Page 12 of Knot what I want for Christmas
Tucker says nothing – for a moment he’s speechless, which for our talkative, chatty friend is almost unheard of. “An omega who doesn’t like alphas,” he says, whistling. “That is strange.”
“Yeah,” Clay says. “Well, the girl is strange. The first time I met her, she sneezed right in my face. And the second time, she literally threw a vibrator at me.”
“Are you sure she wasn’t trying to flirt?” Tucker asks. “You’re really bad at knowing when women are trying to flirt with you, Clay.”
“I am not,” he says.
“Oh, come on, man,” Tucker teases. “You are – remember that girl at the bar, the one who stroked your arm and asked you questions about breeding Herefords?”
“I remember,” I say. “Clay thought she was genuinely interested in starting her own farm.”
Tucker laughs again. “Talking of bars,” he says. “Are we going tonight?”
Clay kicks his feet off the chair and nods his head. “Yeah,” he says. “I could do with a drink.”
Chapter Five
Hollie
Considering we’re most likely going to a dive bar tonight, I seem to be taking a lot more care than usual over my makeup and styling my hair. I try not to think too closely about the motives for this. Definitely not Clay Jackson and his two two hot pack mates – three alphas who don’t even live in this house, who I am very unlikely to be bumping into tonight. Still, on the off chance, I want to look my best. And besides, Annie gave me strict instructions: No slouchy jeans, no oversized hoodies. Tonight is all about dressing up and having fun.
So I pull on a glitzy top, a short skirt and my stockings and head downstairs to meet my best friend. I find her back in the family kitchen with her mom and dad. And I’m relieved to find that she hasn’t set me up. She’s also dressed up tonight. In fact, she’s wearing one of her legendary little black dresses.
“Wow,” Mr. J says, whistling. “Don’t you two look the part?”
Annie inspects me closely, signaling with her hand for me to spin. I oblige her and then she nods with satisfaction. “You lookgreat, Hollie,” she says. “You’re going to have every cowboy in that bar drooling all over you.”
“Hmm,” I say, walking toward them all. “I’m not sure that’s exactly what I want. That sounds a little bit gross.”
Mr. J laughs and slides a bowl of pasta in my direction. There’s another already waiting in front of Annie. “Eat up, girls,” he says. “I know you haven’t seen each other for a while. I know there’s going to be drinks involved and I don’t want anyone vomiting in my truck.”
I glance at Annie. “Dad’s offered to drive us to the bar and back. Our own personal Uber driver.”
“Really?” I say. “Mr. J, that’s really kind. You don’t–“
“Don’t be silly. I’m perfectly happy to do it. But, like I said, eat up.”
He points at the creamy pasta. It smells divine and I don’t have any problem following his instructions.
“What are we wearing on your feet, Hollie?” Mrs. J asks as I wolf down the dish.
“Oh,” I say, swinging out my leg and peering down at my feet. “I guess my sneakers again?”
Annie drops her fork into her bowl, the action making a large clattering sound. “Hollie Bright,” she says, “did you bring no suitable footwear?”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
She points toward the window, where it’s snowing again. “There’s a foot of snow out there. You can’t wear sneakers. Did you bring no boots?”
I shrug. “I don’t own any boots,” I tell her. “I live in Rockview.”
“What size are your feet, honey?” Mrs. J says, as everyone now glances at my feet and I really wish I didn’t have a hole in my stockings and that my big toe wasn’t poking right out of that hole like an ugly toadstool.
“I’m a size eight,” I say.
“Perfect!” Mrs. J gasps, clapping her hands together and then darting from the room.
Annie shrugs, clearly as confused as I am by her mom’s actions. A few minutes later, Mrs. J reappears, a pair of brown cowboy boots dangling form her hands as well as a pair of woolly socks.
