Page 69 of Knot So Social

By the time I’ve picked gnome guts out of my palm and got myself upright, I can’t even recall why I was looking for my suitcase. I haul the stupid thing inside before brushing ceramic pieces over the edge of the porch. The red-hatted ornament’s head survived the sudden death sentence, and the face above the white beard seems to glare at me. You’re not the only one, little guy. At least he’s no longer giving guests the finger. I pop the head back down on top of the spare key and shut the door.

Alone again with the oppressive heat, I hunt for the climate control remote. When the grill wheezes to life, I climb back into the bed and pull a sheet over me.

Sweat trickles in my arm pits and between my thighs, but the sheet soon absorbs it, leaving me with a strange sensation of cooled skin and boiling intestines. Trapped between burning and freezing. Sounds familiar.

I close my eyes.

I’m tired of being awake. Tired of caring. Maybe when I wake up, the nightmare will be over. But my heart tells me that’s impossible.

Most of all, I wish Jeremy was here.

I’m too fucking tired to think anymore, so I tug the sheet over my head and huddle in darkness. What’s the point anyway, when I’m simply getting what I deserve?

Chapter twenty-two

Jeremy

Willow falls deep into her fever over the next two days, growing more demanding and uninhibited. Although it’s exhausting work, the time I’ve spent with her has been the best of my life. Right now, the gorgeous omega sleeps curled up, her back to the nest wall, one hand pillowing her cheek.

I brush hair off her face, knowing it won’t disturb her in the slightest. She should get a good three or four hours of rest now, after our last intense round of orgasms and knotting. Her soft breaths soothe me, filling a place in my heart I didn’t know was empty.

The circumstances that brought me to her home feel like divine providence.

I drape her favorite sequin blanket over her hips and rise, stretching out my aching muscles. A few laps around the room while logging our progress in the Heat Wave app gets the kinks out. As well as recording my work hours and receiving encouraging messages from HQ, the app tracks how long it’s been since I last checked in and the estimated length of my omega’s heat based on the temperature recordings.

According to this, we only have two more days. I wish we could extend it, because the thought of leaving her makes my heart throb painfully.

I was only supposed to help her through this heat, but I got attached.

After I’ve finished updating our progress on the app, I take a shower in the attached ritzy bathroom. The marble finishes and gold fittings make it feel like I’m in a penthouse suite, or palace. An old memory surfaces, of visiting Joel in his new house and how proud Tracey was about their house. It was nice, sure, but this place makes it look like a dump. Not that I’m comparing . . . just mind blown.

It’s not just fixtures. The shower has four heads, two of which are at chest height, plus two detachable hoses, and the stall’s big enough to wash a horse in. The vanity has a his and hers sink, and don’t even get me started on the swimming pool of a bathtub.

After scrubbing off my sweat and cum with coconut scented shower gel, I pad out to the rest of the house. I miss being smothered in Willow’s full-blown scent right away. Mr Shares, who’s been locked out of the nest and isn’t happy about it, greets me by rearing up on his hind legs and walking backward.

“Hey, Sharesy! How are you doing without us?” I grab his paws and play, wrestling him down to the ground and digging my fingers through his long coat.

He spins in quick circles, nails clicking on the tile floor as he huffs and growls playfully.

“Ready to go outside?” I ask, sliding him away from me just so he can bound back into the same spot.

He props to a halt on stiff front legs and turns to look at the door.

I snort. “Yes, I said outside. You heard that right.”

Mr Shares bounds for the back door.

“No,” I say, heading for the front. “Mumma said the front only. Apparently, you’re a mischief maker who escapes from the back yard.” I open the front door, and the dog bolts through to go sniff the yard.

I make myself a coffee and then sit on the front steps to drink it while keeping one eye on the dog as he marks his way along the front fence. Really, I should get some rest while I can, but the exhilaration burning in my veins keeps me alert. I’ll snatch some hours later, maybe even before the omega wakes again.

Mr Shares lets out a series of sharp barks, jolting me free of my reverie. I leave the mug on the step and walk down the drive to see what’s got him worked up. An olive-skinned alpha leans through the iron fencing to pet the dog, Mr Shares jumping up on the fence to get closer.

My pulse ticks in my throat for a hot second until I register just how hard the dog’s tail wags. This isn’t mere friendliness for a passer-by.

The alpha senses me coming and straightens. He touches his canvas hat. “Hello,” he offers, voice faintly lilting with something European.

“Howdy.” I nod and jam my hands in my pockets. A work truck and covered box trailer sit on the verge, the logo on the side reading Restorative Lawns and Gardens.