Page 14 of Knot Their Girl
My mom glances at me, then at Henry, as the wheels in her head spin out of control. It takes her a moment to say, “Let him in. Bring him to the lounge. I’ll greet him first. And you—” This next part is said to me. “—you should change and freshen up. I assume you met this Gideon at the Omega Garden. Maybe his other offers didn’t pan out, but that’s good. A second chance for you.”
My mom’s insinuation that I’m second or third choice for this alpha sits wrong with me, but to get her out of the room, all I do is smile and nod. It’s enough to placate her, and she leaves with Henry.
I sit there, staring at the wall next to the TV, too lost in thought. One thing for sure: like hell am I going to freshen up. I’m wearing leggings and a baggy shirt. Who gives a shit if I don’t look like the prissy omega my mom wants me to be? I’m lounging around at home for once; what am I supposed to look like when a random alpha stops by?
No. I’ll get up after a while and find them, and I’ll be wearing exactly the same clothes. My mom can suck an egg.
Gideon is here. He can’t be here to write an offer. That’s so… old-fashioned. Then again, he did seem a little weird the night of the choosing ceremony. Maybe he’s here to tattle on me, though I don’t know why it would matter that I used the men’s restroom because the women’s was so damn busy.
I’m stumped. I am. Totally, completely, one hundred and ten percent stumped.
Patience is not one of my virtues, so it kills me to sit there and wait. I try to imagine what my mom and Gideon could be talking about—hell, I really don’t think he’s here to write an offer for me. The alpha is closer to my mom’s age than mine; I know love knows no age limits once you’re above twenty-one, but man… that alpha’s probably twice my age, or just about.
And weird.
Did I mention he was weird?
The longer I sit there, doing some mental gymnastics, the more confused and curious I become. If the alpha is here to write an official offer, might as well hear him out and get it over with. I’m not the kind of girl who likes to beat around the bush. I’m much more of a straightforward kinda gal.
I wait for what I hope is an acceptable amount of time, and then I heave myself up and shuffle through the house. No one else is home. Dad’s at work and Nicole is at school, so it’s just me, my mom, and Henry—and now Gideon. The family chef doesn’t come until three in the afternoon to start prepping dinner.
I come upon the lounge and hear muffled voices: my mom and Gideon, of course. My mom’s tone comes off as ridiculously excited and also, strangely, in awe: “Well, I’m certain Raeka will approve—”
“I do hope so. My house has been quiet for too long.” That’s Gideon’s voice, and his comment makes me tense up, just outside the arch to the lounge, where neither my mom nor he can see me.
His house has been quiet for too long? So that means this is an official offer for me. Shit.
My mom laughs. “Once Raeka moves in, trust me, the quiet will be in the rearview mirror. She can be rather… loudsometimes, although she describes herself more aspassionatethan loud.” Just the way she says that word makes me think my mom doesn’t appreciate my passion.
And why would she? She likes being an omega. I don’t think I’ve ever heard her complain once. She married up, into the Whittenhall family, and birthed four kids—two alphas and two omegas. She did her job, and now she gets to bask in all the glory.
I straighten myself out, run my fingers through my hair, and puff my chest out, mostly to help myself cool off before storming in there and telling them both what’s what. I’ll tell ‘em what’s what, and then I’ll give them both a giant middle finger.
Or, you know, a regular, omega-sized middle finger.
I walk around the corner of the archway and stroll into the lounge, finding my mom and Gideon near the liquor cabinet. She must’ve poured two glasses, one for herself and one for Gideon, but Gideon either didn’t accept or set his down; his rests on the cabinet’s countertop, while my mom clutches her sparkling glass with elegant, jewel-covered fingers.
Both he and my mom turn their gazes to me as I walk in, and though my mom shoots me a death glare, wordlessly scolding me for not changing and freshening up, I stare only at Gideon.
The alpha looks much the same as he did on the night of the choosing ceremony. His tall frame is clad in a navy-blue suit, with a darker blue undershirt whose hue is just shy of black. His dark brown hair is combed back, not a hair out of place. The man knows how to put himself together, I’ll give him that.
“Raeka,” my mom says. “I thought you were going to change before meeting our surprise guest?” She asks the question through bared teeth, trying and pretty much failing to hold things together while Gideon looks on.
And how does the alpha look on? It’s hard to say. He’s studying me, taking in my somewhat messy appearance, butI don’t see any twitches of displeasure on his face. He is surprisingly hard to read.
“I was going to, but I didn’t want to keep our guest waiting,” I say, flashing Gideon a tight smile. If he’s expecting a welcoming omega, he won’t get one from me. With about fifteen feet between us, I’m as close to him as I want to be.
And, what’s worse, even from where I stand, my nose is picking up faint whiffs of him and his alpha pheromones. His musk threatens to overpower my scent dampening injections. It’s not quite time to give myself a booster, so I’ll just have to suffer through this meeting and hope it ends quickly. Good thing I’ve made a habit of applying that cream after every shower. I assume it’s only because of that cream that Gideon’s gaze doesn’t dilate when he looks at me.
Alphas. They’re basically one step above animals.
“I’m sure Gideon would have understood,” my mom goes on, unwilling to let it go.
“Nonsense,” Gideon says before I have the chance to respond to my mom with a snippy comment. “I’m more than happy to dive right into things. Mrs. Whittenhall, I don’t suppose you have a garden? I would love to take Raeka for a little stroll.”
What a bonkers thing to say. Take me for a stroll? In my own house, on my own property? What a weirdo.
My mom loves her garden. Anytime she has an opportunity to show it off, she will gladly do so—even if she’s not there in person to do the showing-off herself. She smiles at him and says, “Yes, there’s a rose garden just off the patio. I can—”
