Page 2 of Knot your Good Girl

From the freezing shower, that still chills my bones, because my housemates used up all the hot water this morning, to breaking the kitten heel on my favorite boots, the reason I’m wearing high-heeled pumps, despite the coating of snow on the streets. And now, this!

“I don’t want to go to Mexico.” I release a deep sigh, my breath escaping in a long, audible exhale.

I’m going to be alone for Christmas.

New York is okay. People come here for their annual vacations, so it’s not that bad. But it sucks because I never expected to be one of them. Christmas Day with my family back home in California is really important to me.

I groan.

“Sorry, darling but we need to get away,” Mom says again as I wait at the counter for my boss’s order of a sandwich made up of turkey breast, crispy prosciutto, avocado, salad and aioli on a house-made focaccia. He also wants his usual extra strong coffee with a dollop of cream.

I’m just relieved that he didn’t change the sandwich at the very last moment—he normally does.

As I look around the café, my mouth, as usual, is watering at the delicious scents. Unfortunately, not the scent of a gorgeous alpha, but it’s nearly as good. Heavenly aromas of warm pastries and freshly brewed coffee infuse the air.

It hits me.

The realization finally sinks in that I will be alone. Not alone in the way I’ve felt for years—but really alone. The thought of spending Christmas without my family around is something I’ve never encountered before.

I glance up at the ceiling, trying to stop the sting in my eyes from turning into full-blown tears.

Mom sighs. “We’ve wanted to go away for Christmas since you were little, and we haven’t been to Mexico for years. It’s exactly what your father and I need. We need to feel normal again.”

So do I.

The tears still want to spill, but I swallow back the lump in my throat. I can’t do this to them, regardless of how much I was looking forward to going back home for the holidays. I’m nearly twenty-three years old. I have no right to expect or impose anything.

“Order for Holly,” the server calls.

“Just a minute, Mom,” I say, strolling to the counter before taking the package of food and my boss’s coffee in his triple walled cup. He won’t drink out of anything else.

I stride to the door, opening it to a blast of frigid air. With one hand, I wrap the pink scarf that matches my hair around my neck. At least it used to be pink. My hair is fading with each wash and now seems more rose gold than pink.

The snow is coming down harder, leaving a beautiful layer of white dust on the floor. The white coating looks nice to look at, not so much to walk on, it’s making the sidewalk extra slippery. And these high-heeled shoes might increase my height to five feet seven, but they are worthless right now.

I meander down a very Christmas themed street, looking at the twinkling lights and massive baubles on the enormous tree up ahead, along with decorations that are stretched between every post.

Although it’s freezing, I’m not in a rush to get back to work. Luckily, my cream pea-coat stops the chill from reaching my body, and the heat of the coffee warms my hands.

“We’ll send a few packages to you, darling,” Mom whispers, the sound of regret lacing her words. “Presents… And a nice hamper and a lovely blanket and cushion I found in a local boutique. The lady there says she sells thousands of the blankets to omegas, and she’s thinking about going onto the TV show Alpha’s Den to get an alpha on board so she can sell internationally.”

“Nice... Send me wine,” I reply, ignoring everything else.

“You don’t drink.” She laughs.

I’m not joking. I’m going to need more than one glass while I watch the usual Christmas movies and eat whatever goodies she sends.

Though, I hope there won’t be too many for me to be tempted by. I like my hips and ass the size they are. Any bigger, not such a good idea.

“Do you?” she asks hesitantly.

“I’m not a child anymore, Mom.”

“You’re still an omega,” she retorts.

“I’m also an adult.”

She sighs. “Will you have somewhere to go? A friend’s home? I don’t really want you to be by yourself.”

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