Page 31 of Knot Just for Show

“Hey, you don’t have to do that you know—not with me,” Ronan soothes me quietly from his side of the barrier.

“Do what?” I push my glasses on top of my head and wipe at my eyes with the corner of my blanket, big smears of black mascara scrawling across the pink fleece as I dry my inky tears.

“Talk shit about yourself, or blame yourself for stuff that isn’t your fault—or isn’t even bad to begin with.” I can hear his voice, closer to the wall than it was before.

Instinctively, I slide off the couch, walking on my knees the short distance of carpet to the pane of frosted glass mounted against the wall; green and purple lights dancing across its surface.

“Okay,” I concede.

“I don’t care one bit how experienced or not experienced you are, Ursula,” he adds, his voice sweet—with his lovely vowels and lilting charm.

“You don’t?” It sounds a little pathetic, but I can’t help from asking—needing the additional affirmation almost as much as a breath of air.

“No. I don’t think anyone worthy of being in your pack would, either.”

“Thank you,” I hum, truly grateful.

“The only thing I would care about is making sure that your first heat was the best that it could be.” His purr takes on the edge of a growl and I have to suppress the urge to press myself up against the glass to get closer to thefeelof the sound.

“Would it be too presumptuous of me to say that I’m looking forward to it?” I’m surprised by the undercurrent of need in my own voice, but I can’t really be bothered to care right now.

“I don’t know—would it be too much for me to say that I am already waiting for tonight? To catch your scent for the first time?” His cool demeanor has warmed, a searing heat lurking just beneath his words. “To meet the others drawn to you—to test those waters.”

I lay a hand over my pounding heart and allow myself to gently rest my forehead against the wall.

“Ronan, I have to be honest. I’m a little worried about just how intense this is all going to get. I’m sitting on the other side of a fucking wall from you—no scent, unable to touch you…not to mention I’m still dosed on serious suppressants.” I give a giddy little laugh. “And I'm getting pretty worked up just from talking to you,” I pant.

“Just take it easy, sugar,” Ronan pacifies me. “We’ve many bridges to cross. Let’s handle that one when we get there.”

I’m so flustered by my date with Ronan that I genuinely contemplate taking a cold shower between our rendezvous and my date with Ash. Since time is tight and I feel instantly less flustered as soon as I get out of the date bubble—I settle for my mandated change of clothes (in order to create the illusion of the passage of time on the show) and wiping the runny makeup from my face, heading into my session with Ash clean-faced and in a baggy black jumpsuit and cardigan.

“Good morning!” I greet my empty bubble as I enter the room, my blanket and notebook tucked under my arm.

“Morning Ursula!” Ash responds from the other side of the wall.

“How are you on this fine…is it a Tuesday?” I blink, genuinely lost in the passage of time since arriving to this bizarre ‘bubble’ where there are no windows to the outside and our typicallyomnipresent mobile phones, tablets, and computers have been stripped away from us.

“It’s funny, until you said something—I had completely forgotten,” Ash laughs before adding, “Mostly I’ve been thinking about how we’re—uh, supposed to exchange some scent cards tonight,” he tries to play it casual, but I can feel how difficult it is for him to maneuver in this very tricky social space the show has created.

“Yeah, I won’t lie—I’ve been kinda sweating it,” I laugh, trying to match his vibe as much as possible.

“Oh yeah? Gonna be turning a lot of us down?” he chuckles with false bravado.

“No, no—the exact opposite, to be honest,” I quickly correct him, eager to ease any of his fears. “I uh, actually think I’ll be asking to exchange scent cards with almost everyone I’m going on a second date with today,” I admit.

“Really?” Ash tests the waters cautiously.

“Yep,” I confirm, falling silent—allowing him to query further.

“So um, how many of us are there?” he floats the question—it warms my heart and puts a smile on my face to hear him say ‘how many ofus,’ already slipping under the mantle of pack—at least in theory.

“Well, as long as no one has a complete rejection of anyone’s scent,” I begin, heartbeat hammering in my ears as I continue on under the veneer of nonchalance, “We have at least onebreederin our configuration,” I swallow down the edge of panic—realizing that Ash can say nothing about his designation, and that I may very well be raising the alarm for him, if he’s a beta, theta, or delta. “And of course, that no one wouldobjectto interpack relationships—even if they may not opt to uh, erm–participatein relationships outside of their connection to me, the omega,” I hurry over the last part, doing my best not to become tongue tied as my overactive imagination threatens todistract me from the conversation. “There would be five ofyou–er men, that is…and of course one of me—so a pack of six,” I finally manage to get out after a rash of over explanation; important information and questions littered like landmines for Ash to approach as he will.

He doesn’t respond right away. While it’s understandable, it doesn’t keep the dread from bubbling up from deep in my gut as I sit, suspended in dead air.

I squeeze my eyes shut and focus on the small sounds in the room, trying to see if I can hear the sound of the door on the other side of the wall—the lock mechanism clicking and the hinges softly sighing as Ash makes his escape—or if I’m just having an auditory hallucination of aworst case scenario.

“Okay, that was—surprisingly more for me to unpack than I expected—considering I signed up to be here,” Ash laughs worriedly.

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