Page 5 of Knot for Sale

Step one... pajamas.

Step two... makeup removal and skin care routine.

Step three... go apologize to my roommate for acting like a raging maniac.

I changed. I crept into the hallway and ducked inside the bathroom for a quick shower, followed by butter cleanser and moisturizer for my tear-ravaged face. Afterward, I stood in front of Elijah’s closed door for at least a full minute, screwing up my courage for the next step.

Heartfelt apologies had never been my strong suit. I knew that, and I wasn’t proud of it. I’d also never had an abundance of good friends in my life. Acquaintances were safer—not because they were any less likely to screw you over, but because it hurt less when they did.

I knocked on the door lightly. After a few seconds, Elijah opened it, looking wary. He probably thought I’d come to berate him some more. Had he heard me crying earlier? I’d tried to be quiet...

Stop, I told myself firmly, knowing none of that was the point.

“Hi,” I said, the word emerging raspy. I cleared my throat. “I... uh... I’m really sorry about earlier. I acted like a total bitch, and you didn’t deserve any of it. Sorry.”

I cringed internally at the awkwardness. Yup.Definitelynot my strong suit.

Elijah looked down at me from his three-inch advantage of height, his brow furrowing. The silence stretched between us awkwardly.

“No,” he said, then quickly shook his head. “I mean, it’s fine. Apology accepted, obviously. But I shouldn’t have confronted you like that. That wasn’t cool. It’s not my business if you or anyone else chooses to pass as beta.”

I chewed my lower lip, rolling it between my teeth for a moment before letting it pop free. “I’m not used to having people worry about me. I guess I d-don’t handle it very well.”

His slight frown melted into the sweet smile that had charmed a thousand photographers. “Hmm. There might be atinybit of room for improvement, yes.” He held his thumb and forefinger a fraction of an inch apart to demonstrate.

Relief that I hadn’t torched our nascent friendship eased some of the tension in my shoulders. I took a deep breath andlet it out slowly. Somehow, this next part felt even harder than knocking on his door had been.

“Is your offer still open?” I managed, thankful for the lack of linguistic plosives to stumble over.

His smile turned gentle. “Course it is, dove. You’ll have to run back and get the ice cream and spoons for us, though. I’m still walking bow-legged.”

The ice cream wasn’t simplychocolate. It wasChocolate Turtle Sundae. I tried not to resent Elijah. Not only did he seem to live a charmed existence as an omega in the modeling industry—but apparently, he could also gobble down ice cream loaded with salted caramel and pecans without gaining any weight.

We sat propped on comfy beanbag chairs, passing the carton back and forth. I tried to limit myself to dainty nibbles, my mind calculating calories on autopilot in the background with every tiny, decadent spoonful.

Elijah’s room looked like an explosion at a soft-goods factory. It was a mess, to be honest—and I immediately fell in love with it with a passion that frightened me. The warm lighting came from two incredibly cheesy matching lava lamps in a red-orange sunset color, plus the many strings of fairy lights hung around the walls, just below ceiling height—also in a soothing red tone.

It made the space feel womblike rather than cramped, and inside me, some deeply buried omega instinct uncurled from its customary tense hunch.

“This is nice,” I said wistfully, passing the ice cream back to him. It was starting to melt, and somehow that made it taste even better.

“It’s a disaster area,” he said in a cheerful tone, not seeming concerned by the admission. “But it’s home, at least for now.”

I licked my spoon and waved off the return of the ice cream container. My room down the hall had never felt like a real home to me. Since my father died in a hail of bullets when I was sixteen, nowhere had.

Elijah scooped up the last of the runny chocolate and caramel. When he was finished, he took my spoon, setting the empty container and silverware on a low side table that already boasted a small collection of takeaway boxes.

“Fair warning,” he said. “I’m about five minutes from crashing again. You’re welcome to stay, though. I’ve always hated being alone for the first few nights after a heat, you know? Just don’t expect me to be very stimulating company, beyond a bit of light snoring and drooling.”

Unfortunately, I couldn’t really relate—since I’d always been careful to avoid natural heats. But I could imagine how it might feel. Several days of uninhibited fucking, knotting, and snuggling, after which you were just supposed to go home and stare at the walls in solitude? It sounded awful—yet another reason I couldn’t even conceive of using a rent-a-pack.

“I’ll stay,” I said, telling myself it was for Elijah’s benefit, not mine. Keeping him company was the least I could do after he’d been so nice to me and fed me ice cream, right?

“Good,” he said simply. “Make yourself comfortable wherever. There’s, um, plenty of pillows and blankets around.” He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck sheepishly as we both contemplated the mountains of cushions surrounding us.

I laughed; my first real laugh in what felt like ages. Elijah snorted in self-deprecating amusement and crawled over to the corner that he apparently used for sleep. I hesitated for a moment, frozen by indecision. Then I mentally shook myself and crawled after him.

In for a penny...

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