha wears her irritation plainly on her face as she pinches her lips and quirks a brow. “I’m just saying that—”

“I’m sure you were saying something super fucked up and exclusionary that would cost you a sports drink endorsement deal if people heard you saying it.” McQuinn, my equality hero. I’ve never heard him speak up for beta or omega rights. He was the most against me joining the team—and the pack—but here he is, putting this bitch in her place for me.

“I’m guessing you come from a pack of alphas?” McQuinn continues. “You don’t have an omega? Or did you just hit the bitch branch on the way down when they kicked you out of the family tree?”

“There you are,” Ellis says, coming up behind me and wrapping his arms around my middle. “We were looking for you.”

“Want to dance, beta.” Dante’s smile is full as he looks at me, and I love the shock on the alpha woman’s face at his words. Clearly she’s so self-absorbed she didn’t even take a second to pay attention to the designations of the people she was talking to before she spewed her propaganda.

McQuinn turns to the man who still has his arm around him. “Wanna help me win a dildo? Figure you’ve got more connections than anyone else here, having been to the last three games.”

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