Knot Her Shot (MVP: Most Valuable Pack Book 2)

Chapter 41

chapter

forty-one

“What are you doing?”

Um. Fuckin’ rude.

I know I’m not the hardest worker in the pack, but damn. Cass could at least act like the sight of me asleep on a pile of books isn’t some apocalyptic omen.

Half of them are from Remi’s friend’s doctor alpha. He dropped them off for me, along with “some helpful research.” Dude is intense with his research shit. There are tabs and neon streaks and notes in margins.

Which I’m sure would be excellent, if they didn’t all look like hieroglyphics to me.

The AirPods in my ears died a long-ass time ago. Can’t say I blame them. I listened to eight straight hours of audiobooks.

On the plus side, I think I might have learned something. Maybe? At some point…?

I look around at all the titles, blinking—as if that will help to clear the way the words run together. My stomach seethes. Remi really does love books. What if I can’t relate to this part of her? Will she eventually connect with the others more because I’m an idiot and she’s brilliant?

I can’t give up this easily. She’s my fucking soulmate. I’ll listen to every audiobook on the planet if I have to. Even the super nasally ones.

For her? My ears can bleed. I don’t give a fuck.

Besides, if the book thing doesn’t work out, that Bake Off show actually slaps, so.

Smith comes downstairs, frowning and muttering something about Remi being up in her nest. Then he breezes out the door, promising he’ll try to be home for dinner.

It hasn’t actually happened yet, but maybe today’s the day. He seems like he has a fire under his ass and a twitch in his left eye. Plus, he didn’t even try to mock me for all the books he found me passed out on.

Cass leaves next, grunting about me being a “lucky asshole” because he and the other defenders all have to be fitted for new gear today while I have the morning off.

The house is too quiet. I decide it’s probably a sign I should be doing my conditioning in our home gym, but some weird instinct stops me.

It starts as a prickle at the base of my scalp, tiptoeing up my nape. Difficult to describe, other than the indistinct sense that I’m needed somehow. A minute later, the faint whine of insistence becomes a scream of urgency.

Leaping to my feet, I streak right upstairs. I’m coming, pretty girl.

Turns out my Alpha is maybe a bit dramatic.

When I burst into Remi’s suite, I find her struggling with… a bra?

I stop on the threshold, gobbling up the sight of her topless body while she twists and huffs, fed up with the straps on her shoulders. As soon as she hears me chuckle, she freezes.

“Damon! I’m changing!”

Shy, sweet thing. Like she wasn’t riding my face into oblivion the other day.

“Sorry, sweetness,” I tell her, strolling over to help. “What’s the problem with this bastard? He giving you trouble?”

She flashes her blue-gold eyes over her shoulder, smirking. “You’re giving me trouble, Trouble. But, yes, the strap is too tight.”

I agree, nodding. “You should definitely just burn it and never wear one again.”

A bit of color touches her cheeks. “But then everyone would see how small my boobs actually are.”

I click my tongue at her and she narrows her eyes, challenging me. “Oh come on. You have to admit; they’re small.”

She’s right. Everything about her is dainty, even her curves. As far as I’m concerned, she’s exactly perfect.

I tilt my head at her. “Okay, sure, but that’s like saying ice cream is cold while neglecting to mention how fucking delicious it is.” I bend my head and nuzzle between her tits, groaning quietly. “So fucking delicious. It’s a crime to cover these beauties with bras.”

Remi giggles. “If I burned all my bras, everyone would see my nipples,” she whispers, eyes dancing. “And you and I would have to bury the bodies of all Cassian’s victims.”

Good point. Because he would definitely murder anyone who stared at her tits too long.

I help her get her strap to work and watch while she pulls a light blue blouse over her head. When she’s covered, I pull her into my arms and hug her securely, mumbling a confession.

“I thought something was wrong. I had a weird feeling.”

She goes still, peering up at me. “I was—I actually was upset before you walked in.”

It doesn’t take a genius for me to see why. She has all sorts of packages strewn around her room, half-opened. There are even a few propped in front of her nest. I feel a giddy wave of anxiety just looking at them, so God only knows how she feels.

A solution comes to me, so simple that I know it must be brilliant. “Put some jeans on, sweetness. I have an idea.”