Page 8 of Knot Giving Up 2

“Good.” He lifts me out of the tub, not caring that I’m soaking wet. Ellis wraps a towel around me, while Dante hands me the bottle of moscato.

I feel better, calmer, more centered now that I’m surrounded by my men. But it still feels like a part of me is missing. “Where’s Nils?”

I don’t ask about McQuinn or Harrison, though I ache to have them here with us. I feel incomplete without them, like part of my heart is missing.

“Nils and McQuinn said they had an errand to run,” Oz answers.

I take another delicious gulp before offering the wine to him. The devil in his eyes sends tingles to my core. He shakes his head. “You hold it.”

I laugh when he scoops me into his arms and charges out of the bathroom.

“Hey!” Ellis calls as Oz kicks the door closed in his face.

“You had your time with her. She’s mine, now.” He carries me straight out of the nest and into his room, where he spends the next two hours lavishing me with kisses and orgasms before he lets me come up for air and join the rest of the pack for dinner, tipsy and satisfied.

5

McQuinn

This bar looks like it’s where herpes originated, but they have cheap beer and billiards and that’s exactly what I needed three months ago when Oz and I first came here. The place has mold growing on the ceiling, dim lighting, and a crowd that projects a don’t-mess-with-me attitude. The music comes from an old radio sitting on a shelf behind the bar and the bathrooms smell like daddy issues and regret.

“What were you even doing in a place like this?” Nils runs a finger along the sticky bar top.

I shrug off the question. It was when Nils went home to Virginia to see his family. I wanted him to invite me to go with him, but he didn’t. I was grumpy as hell about it, so Oz brought me here.

Four drinks more than normal, a winning streak at pool, heartache, and Nils being out of town, led to me impulsively placing a bet when Oz went to the bathroom. $250,000 that Pack Hart would medal in the Paris Olympics. I planned to use the money to pay for Nils’s medical school… What the fuck was I thinking?

“What’s this guy look like?” Nils asks.

My gaze skims the room, but I don’t see who I’m looking for—even though he said he comes here every night—so I head to the bar. I want to get this over with, but I’m also enjoying having Nils to myself for the first time in a while. Today scared the shit out of me just as much as the rest of us, and what I need right now is my man, a stiff drink, and for this whole gambling mess to be behind us.

“What’ll it be?” The bartender asks.

“A whiskey on the rocks for me and…” I look at Nils, waiting for him to answer. He usually gets a whiskey sour, but I don’t want to make an assumption.

“Whiskey sour,” Nils says.

I smile to myself, pleased that I know him so well.

“Hey, man,” I tap the counter, trying to work out the nervous energy, “is Glenn Plansky here?”

The bartender narrows his eyes and gives me a once over. “In the back.”

While he gets our drinks, I search for Glenn.

“I can’t believe you’re intimidated by a guy named Glenn Plansky.” Nils leans against the bar top and continues to scope everything out. “I bet he spent a few days in high school shoved in his own locker.”

That might have been true, but the guy is too broad to fit in anyone’s locker anymore, and I can’t picture him as anything other than the hulking alpha bully he is now. I don’t think Nils is taking this seriously enough.

“That’s Glenn,” I discreetly motion towards a man in the corner, wearing a black button down and a little too much hair gel, but with an air that he gives zero fucks.

I head over to him, but Nils grabs my arm and stops me. “Wait.”

He takes a seat at the end of the bar, close enough to Glenn to hear what he’s saying to the blonde man he’s with, but far enough to not look like we’re eavesdropping. The bartender brings our drinks. The whiskey is cheap, and it burns down my throat, but helps calm my nerves.

“I just need more time.” The blonde man’s voice ends in a shaky waver. We’re sitting close enough to hear Glenn crack his neck as he adjusts his shoulders and the calming effect of my whiskey evaporates.

“I gave you forty-eight extra hours.” Glenn’s voice is deeper than the other man’s. “A timeframe that should have been ample motivation if you truly wanted to keep your house.”

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