Page 52 of Knot Their Opening Act

Between trying to tuck my cock between my legs and hide the sweat breaking out on my face and neck—and palms, fuck—and steering my mind away from any thoughts about Jez’s body, I don’t remember what else is said. But before I know it, we’re saying goodbye to Stan and thanking him and his team for the opportunity to plug tonight’s show.

As the studio’s back door closes behind us, I turn around to sayGlad that’s overto Steve as someone yanks my arm.

Jez physically pulls me down the side of the building into an alley between the studio and a curry house. And even with all that competition, all I can smell is the slick and heat and glorious sweet floral scent wafting from Jez’s pores.

She looks over her shoulder, face a storm cloud, and marches me a few feet further along. Her fingers curled around even my sleeve-covered arm is enough to have my cock ready for action.

Gently but firmly, I pull my arm away, and her eyes harden, her jaw tightening. I know she takes this as me not wanting her to touch me. I want the exact opposite, even though she pisses me off as much as I probably do her. Okay, maybe not as much.

But I want her touch. God, I want that tiny hand, those sexy black-tipped fingernails, wrapped around me, sliding up and down, ramming into my knot?—

“What in the exact hell do you think you’re doing?” Jez hisses, throwing both fists back and stepping one foot toward me. “When precisely did we ‘kiss and make up,’ because I must’ve been asleep through it. I would sooner shove this—” she raises one of her fists “—down your fucking throat, Hartley!”

My tongue feels like cotton in my mouth. My own fist feels ready to smash backwards into the brick wall behind me, pull her body to me, and taste her sweet lips. I am not that man. I will never do something unwanted or uninvited with any woman, Omega or otherwise. But fuck if it’s not a hard battle to stop myself asking if she can feel it, how badly I want her body right now, to have her beg for my knot and my seed inside her.

Sometimes being an Alpha is the absolute worst.

“I wanted to show a united front. These press fuckers just want to dig out dirt that gets listeners calling in, hitting that social media button, all that shit. They don’t care what’s real. They don’twantwhat’s real. They care what gets attention, and listeners, and mouths yapping about their wanky radio show.”

She stops and pulls back slightly, blinking. “Wait. So, instead of giving them more drama, you tried to just put the brakes on so they had nothing to dig into?”

I shrug and nod. “More or less. I have to admit I, ah, am not fully myself right now. Maybe the phrase ‘kissed and made up’ wasn’t quite right. I didn’t have the best rest on the bus. Though I know you got a nap, didn’t you?”

She narrows her eyes at me and has every right to wonder how I know that. But even with a door closed between us I can tell when she’s awake and when she’s asleep in the way her scent pulses like a need while awake, and sort of parks in neutral with the indicators still flashing while asleep—still there, but not revving like a supercar ready to take off.

“I did. It was—nice.” She pauses. “It’s a pain in the arse we have to share a tour bus. But I’m grateful you guys are okay with me taking the back bed.”

This switch in demeanor has thrown me, and for an off-balanced second I’m not thinking about my cock, or how she tastes.

How do I tell this Omega, this beautiful, strong-willed, independent, success-story-about-to-explode that I need her as much as I fear her? How do I explain Nyah, and what happened after? How do I make her believe the reason I couldn’t have her on that godawful talent show is that to be near her a second longer was going to tear my heart in two, and yet I ended up here anyhow?

How do I tell my best friends, my brothers, mypackthat? That I’ve hidden it all this time?

Caylee comes around the corner of the studio with her arms folded and a questioning look. “All okay over here?”

Jez nods but doesn’t turn around, her eyes glued to mine.

“You’re welcome,” I say at last. “It’s the least we can do.”

But there’s a lot—a whole lot—I could do. If we didn’t have this history. If we didn’t share this connection.

If I stopped carrying this lie.

“Jez, I’m sorry for what I said last night. I had a crazy notion it would help get the fans more invested. In the moment I didn’t consider how it would really turn out. And I should fucking know better by now.”

I swallow a lump down. It’s hard to admit you’re wrong, especially when you’re the one who’s always been looked up to, the one expected to be right when it comes to on-stage antics. Somehow, where Jesamine Jacobs is concerned, I seem only able to self-sabotage.

“I’m not saying anything aboutkiss, but can we at least agree to not hate each other?” I ask.

Not a muscle in Jez’s face twitches for what feels like five minutes, but just when I give up on the notion that I spoke so breezily about in the interview, she holds out her small, perfectly manicured hands and the smallest smile on her heart-shaped lips quirks up at one corner.

“Let’s try, Hartley.”

CHAPTER25

Jez

Cayleeand I join my band for lunch at the best rated pub in the area, a hulking listed building with what feels like a dozen different dining rooms, a sun lounge, a patio, and a huge play park. Luckily it’s a Thursday daytime so it’s not rammed with people. Just a few small groups on their lunchtime breaks, and a trio of elderly women.

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