Page 41 of Knot Only His

“You must be Harry?” Freya was right. He is a good-looking guy, with hair the color of maple syrup, which contrasts nicely with his dark brown eyes, but he lacks something. I can’t put my finger on it yet.

“I am, and you look as gorgeous as your profile picture,” he says.

I force a smile. I hated joining the dating app BetasAreBetter, but Freya persuaded me. Saying it was the only way to date. Especially for female alphas whose hormones haven’t quite kicked in and still don’t desire an omega.

For me, male omegas are far too needy.

Freya told me she’s tried dating betas as male alphas never liked her and betas just love the thought of being with an omega.

Neither Freya nor I will tell our dates about our true designations. A clever beta will work it out, but that is fine.

“Would you like a drink?” he asks, giving me a charming smile, relaxing me.

“A glass of white wine, I need it,” I say as we walk to the table ahead. I take a seat and Harry takes one opposite me.

A server reaches our table. “What can I get you guys to drink?” she asks.

“A white wine and a beer,” Harry says.

The server takes a note of the table number and the drinks and disappears to the next table.

Harry’s fingertips slide over the back of my hand, but it’s too early for anything like that, and I pull my hand away.

“Do you want to eat?” Harry’s eyes roam around my face before he stares intently into my eyes.

I don’t know why, but a flash of unease contracts in my chest.

I glance away, staring around the dimly lit bar. A couple is enjoying their evening out and a rowdy group of guys are sitting at the bar.

“No, thanks,” I say with a smile.

“I’ll order a sharing platter. This one,” he says as the waitress places our drinks on the table. He gives her a bright smile and points to what he wants from the menu.

My cell chimes as she walks away. I consider ignoring it for a moment, but I don’t like to ignore calls. Especially in case it’s my mom or sister.

Oh.

Carver: Where are you?

“I’ll just send this text,” I say to Harry, who looks pissed off that I’m about to reply.

Me: Still in LA.

We’ve been texting each other for a week now. Just our usual chit chat, nothing about Colton or what we did together.

Thank god.

I place my cell in my pocket rather than my purse.

“Who was that?” Harry asks.

My spine straightens. It’s none of his business, so I don’t answer. We continue to engage in small talk.

He tells me about how he plays football on a weekend, asking if I want to watch him play this Sunday. I tell him nothing about me.

“Where do you work?” he asks.

I don’t want to answer with the truth and leave it as vague as I can. “Just a local firm. And you. You’re a financial analyst, aren’t you? Doesn’t that make New York a better place to work for your career?”

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