Page 33 of Knot Just for Show

“Wanna know another little secret? It’s kinda outta pocket but, I mean…” He lets out a little snicker, his nervousness playful and sticky sweet instead of the abject terror of earlier.

“Of course—turn out those pockets, sir!” I encourage him.

“I’m kind of excited by the idea of being part of your first heat,” he rumbles low, almost a growl.

“Funny story. I’m kind of excited about it too,” I purr back before we both explode into relieved laughter.

Chapter Twelve

Ursula

After my date with Mavren—and my third soul-bearing confession of the morning—I am exhausted and outright famished.

He took it unexpectedly well. In fact, his own sister had been in a similar situation to mine—so he had zero judgements to pass.

I had been so in my head that I was surprised when I emerged into the kitchen—our catered lunch fare of sandwiches, salads, and two hot plates balancing simmering soup pots atop their burners—and none of my fellow contestants yet free from their dates, only several camera crews positioned to catch every second of potential drama after today’s scent card conversations.

Warily, I sidle up to the huge white stone island, serving myself a cup of cheddar broccoli soup, half a turkey sandwich, and a wad of actually decent looking salad dressed with a balsamic vinaigrette.

In the back of my mind, I realize that this is the first meal that I’ve walked intoalonesince I got cornered by Brittney without the relative safety of onlooking cameras.

Numbly, I allow myself the thought,I wonder how many of the guys I’m courting are going to exchange scent cards with her.Before I push it away, unwilling to walk further down that road.

I’m talking myself down, scolding myself not to tongue the metaphorical canker sore at the very idea that I might get beat out in romanticcompetitionby that witch. I’m minding my own business and grabbing a tall bottle of ginger lime seltzer when that sickly sweet bubblegum scent burns at my nose hairs, a lithe, tanned arm unexpectedly linking through my own.

“Oh-em-geee Ursula, I have been looking all over for you!” Brittney squeals, her friendliness as fake as her bottled blonde hair.

My blood runs cold, and I do my best not to just freeze and play dead at the shock of her voice, her touch.

“You…have?” I do my best to smile, my voice quavering ever so slightly.

“Of course I have,bestie.” She grits through a plastic smile of bared sparkling white teeth. “You should come over and sit with me and the girls.” She bats her lash extensions at me, an unspoken threat in her perfectly contoured and cut-creased face.

“Oh, okay.” I give a quick glance around the room, looking for Roxy with no luck. “Um, where are we sitting?” I ask nervously, just as I spot the mean girls seated at the low table at the far end of the lounge, just outside the kitchen and dining area.

Great. If I do follow them, there’s a good chance that Roxy will wait up for me in the kitchen and might not even notice I need to escape from bitch mountain. I ditch my food and seltzer and grudgingly go with the flow.

“So, Ursula–” Brittney crows as soon as we’re through the double doors and nestled into the couch with her fellow haters-in-waiting. “Who areyouexchanging scent cards with?” She puts her hands on her chin, Jesse, Suzi, and Kara, watching eagerly, like vultures circling a carcass.

I don’t know what I hate more—that she’s approached this with such a disingenuous veneer of friendly decency, or that she’s done it directly in front of the cameras and I’m due for a villain edit if I don’t play nice and answer her with matching saccharine sweetness.

“Oh, I um—hadn’t actually decided on all of them yet.” I do my best to evade sweetly, still chained to Brittney by our linked arms.

My haphazard dodge works, if only just for a moment.

The highlighter dusted space beneath Brittney’s right eye, twitches nearly imperceptibly before she corrects her course, continuing her pursuit,

“Oh, totally fair hun, I just mean—who do you already know for sure you’re gonna swap with?” She squeezes my arm with hers until the sensation skirts the edge of pain.

Frantically, I hazard a glance over my shoulder—hoping that Roxy, the cavalry, is already on her way.

No such luck. I’m going to have to fend off the wolves myself for a while longer.

“Um, well—definitely Mavren,” I begin, a little satisfied grin beginning to crawl across Brittney’s face now that she’s once again in the practice of getting exactly what she wants.

“Ooh, okay—Mr.Top Chef, who else?” Brittney prompts.

Suzi and the others back her up with a chorus of leering ‘yeah who else’ and ‘Who? Who?’ like some kind of daft parliament of owls.

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