Page 45 of Knot Just for Show

There he is. One hundred and ten percent alpha—bright and shining like the sun; Teddy Wong.

I take another deep inhale—golden, effulgent.

Greedily, I snatch up the other cards I’ve chosen and hold them in a fan against my face—the intermingling of smells forcing my knees to press together, slick already beginning to flow from between my legs.

“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath—then remember I’m on camera before collecting myself and carefully returning the cards to the ‘yes’ pouch.

Up until now, the dates have been fascinating, but they’ve felt like an exercise that I’ve been two steps removed from—almost as if I’ve been playing at courting these men from a distance. Now, in the closeness of this tiny room, their scents swirling around me—it feels very real. I’m shocked to find that I am ready to go to the reveal now if they ask. Compatibility between them be damned—I’m ready to get my hands on the owners of these scents. A need…no, a compulsion that has never once struck me in my previous scenting sessions.

I hurry to zipper the pouches closed, replacing both in the black box before scrambling off the couch.

For once, I am not going to overthink this. I’m not going to do myself dirty or get in my own way.

“Here you go!” I call pleasantly to the scent specialist as I swing the door to the hallway open.

“I’m ready now.”

Chapter Fifteen

Ronan

“Ronan O’Neill?” Timmy, the production assistant for the men, calls my name from the open archway of the waiting room and I nearly jump out of my skin.

I greatly underestimated how anxious I would be while waiting for the results of this whole scent matching business. I started the evening with a total of three scent cards, though there was only really one I cared about.

The first two envelopes, which I had entertained only as a courtesy to the women who sent them along—not wanting to seem like an unfeeling asshole—did nothing for me.

Calmly, I scooted the ‘no’ pouch with the first two cards to the far end of the box while I pulled the last scent card from its envelope.

Immediately, I can tell it’s her. Sweet, floral rose—refined, exotic saffron, and warm nutty pistachio wrap me like a swath of luxurious cashmere—soft, delicate, and feminine.

Ursula Goldblum-Laskaris, omega. As if there could have been any doubt.

All the other women I’ve spoken to throughout this experience have had the depth of a puddle after a sun shower on a hot day.

Not Ursula. She was ready to go toe-to-toe with me on trauma bonding right out of the gate. I felt like I knew her better inside of the first ten minutes of our conversation than I did with any of my other dates in the rest of the two days worth of dates we had.

“Ronan, good to see you,” Timmy beams as I shuffle my way over to him from my place on the waiting room couch.

“And you, Timmy,” I offer him a curt nod—my eyes already fixed on the tiny plastic room card in his hand.

I want to jump for joy—to snatch the little bit of plastic from his hands and dance down the hall like Gene Kelley inSingin’ in the Rain, because it means that she chose me too. Instead, I stand and wait patiently—my heart thumping loudly in my chest.

“Alright, I’m here to bring you down to the common room for Ursula’s prospective pack,” Timmy announces.

“After you.” I gesture to the open archway, doing my best not to seem overeager.

We walk down the hall and take an elevator to one of the upper floors. No crooning or bell kicks—much to my chagrin. Within seconds, we arrive at a door with an automated hotel lock and a big brass “U” affixed above what appears to be a covered-over peephole lens.

“You’re the first one in, but I’m sure more gentlemen will be filtering in as I make the rounds handing out these keycards and stuff.” Timmy taps the plastic card against the lock mechanism and the motorized tumblers chitter as the door to the pack lounge opens.

“Woah,” I mutter under my breath as Timmy leads me into the space.

A large projector shines an eight player racing game on the bare far wall, a huge leather sectional piled high with cushions and fully charged wireless controllers takes up most of the center of the room, a line of computers blinking in every shade of the RGB rainbow on a long glass table.

“You’ll have 24 hour access to this space along with the other scent matches selected by Ursula, your omega.” Timmy passes me the plastic key card and points toward the floor-to-ceiling plate-glass windows at the end of the room that lead out to a large paved patio; a small pool and a jacuzzi with a swim-up bar glowing pale blue with night lights, against the multicolored LA skyline—the stars blotted out by the brightness of the city.

“There’s a swimming area and bar out there. The bar won’t be tended, but y’all are welcome to do the honors yourselves.” He grins, turning his hand to gesture to the doors at the far end of the computer area.

---