Page 90 of Knot Your Rebel

“And like I told you before… people can have more than one mate. It’s not uncommon. How about you take the few days he’s looking after you to feel him out. See how it goes?”

“Why when you say looking after me does it feel like I’m being babysat?”

She playfully swats me on the arm. “Girl, I’d kill to be babysat by a hot hockey player. Maybe you can even get a little taste. Your heat is coming up soon.”

“I can’t do that with him!” I whisper-shout. “Plus, it shouldn’t be here for another week, and that game is in two days.”

“All I’m saying is keep an open mind. I’m not saying cheat on Tate. I’m not saying let Drake mark you. I’m just saying take it one step at a time and see how it goes.”

“Okay.”

thirty eight - drake

. . .

It’s been two days since I found out Rebel is my Rebel. And she’s mated to my best friend. Talk about a sword in the side. She’s supposed to be mine. She was mine first and will always be mine. No matter who mates her.

But that also makes what I’m about to do for the next two days so fucking hard. Tate wants me to watch over her while he’s out of town, and I agree that it’s a good idea. Given experiences recently.

I’ll be under the same roof as her. Smelling that apple pie scent and trying not to think about how she smells so fucking good. Or wondering how good she’d taste on my tongue. Being this close to the thing you desperately want is a sweet kind of torture, and I’m the masochist that’s letting it happen to himself.

My eyes drift to the clock on the mantle of my fireplace. Three hours and ten minutes until I’m walking next door to care for his omega. My omega. I can still taste her scent.

When she first presented, my brain instantly shouted, “Mine!” She didn’t have the addicting fucking scent that she does now, but I don’t honestly care how she smells. I just want her. She’s not just a scent-mated for me.

She’s.

Rebel.

I flip the channel on the TV for about the fifteenth time today. Sleep did not call to me last night, and I spent the majority of it tossing and turning until I couldn’t stand it anymore and just decided to start my day freaking early.

I guess there are some perks to getting up so early. I managed to clean the majority of my house. I could pay someone else to do it, but honestly, why would I do that when I can just do it? Throwing money at something isn’t the answer, plus, since being a foster kid, I’ve always saved everything I’ve made.

My childhood wasn’t as bad as some people’s. Like finding out what that vile dickhead did to my omega when I left sets my veins on fire with hatred. If I knew where he was right now, I don’t think I could save him from myself.

He took her first time. The time that’s supposed to be special for any omega and hers was ripped away cruelly. It should’ve been mine. I should’ve begged her to have me before I left. Hell, maybe I should’ve marked her before I left to go to the AHL.

I just didn’t want her to be linked to me until I could prove myself worthy of her love. The only thing I had to give her was my love. I didn’t have any money. I had no home for us to move into. Now I have everything I could ever want, except for her.

No, now I get the pleasure of knowing that she’s spending the rest of her life with my best friend and next door neighbor.

I’ve watched the replay from our last game about three times now, but what’s another round? It should take me three hours. I look at how we played as a team. I take notes on some of the saves Tate did.

He’s one of the best goalies in the league, and I’ve been watching him play for years. He’s really fucking good. The hand-eye coordination on that dude. Maybe it’s why he has my omega.

I shake my head. If she was anyone else, literally anyone else, I’d be happy as fuck for him. I’m glad that he’s worried about her, though. Means he actually cares. Seeing Tate Geekies tied down and not fucking anything that has a vagina is a strange but nice change. He just needed her.

I need to stop thinking about this shit. I’m getting emotional like a damn omega about an omega. My stomach growls, and I get up from the couch, heading towards my kitchen. I’ll make some breakfast for myself. An hour to go.

My heart is in my fucking throat as I stand on the front porch waiting for Tate to open the door. I glance around behind me at the road as if, somehow, what I’m doing is illegal. What the hell is wrong with me? When no one opens the door within two minutes, I give the door one more knock.

A few seconds later, the door glides open ever so slowly, and a ragged looking, naked Rebel greets me. Her eyes are glazed over, and there’s a sheen of sweat along every inch of exposed skin I can see. “Hey, firecracker.” My lips spread just seeing her, and I can’t take my eyes off her body. She should not be coming to the door naked.

But she looks like the last thing she cares about is being naked. Her scent hits me, and I close my eyes, inhaling it like the latest batch of my favorite drug.

My voice seems to bring her back to reality, breaking through her haze. Fuck. Reaching out, I place my palm against her forehead. “Rebel, you’re burning up. When did Tate leave? Did he know?”

“Early this morning. Didn’t want to…” she bends in half and moans at the pain obviously wrecking her body. She’s going into fucking heat. Her mate is not here. I’m here. Fuck. My. Life. “Bother him,” she whispers so low I almost don’t hear it.

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