Page 92 of Knot Your Problem, Cowboy
I blink. “Excuse me?”
“Dream recall,” Ridge chimes in like he’s a damn expert. “Can say a lot about your subconscious.”
“Right,” I say, eyeing all three of them. “So we’re just casually chatting about dreams and hormone cycles now? That’s our dinner topic?”
“Very modern of us,” Cash says cheerfully.
I shake my head and go back to eating, but they keep side-eyeing each other with smirks so smug it’s like they’re in on a private joke. My brain starts flipping through possibilities.
Wait.
This morning.
And yesterdaymorning.
And the morning before that.
Oh myGod.
Theycouldn’thave heard?—
No. No way.
Except… therewasthat open window.
But they wouldn’t justspyon me. Right?
Oh,shit.
The blog.
My blog.
My very detailed blog post about waking up during an orgasm.
Which, apparently, the cowboys have read.
Here’s the thing—I’ve neveradvertisedthis blog. I only ever told Meredith about it, and she swore on her collection of designer heels to keep it secret that it’s me writing it. But I guess if someone were, say, googlingOmega and cowboys, they might stumble acrossConfessions of a City Omega. And if they read even one post? Well. I don’t exactly hold back.
It wouldn’t take long to connect the dots. Especially if they recognized the specific details about rural Montana, barn cats, and being annoyed by how hot your scent matches are while also kind of wanting to bite them. And then me arriving here from Chicago…
So, yeah. That mystery is solved.
They found the blog.
And now I have to live with the fact that three infuriating, perfect Alphas have read my posts about them.
Cool, cool, cool. Totallyfine. Not spiraling at all.
My fork freezes halfway to my mouth as it all comes together like a horror montage in my head. I stare at them. They’re still chatting like nothing’s wrong, but Iseeit now. The amused glint in Ridge’s eyes as he picks at roasted carrots. Walker’s suspiciously attentive chewing. Cash, grinning like a hyena who just found the snack stash.
“Are you—” I start, voice rising before I cut myself off. No. Don’t give them the satisfaction.
“Everything okay?” Cash asks, completely faking concern. “You’ve gone a bit pink. Need us to crack a window?”
“Choking on a green bean,” I snap.
“No shame in that,” Ridge offers, the picture of politeness. “Happens to the best of us.”
