Page 62 of Knot Just for Show

“I was starting to get hung up on this idea of like—what if we actually see each other and it’s just—” She blows a raspberry through her lips—the rippling fart noise forcing a bubble oflaughter up from my gut. “At least now, I think that I’ve proven to myself that the heat is there,” she explains matter-of-factly.

“Totally—that makes complete sense,” I laugh, relieved at her satisfaction—her certainty; but newly wobbly in my understanding of my own feelings on the matter.

If I’m honest with myself, I want Ursula to keep feeling stronger about me—about what might become ‘our pack.’ I’m nervous about how the other guys are gonna take it—is it going to be cool, or is this going to start drama? Why the hell didn’t I think about this more carefully before I charged on ahead.

I’ll tell you why, up until a few seconds ago—I was still looking at Ursula as a stepping stone. A means to an end. Now? Well…I’m not so sure.

“Thank you Teddy—this was quite the date,” she purrs happily, drawing a swell of pride and affection from deep in my chest.

“I can’t wait till we get to do this in person,” I rumble back, warmth pouring into my heart.

What the fuck is going on? I started this little exchange feeling like I was in control, like there was nothing to lose, nothing at stake on my side of the scale. Now? I’m finding myself examining the past few days—and my increasingly strengthening feelings cannot be ignored.

I haven’t gotten that wound up in…well I don’t know if any chick’s ever gotten me that hot and heavy before—and we weren’t even fucking touching—no cams no nothing.

Sure, I’ve had some passable dirty talk with other girls in the past—the typical ‘call me daddy,’ ‘who’s my dirty little slut?’—maybe a little ‘I want you to cum in my pussy’ or ‘I need your cock’ here and there. Nothing like the kind of filth that was coming out of Ursula’s imagination station.

Fuck, the bit about Ronan and Ash spit roasting her? Pounding her in the studio? Watching her go full femme fataleon Sandy while we circle like sharks—waiting for the fresh blood to hit the water before we descend and devour. If I keep thinking about it too much I’m going to be rock hard and ready for round two, so I mentally douse myself with cold water and prepare to make my exit.

“I’m going to tell the others and Kimmy that I’m ready to go forward with the reveal—I’m sure you’ll hear it from the other guys after I speak with them today…but I wanted to make sure I let you know,” she adds coquettishly as the two of us collect our things on opposite sides of the wall.

“I can’t wait…I can finally say ‘see you soon,’ I guess,” I laugh—even though my heart feels like it’s threatening to burst out of my chest like the goddamn Kool Aid man exploding through a wall.

‘Oh yeah’ indeed, big red buddy.

I, Theodore Jonathan Wong, am in deep fucking trouble.

I wouldn’t say that I was prolonging the inevitable with my extended beautification routine ahead of dinner…but I can’t really claim that I was doing my best to be there on time either.

The anxious roiling in my stomach makes me feel like I did too many crunches—my abdominals sore with the non-stop effort of several hours of on-edge-activation.

When I stride into Ursula’s lounge, all the lights are off or dimmed; the other guys are already seated at the long metaltable outside on the patio—Mavren pulling something just out of my view off of the grill with shiny metal tongs.

A black t-shirt with a fuckboy-deep-V, my favorite Ferragamo stovepipe trousers, snakeskin loafers, black hair slicked back into a greaser-esque pompadour, and my lucky jade pendant in the shape of a rabbit; my zodiac. I’ve dressed in some of my ‘armor’—my luckiest and most powerful digs, kicks, and accessories to help me feel more myself, but there’s no fooling my monkey-brain. I’m practically sweating as I make my way out onto the patio and into the lion’s den.

“Ah, so our bronze prince returns!” Ronan spreads his hands wide, making a show of rejoicing at my arrival.

I make an overstated bow, folding crisply at the waist and sweeping one of my arms in a deep port-a-bras; as if accepting my applause curtain call.

“So I do—with sweet and sensuous news of our fair lady Ursula, no less.” I play along, happy to use humor as my bridge.

Lysander, who had already been watching me with those keen dark eyes of his, becomes focused like a laser; the others straightening in their seats—Mavren is doing his best to finish serving the massive platter of grilled meats and vegetables he just ferried from the grill to the dinner table.

“Oh do tell!” Ronan claps excitedly, continuing in a false British accent like some parody of Shakespearean banter, “What news of our lady?” He lifts a nearby bottle of Cabernet Franc and begins to pour me a glass as I take the open seat between him and Lysander.

“I decided to do a little chemistry testing with Miss Goldblum-Laskaris today,” I float the idea as vaguely as possible to get a temperature of the situation.

Ash, who has been silently gnawing on the edge of his thumbnail—perks up.

“What do you mean‘chemistry testing’?” He gives me some bombastic side-eye and my heart rate ticks up.

“Well,” I take a healthy swig of the red wine Ronan has just poured me—my gaze falling hopefully to Lysander as I begin my explanation. “According to Ursula, one of her biggest concerns with not just me, but this whole process—was whether or not there was going to be compatibility between us.” I gesture to myself, then the rest of the group, Mavren taking a seat between Ronan and Ash.

“Uh huh…go on…” Ronan rolls his wrist, hand open in a gesture of encouragement.

My eyes catch on his arms—bare for the first time that I’ve seen; well ‘bare’ isn’t quite the right word. He’s not wearing shirtsleeves, unlike previous times—and I’m struggling to keep my eyes from lingering too long on the explosion of colorful floral tattoos crawling from behind the thick leather cuffs he’s used to accessorized his rumpled linen short sleeved shirt tonight.

“So, I decided we should talk it out—but y’know…dirty.” I raise my eyebrows, sitting back with my glass of wine.

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