Page 101 of Knot Your Problem, Cowboy
Cash barks out a laugh. “Well, you’re gonna want to read this one. It’s about us. Directly.”
“Bullshit,” Ridge mutters, but there’s definite interest flickering in those eyes now.
“Scout’s honor.” Cash holds up his phone. “The title? ‘Does Size Really Matter?’?”
The dining room goes dead silent. My coffee mug freezes at my lips. Ridge’s hand stops halfway to his water glass.
“You’re making that up,” I say, already reaching for my phone. No way she’d write something that bold.
“Read it and weep, gentlemen.” Cash’s grin could light up half of Texas.
We pull out our phones simultaneously. The only sounds are screens tapping and Ridge’s sharp intake of breath. I scan through Sophia’s latest post, trying to keep my expression neutral even as heat crawls up my neck.
I’ve been blessed (cursed?) with three specimens of prime Alpha real estate. And while they’re all impressive in their own ways, one of them is packing some SERIOUS heat. Like, how-do-you-find-pants-that-fit level of impressive.
Jesus. She’s been checking us out. Really checking us out.
The thing is, they each bring something different to the table (or bed, hypothetically speaking). One has technique that could probably make me come from kissing alone. Another has stamina that suggests he’d keep going until I begged for mercy. And the third? Well, let’s just say he’s got the equipment to reach places I didn’t know existed.
My jeans suddenly feel too tight. The memory of her pressed against me last night, the way she sighed into my mouth, the heat of her body… Fuck.
“She’s fucking with us,” I manage.
“Or,” Cash drawls, pushing off from the wall. “Maybe you and Ridge have already gone far enough with our little Omega that she’s gotten herself a real good look at your weaponry.”
Ridge chokes on air. “Did you just?—”
“What? We’re all thinking it.” Cash starts pacing, energy crackling off him. “Tell me you haven’t thought about showing her exactly what you’re working with.”
“Every damn day,” I admit, because what’s the point in lying?
“Look, all I’m saying,” Cash continues, “is that she paid very close attention to us and came to the obvious conclusion that I am the Alpha she’s been dreaming about.”
“Jesus Christ, you’re delusional,” I tell him, though I’m already rereading the blog post. That line about “stamina that suggests he’d keep going until I begged for mercy” has my chest puffing up. That’s gotta be about me. Has to be.
“The real question is,” Ridge says, “which one of us has the equipment to reach places she didn’t know existed?”
We all go quiet.
“I mean, she did stare when I was chopping wood the other day,” I offer. “Watched for a solid ten minutes.”
“She was reading on the porch,” Ridge counters. “You just happened to be in her line of sight.”
“Shirtless. Sweating. Flexing with every swing.”
“That’s called manual labor, not a strip show.”
Cash laughs. “Meanwhile, she actually asked me about my belt buckle collection. Wanted to know all about my biggest trophy.”
“I doubt that,” I say.
Cash’s eyes gleam. “She asked if I had anything else that impressive to show her.”
“She did not,” Ridge adds.
“She might as well have. The way she was looking at me…”
We’re all talking over each other now, voices rising as each of us stakes our claim on Sophia’s supposed interest. Three grown men, successful Alphas, reduced to bickering like teenagers over a blog post.
