Page 25 of Knot Going Down
Fucking omega hormones. I squeeze my thighs and think of every non-sexy thing I’ve ever seen. Eggs benedict. Conjunctivitis. Mayonnaise salad with raisins.
“The guysarebigger than us,” Emily says. “Maybe we should take the couches, and they should sleep up here.”
“I’m not sleeping with them.” Declan scowls. “And I’m not letting either of you sleep on the couch.”
Knox flops down on the bed right behind me. I shoot to my feet. What is it with these alphas? Does no one give anyone any personal space anymore? I need to get out of here.
Grabbing Emily’s hands, I pull her to her feet. “Let’s go to the pool. They can fight this out among themselves. I don’t really care where I sleep as long as I’m not sleeping with one of them.”
The words sound even more bitter than the feelings tugging at my chest.
“Anyone up for shuffleboard?” Knox flips through the binder of activities, amenities, and the ship’s floor plan that was left beside the towel swans.
“We need to go to the muster drill.” Declan crosses his arms over his chest and glares at me.
“Oh, right, of course.” I laugh, but the sound comes out humorless.
This is going to be such a long week.
15
LUCAS
This was supposed to be a very different trip, but I find I’m not as upset about the change in plans as I should be.
It’s a beautiful group—though an unlikely one. I’ve always found people beautiful, all types of people, each human so unique and interesting and different from the rest, but this group truly sparks my curiosity. They don’t seem like they go together, and it makes me curious how they all ended up here with Emily.
“You’re staring,” Ava says, sidling up next to me as we wait on deck, our life vests puffed up like lemon-colored flotation sausages. She still looks effortlessly cool, like a glossy fashion magazine ad shot at sea.
“There is much to look at.” I smirk.
She follows my gaze toward Declan, Knox, and beautiful Emily, still wrestling with their vests like they’re trying to disarm explosives. Declan I’m sure can put on a life vest with ease, but Knox seems hell bent on creating difficulty for him. Officer McLaren looks like he lifts enough weights to fight Poseidon but trying to force Knox into the flotation sausage is one jammed zipper away from being a brawl. I’m glad Gunner is snoozing onthe couch back in our room and isn’t being wrestled into a floaty vest, too.
“It is like watching a parent put shoes on a toddler,” I whisper.
“Maybe he should give Knox a sticker chart for good behavior,” Ava replies.
I murmur my agreement before deciding to prod a little. “So, you are a swimmer, yes?”
“Yes.” Ava looks away, lifting her chin higher.
“Perhaps you can show me a few strokes while we are here? I am better on land than in water.” I give her what I hope is a cheeky wink. “What is the stroke… like this?” I try to swing my arms in a circular motion, but with the life vest on, and unable to raise my hands as high as I intend, I end up smacking the woman next to us in the chest.
Ava laughs, the noise deep and full like a low sounding church bell. Not the kind of tinkling laugh Emily has, but just as captivating.
The cruise employee at the front—serious, sunburned, and visibly over us—glares like she’s daring someone to interrupt her again. I flash her the most innocent smile I can muster. She’s not impressed. Her lecture about life vests and the dangers of doing childish things on a boat continues with grim enthusiasm.
I lean close to Ava. “She loves us already.”
“No. She looks like she’s five seconds away from throwing one of us overboard.”
“The joke is on her. I float like a majestic sea zucchini.”
Ava purses her plump lips. “Sea zucchini?” Even though she’s looking at me, her gaze roams my face, like she’s afraid to make eye contact.
“The—” I try to think of the word. “Como você diz…the thing.” Wrapping my hands around the invisible marine squash, I try to mime the word I’m looking for, then stop as I realize itlooks like I’m giving myself a handjob which earns us another disapproving scowl from the cruise lady. “How do you say the… with the green? Cucumber! Sea cucumber!”
Ava snorts, and her little laugh is worth my difficulty remembering the word and my embarrassing pantomiming act. English is my third language after Spanish and my own Portuguese. Well, my Spanish is more… transactional? I can speak it better than I can read it, but my English gets far more use in my professional life. Being able to make Ava laugh in any language makes my chest swell with glee.
