Page 5 of Ready or Knot

The faint trace of my scent permeates the air around us.

“Oh, hell yes, that’s him,” Violet snickers. I force my gaze away from the man, eyes wide, and flush again, my chest going hot.

Even with my attention off of him, the way his lips moved over the rim of the glass burns into my mind. He probably kisses with that same confidence. I loop my clutch around my wrist again, intent on seeing who the man is, when Violet stops me, her hand on mine for a brief second. “Let’s see if he makes the move first. You have all night, Fae. No need to rush right now.”

There’s no way I can explain this feeling to Violet, this sensation in my chest telling me that he’s the one. I’m itching to find out his name if just to hear his voice say mine for my fantasies. Violet flexes her fingers, and I sigh, taking a sip of my drink.

“Trust me, Fae.”

I can’t help but smile. “You know I do, Vi.”

JUDE

“I swear to God, he’s getting faster every party we attend,” Carter gripes before taking a sip of his whiskey. I chuckle and sip my own. “Seriously, Jude. It’s been fifteen minutes since they arrived, maximum. Most of them haven’t even gotten their damn drink. And we agreed we’d see if anyone was bold enough to approach us first.”

His shoulder brushes mine as he adjusts his bow tie, his eyes locked on the third man in our pack. Or, rather, on his back, since he’s currently cutting a quite impressive straight line through the crowd, clearly intent on getting to one of the Omegas that just recently came inside.

“That’s Logan for you. Each party, he becomes more sure of what he wants—and what will work for us as a pack.” I blow out a breath and lean against the wall. “And maybe he knows we’re exhausted and wants to cut the night early. Let’s see how he does this time before we start giving him shit,” I say, and Carter nods once. I take another sip of whiskey and track Logan’s progress, trying to figure out which woman caught his eye.

“Should we bet?” Carter asks, and I laugh.

“I’m always shit at this, man, especially when you spend all day reading people,” I gripe. “Might as well just give you the four hundred dollars now.”

He raises an eyebrow, and I roll my eyes, waving him on before he decides to tell me anyway.

“I think it’s that blonde near the entrance. She didn’t come in with anyone and that doesn’t seem to be worrying her,” Carter offers with a subtle point using the hand holding his whiskey. “She could probably handle the few events I actually go to a year without it being a huge stressor.”

I take in the woman—she’s gorgeous with legs for days and generous curves, but honestly younger than I’m comfortable with. She’s probably only eighteen, for fuck’s sake. I grunt before scanning the room at large.

“Oops. Too late,” Carter says before I can offer up a guess. He points towards the cocktail tables near the dance floor, and I spot Logan carefully leaning against one of them. His hands are clasped in front of him, resting on the table, and his foot lightly taps to the beat of the string quartet playing in the corner. His smile is polite but guarded.

I shake my head. I may be shit reading people compared to Carter, but I know Logan. “That’s absolutely not where he was headed.”

The women at the table laugh, and one of them runs her hand down Logan’s arm. The warmth leaves his smile, and he’s quick to disengage from the table.

Logan’s odd like that—an Alpha that doesn’t appreciate unsolicited touch from an Omega. It’s part of why he fits so well with Carter and me. It’s not that we don’t like being around Omegas and their need for contact. It’s just that we like to be in control of when and with whom. We’re not so desperate as to take anything offered up, even at these blasted parties.

My eyes roam the room again, trying to remember where he was headed before he was pulled to the group of Omegas. My eyes catch on a short woman wearing a slinky green dress but quickly move to the woman standing next to her.

Her dress is a simple black that catches the light when she moves. It’s tailored well, hugging her breasts and hips before cascading to the floor. One shoulder is bare, and I can see from the way she leans against the table that most of her back is, too. Her hair falls in waves over her shoulder, a sea of fire against her skin, and her jewelry is tasteful, draping around her neck perfectly, drawing my eyes to the hollow of her throat. Her gaze flicks across the room, locking on mine, hitting my chest like a punch. I take a sip of my whiskey as my heart rate accelerates, the urge to get close and feel her skin rising in me.

It’s been a long time since I felt that need.

After a moment, she drops her gaze and takes a drink from a copper mug.

Who the hell under the age of 25 actually drinks Moscow Mules?

Pointing her out to Carter, I say, “Probably wishful thinking, but I think it’s her. And she’s not eighteen, thank fuck.”

Carter takes her in, head tilting a bit to the left, and eventually nods. “Yeah, definitely a bit older. So is the woman she’s standing with. Not our age, but probably the closest we’ll find since the Council pushes Omegas into packs so fast.”

I make a derisive sound deep in my throat, and Carter chuckles.

We’ve been officially registered as a pack for just over four years, and it feels like each one goes by faster. We’re not the oldest Alpha group here, but we’re close. Fate does that to people sometimes. We didn’t find Logan until we were in our early thirties, and the Council’s paperwork is a bureaucratic nightmare. Now I’m forty, Carter not far behind, and still attending these hellacious parties in the hopes of the Council deciding we’ll make a good pack for one of the attending Omegas.

Logan stops next to their table, and I smirk. His hands are in his pockets, shoulders relaxed, as he says something to the women. Neither tense as they reply, and he steps in a bit closer.

Fuck, are my hands actually clammy?

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