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

Chapter 50

chapter

fifty

According to Irene,there’s only one reason for an alpha to miss one of her illustrious classes.

Date night.

An idea so obvious, the fact that I missed it and had to be reminded that dates exist was almost as mortifying as having her question me about my plans in front of every other alpha in the room.

When I told her I wanted to take Remi to the most upscale, famous restaurant in town, Irene tutted, reaching up to adjust my tie the way a grandmother might mess with her grandson’s hair.

“Now, now,” she said. “Where’s the fun in that? Where’s the personality? She’s courting you, is she not? So show her you, Mr. Pierson.”

Well. Easier said than done.

I changed the plans half a dozen times before they felt right. Or, rather, felt like “me.”

A concept I am much less familiar with than I’d like to admit.

This morning, when I brought Remi her coffee, I also included a gift bag and instructions to open it when it was time for her to get ready. As soon as I get home from the office and finish changing, I find she’s followed my instructions.

My good fucking girl.

“Smith?” she calls through the half-open doors of her room. “Is this… right?”

I look down at my own outfit, suddenly questioning the whole plan. Especially the part where I wear shorts.

I’m surprised I even had shorts, let alone the kind you wear for swimming or leisure. This pair is black and shorter than I would normally select. They’re probably Damon’s, actually, but at this point, I have to act like I did all of this on purpose. Even in my own head.

Striding to her door, I linger at the edge and all the air seeps out of my lungs.

Fucking hell.

Mistake.

This was a mistake. Clearly. How on earth did I imagine I could be any sort of gentleman while she’s wearing that?

I picked the bikini out myself, ducking into an upscale women’s boutique between site visits earlier this week. On the model, the ice-blue fabric seemed like a safe choice. I’ve seen her wear the pastel color before.

I’ve forgotten how lovely it looks against her honey-brown skin, though. And I definitely didn’t consider how tempting I would find the long, curling straps tied into bows at her hips and across her bare back.

God, but she’s beautiful. The blue sets off her eyes. Her gold flecks stand out, the cornflower color pops brighter. Silky black hair cascades down her back in loose coils, brushing the feminine slope just above the small of her back. There are two dimples there, teasing, as she turns to frown at me.

One elegant black brow arches. “We’re going swimming?”

I can’t help but smile at her confusion, trying for a shrug. “If we want.”

Her hands go to her hips. “Well, is there a dress code where we’re going?”

We really are alike. Everything about her—the posture, the pout, the question itself—feels relatable to me. Because if someone told me we were going out and then handed me a swimsuit, I would also question their sanity.

“Just throw on one of your more casual dresses,” I tell her. “Sandals are fine, too. Bring a spare change of clothes.”

She nods, instantly snapping into gear. It’s an interesting combination, the way she’s too smart not to ask questions or need to know the plan, but also submissive enough to accept that I have it figured out.

While Remi disappears into her bathroom and the attached closet, I turn to find the door to her nest open for the first time since Cassian’s rut. It was very dark, then, and I was too focused on keeping myself—and the others—in check to properly look around.

What I see now draws me across the room, until I’m standing at the threshold, staring in.

I was supposed to do this with her. I didn’t know it, at the time. When Julian gave our small group a lesson nesting and nest etiquette, I felt sick. Part of me had hoped she wasn’t finished with it yet, so I could help her at least a little bit. I should have known better, though.

“Omega.”

Remi comes rushing out, her hands at the nape of her neck, securing a necklace that matches her new suit and the white sundress over it. Her eyes look wide and nervous as they dash between me and the nest. “Is… something wrong?”

Control.

I’m barely keeping myself together.

Control, control, control.

“Come here,” I say, then remember myself. “Please.”

She swallows visibly, her hands falling to her sides while she floats toward me. Stopping at my side, she peers into the nest and scans the room, searching for the source of my dismay. When she, apparently, finds everything the way she left it, she turns to me.

“Did I do something?—”

“Perfect,” I interject, taking her delicate hands in mine. “Remi, this nest is beautiful.”

And so are you.

Especially when she beams up at me, her eyes lighting with happiness from my compliment. “Y-you like it? I’ve had the idea for ages, but I wasn’t sure…”

We would take care of her in a rusty shed if we needed to. And I doubt any of us would care, once her heat perfume kicked in.

But this is beyond comfortable or sufficient.

This is every bit as perfect as she is.

The theme is clear—sunrise on one side and sunset on the other. She even lined them up from east-to-west—a weak, buttery flare on the eastern wall of the round room, and a bright, orange disk sinking into the western wall’s “horizon.”

I touch one of her cheeks, bending to scent-mark the other. “It’s lovely. Did you hire an artist to do the painting?”

I hate the thought of anyone outside our pack inside this sacred room, but she needs to have everything exactly the way she wants it. She shakes her head, though, and I feel relieved.

Until she says, “I did the paint myself. For Cassian.”

Because sunrise was their thing. She planned the theme of her dream nest based on those mornings they spent together.

If I wasn’t already painfully in love with her, I would be right this moment. With this woman who loved Cass when I couldn’t; and kept him alive for me while I was trying to get our life back on track.

“You really are an angel,” I rasp.

And then I kiss her.