Page 56 of Knot Just for Show

“No posturing or fighting?” she asks cautiously.

“Nah, not at all. Actually—of all of the groups I mixed with last night; I think our little quintet got along the best.” I say without pretense.

“Hmmm, that’s good to hear,” Ursula purrs approvingly before adding with a touch of scandal in her tone, “You’re all getting along so harmoniously…none of you are going to run off without me before we get to the reveal, are you?” she titters nervously.

“I think we’re all too eager to get our eyes and our hands on you, truth be told.”

I’m gratified to hear the little hitch in her breath before she answers, doing her best to play it cool.

“Good, good.”

After my date with Ursula, I drop the key cards for Jesse and Lana’s rooms with Timmy.

“Uh, Mavren?” He looks at me with mild confusion and surprise. “You do remember you still have dates with both of them this afternoon, don’t you want to—“

But I cut him off before he can continue, a gentle hand on his shoulder and a smile on my face.

“I know, Timmy—I’m going to tell both of them that it’s just not going to work out. Last night was…illuminating.” I give his shoulder a gentle pat, before heading to Ursula’s pack lounge to grab some lunch in the communal dining room.

By the time I make my way into the ample dine-in kitchen; Ash, Ronan, and Lysander are already assembled on either side of the long, farmhouse table beset with sandwiches, soups, cold salads and two kinds of cookies; spiritedly talking in half-hushedwhispers while the camera crews creep closer and closer to the action.

The near omnipresence of production crew has lent itself to a kind of camera blindness in my case. I’ve started not to see the people following my every move so closely and with such care to every damning detail. I had entirely blotted out the two-person camera/audio duo that followed me down the hall and into the kitchen—only now as I see the others in their carefully captured frame do I remember my own personal documentarians, a breath away from my heels.

With renewed self-consciousness—I grab myself a plate from the kitchen island and slip into an open space at the end of one bench seat.

“We haven’t talked about it much,” I hear Ronan say casually before he crunches down on a cucumber spear loudly.

“A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell, et cetera,” Lysander grumbles under his breath—clearly wishing to change the subject.

“Nah dude, it’s important to talk about,” Teddy argues— forking himself several large wads of grilled chicken caesar salad—piling his plate high with halves of boiled eggs and scoops of tuna salad as he barrels on, “How are you supposed to know about sex stuff if you don’t talk about it with your girl—with your pack?”

I'm struck by the one-two punch of Teddy, one—stressing the importance of communication in any arena, much less where sex is concerned; and two—he's talking pretty casually as if we're all already pack. I barely know these guys, but still—I would not have expected this kind of level-headed and emotionally mature attitude from Teddy.

Lysander squirms in his seat and a curious glance passes between him and Ronan—gone just as quickly as it flashes by. I wonder what that’s all about…

“So, presumably she’s mentioned the whole business about the trial heat to…everyone?” Ash ventures cautiously, opening with a vague enough statement as not to spoil what Ursula may or may not have had a chance to share with everyone; slowly gesturing to all of us gathered around the breakfast table.

I give Ash a nod and a meaningful look to let him know I understand what he’s getting at without giving anything away.

Ronan bobs a nod, as does Teddy—a surprisingly strong blush spreading over his cheeks, and the bridge of his nose.

Lysander, fork suspended over his breakfast plate as if frozen in time, looks down into nothingness—his brown eyes like over-steeped cups of assam—near black, endless pools.

“Hey, Sandy.” Teddy gently shoulder checks Lysander—using the playful nickname he’d bestowed upon him the night before. “Did…she not tell you?”

Lysander seems to pale further, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he struggles to swallow.

We all wait in silence—hanging on Lysander’s next words.

After what feels like an eternity—Lysander sets his fork down and clutches at the cloth napkin in his lap, his eyes still downcast in shame.

“She told me she’s never been through a heat with anyone else before,” Lysander murmurs, barely above a whisper, before adding—even quieter, “And then I told her I’m a virgin.”

Teddy’s lips part in a tiny ‘o’ of surprise—his ebony brows raised nearly to his hairline.

I have to fix my face—making sure my own mouth isn’t ajar.

Ash keeps blinking as if he hasn’t fully processed what Lysander’s said.

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