Page 4 of Ready or Knot

I blush and duck my head, but she laughs and leads me towards the center of the room, having clearly decided on a spot perfect for her perusing the packs. She steps up to the empty cocktail table with ease, setting her glass tumbler on the table while she surveys the entirety of the party for the first time.

There’s a large dance floor taking up the center of the room, a DJ booth set off to one side, the speakers subtle where they perch at every corner. A large spread of various finger foods lines the wall behind the DJ. Cocktail tables line three sides of it, two rows offset from each other to facilitate easier movement of people around them. Beyond them, another few rows of round tables, and then a moderate band of space around the edges functioning as both mingle space and walkway for the catering staff. Everything is draped in white linens, small white lights, and white flowers that seem to coordinate with the late April date—tulips, peonies, and hyacinth the ones I can name.

Violet leans into me as I set my drink on the cocktail table. “I’m honestly shocked that so few Omegas are wearing black,” she says. “Really expected to be more ostentatious, you know?”

I roll my eyes, lifting one corner of my mouth. “Vi, the entire room looked when we came in. I don’t think you’ll have any problem with garnering attention tonight.”

She waves off my comment, still scanning the space with sharp eyes. While she decides how best to conquer the evening, I set my clutch next to my drink, unclasping it from my wrist for the moment and grabbing one of the pieces of chocolate I’d tucked into it.

She catches the movement and shakes her head. “An entire dessert bar, and you bring Rolos from the airport?”

“Emotional support airport Rolos,” I say, popping a second into my mouth and then washing it down with a bit of the drink. She gives a reluctant half smile before her gaze sweeps the room again.

“There’s more Betas here with packs than I expected,” she admits after a moment. My raised eyebrow serves as question enough. “That’s what the blue lapel pins mean. Alphas wear red, Betas wear blue. They’ll have the official pack name on it, too. Didn’t you read the information they sent a couple weeks ago?”

Another drink while shaking my head. “I was too busy trying to finish my final paper for my Comparative Early Modern Literature class.”

Violet scrunches her nose in distaste. “The people working have purple lapel pins, in case you need to make sure.” She blows out a breath and takes a small sip of her drink. “Betas being part of packs is pretty rare. They don’t have the same need to be surrounded like we do or to take care of someone, like Alphas. And the bond doesn’t quite work the same for them, either.”

Bonding is one of those things I haven’t really thought about. At least not beyond the basics: a visceral emotional connection formed through a bite during knotting. More lasting than any vows offered at the altar of a traditional wedding, the scars left behind on the Omega a bolder statement than any engagement ring. One of the informational packets the Council sent that I’d actually read talked about how most packs end up forging one.

“Do you think you’ll bond with your match?” I ask her. We haven’t had much time to talk about any of the after parts of attending tonight. School’s been hectic, and her second job has her working most nights while the baseball tourism starts back up.

She scoffs. “Absolutely not,” she says, twisting one of the golden chains of her necklace around her finger. “That’s way too intimate, you know? I may be Omega, but I still need some space to myself.”

“Totally get it,” I say.

She scans the room again, and I let my gaze wander, trying to see it the way she does. Now that she’s mentioned them, I notice the pins everywhere. And she’s right, there’s at least a dozen blue pins—a dozen Betas that are registered as pack. It's a small number, nearly inconsequential statistically compared to the hundreds filling the room as more Omegas work their way inside, but it’s surprising nonetheless.

My eyes catch on a man standing across the room, back pressed against the wall, shoulder touching another man’s, a small red pin resting on his left lapel. His brown hair is flecked with silver, and so is his well-groomed beard. The distance is too much to tell what color his eyes are, but the way he assesses the room has my chest going hot. The man next to him points to someone behind me, and he follows the gesture, eyes settling on someone for a moment before moving away again.

I duck my head, turning so that my ribs press into the table, and pick at the chain attaching the star pendant to my orbital piercing. Violet’s breath catches, and I focus on her, frowning when I see that she’s biting her lip, her hands holding her clutch to her belly in a death grip.

“What’s up?” I ask, scanning the room for a problem. She shudders out a breath before looking at me.

“Just didn’t expect to recognize anyone, that’s all,” she says. I raise an eyebrow, and she huffs. “Remember I dated that Beta in high school?”

I look around the room again. “Oh shit. Jasper is here? Is he part of the string quartet?” I ask, trying to see the seated musicians across the room, their playing offering an undertone to the space that’s becoming progressively more drowned out as people start mingling. She shakes her head.

“He has a pin.” For the first time tonight, Violet looks unsure. Fiddling with one of her gold earrings, she looks just behind me, sizing up the main entrance to the ballroom.

“Do you want to go chat with him?” I take a small sip of my drink, trying to gauge how she feels about him being here as a potential pack match. Her lips pout, and she takes another pull from her Old-Fashioned.

“I don’t know,” she finally says, her eyes on the tumbler in her hands. “Not yet.” She takes a deep breath and then looks back up at me, the usual spark in her eye. “Did you notice anyone while you were looking?”

My cheeks heat, and I give a single, small nod. Her grin turns wicked.

“Should I guess? Or do you just want to point him out?”

I can’t help but laugh. “Go for it, Vi. Let’s see if you still know my type.”

I haven’t seriously dated anyone since high school, and we haven’t had a chance to sit at the pier and people watch since the fall, but if anyone can pinpoint the type of man that gets me thinking about recreating the scenes I’ve read in my contemporary romances, it’s Violet.

She raises an eyebrow and turns away from the table, a hand still on her drink. Her eyebrows furrow as she looks around the room, her eyes moving slowly from one group of Alphas to another. She hums as she stops, her eyes drifting back over someone, and then she smirks. My heart rate picks up, but I offer her a half smile when she turns towards me.

“I think I found him,” she says. She glances down at her drink, fiddling with the glass, and then uses a finger to point towards the back wall—right where that Alpha had been standing. “He’s older. Brown hair and beard with just enough gray for it to be a salt and pepper vibe. Standing with another guy. Probably his pack mate.”

I can’t help it. I blush, fiercely enough that it seeps onto my neck. I trace my piercings and cast a quick glance just to make sure it’s the same man. My breath catches in my throat as his eyes lock with mine. His lips close around the rim of the tumbler in his hand, his throat moving with a swallow. The move carries so much sensual impact that my belly clenches.

---