Knot Just a Game (Knotlocke Academy #3)

Chapter 1

KIT

The shoulder hits me square between my backpack strap and my collarbone, hard enough to send me stumbling into the row of lockers on my left.

My elbow catches the combination lock and pain shoots up to my shoulder, the metallic clang echoing through the hallway as my coffee tips forward and splashes across my knuckles.

Hot. Fucking. Ow.

I don't have to look up to know who it is because the scent hits me before the laughter does, bourbon and cedar flooding the hallway until my stupid Omega biology lights up in response.

My thighs clench together on instinct, heat spreading low in my belly, and I hate myself for it.

I hate myself for every involuntary reaction this asshole pulls out of me just by existing in the same zip code.

Easton Cole rounds the corner of my peripheral vision with two of his basketball teammates flanking him, all three of them still in practice jerseys, still damp with sweat, still taking up the entire width of the hallway because god forbid an Alpha walk in a single-file line.

He's got those ridiculous gold-framed glasses perched on his nose and his cornrows are freshly done. The chain at his throat swings as he turns, one hand coming up to stroke his beard, the gesture so deliberate it might as well be choreographed.

He knows exactly what he did and he wants me to know he knows.

"My bad, Kit." His voice carries that low, amused rumble that makes the hair on my arms stand up. "Didn't see you there."

He saw me. He always sees me. Six months of hallway collisions and not once has he bumped into anyone else. Just me, every single time, like my locker is a checkpoint on his personal route to being the worst person at Knotlocke Academy.

"Probably hard to see anything past that ego," I snap, shaking coffee off my hand and wiping it on my jeans. The burn is already fading but the anger isn't. "Or maybe you need a new prescription. Those glasses clearly aren't working."

One of his teammates lets out a low whistle.

Easton's smirk doesn't waver, but something shifts behind his eyes, a flicker of something that tells me the glasses comment landed closer than he'd like.

Good. I catalog that reaction and file it away for next time because there's always a next time with us.

"You know," Easton says, stepping closer instead of walking away, the space between us shrinking until I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes.

He's got at least ten inches on me and probably eighty pounds and the size difference does something to my body that my brain absolutely did not authorize.

"For someone so small, you've got a mouth on you. "

"For someone so tall, you've got remarkably little going on upstairs."

His teammate laughs and Easton's gaze cuts to him, sharp enough to kill the sound mid-breath.

When he looks back at me, the smirk has shifted into something less practiced, something that sits closer to his actual face.

"Careful, Kit. That smart mouth is going to get you into trouble one of these days. "

"Promise?" The word is out before I can stop it, dripping with more venom than I intended, and for a split second his nostrils flare, and his eyes drop to my mouth before snapping back up.

Then the mask slides back into place and he's just Easton again, six-foot-three of arrogant Alpha with a God complex and a jersey number. He adjusts his glasses, a signature move that I've seen approximately four hundred times and have memorized against my will, and steps back.

"Wouldn't waste my time," he says, but the words come out quieter than the rest of the conversation, pitched low enough that his teammates don't catch it. Then he turns, falling back into step with his boys, his laugh carrying down the hallway like he's already forgotten I exist.

He hasn't. I know he hasn't because his scent thickened when he leaned in and I could smell it under the bourbon and the cedar, something that didn't match the cruelty on his face.

My Omega cataloged it and purred and I want to reach into my own chest and strangle the traitorous little thing into silence.

I stand there for a few seconds too long, my coffee-soaked hand trembling at my side, my pulse hammering in my throat.

The hallway fills back in around me as students shuffle past, a few of them shooting me sympathetic looks because everyone at Knotlocke knows about Kit and Easton.

It's practically a spectator sport at this point, the basketball star and the Omega who won't shut up, and I'm so tired of being the entertainment.

Milo appears at my side before I've fully unclenched my jaw, his brown hair falling in his face as he leans against the locker next to mine.

He's still in his football hoodie, the sleeves pushed up past his elbows, and he takes one look at my coffee-stained hand and the murder on my face before letting out a sigh that says he's seen this exact scene play out too many times.

"Again?"

"Again." I yank my locker open harder than necessary, shoving my ruined notebook inside.

The coffee soaked through the front cover and bled into the first ten pages.

Wonderful. "He literally goes out of his way.

His next class is in the east building, Milo.

This hallway is west. He detours just to fuck with me. "

"That's either dedication or obsession," Milo says, pulling a napkin out of his pocket and handing it over without being asked. This is a routine we've perfected: Easton ruins something, Milo cleans up, Kit seethes. "Neither option is great, honestly."

"It's neither. It's just him being an insufferable Alpha who gets off on reminding me that I'm an Omega every chance he gets.

" I scrub at my hand, the napkin disintegrating against my skin.

My scent is doing something embarrassing right now, going sharp and sweet at the same time, and I pray Milo doesn't notice.

He notices, but he has the grace not to comment. Instead, he falls into step beside me as I slam my locker shut and start walking, putting as much distance between me and Easton's lingering scent as possible.

"You know, Quentin used to do shit like that to get Iris' attention," Milo says, his tone light enough to pass as casual.

"Like he wasn’t an asshole but before we all figured our stuff out.

He'd find excuses to be wherever she was and try to act like he didn't care when his scent was practically screaming. "

"Don't." I point at him without breaking stride. "Do not compare Easton shoulder-checking me into a locker with your brother’s repressed love language. Those are not the same thing."

Milo raises both hands in surrender, but the grin tugging at the corner of his mouth tells me he's not even a little sorry. "I'm just saying. Alphas are stupid. And Betas, honestly. Quentin was a whole disaster before he admitted what he wanted."

"Easton doesn't want me, Milo. He wants to make my life miserable. There's a difference, and I'm living it."

"If you say so." He lets it drop, which is generous for Milo, who once interrogated Avery for forty-five minutes about a single text message from Declan. "Hey, you coming to the auction tonight?"

"The March Madness thing? No. Why would I voluntarily watch a bunch of basketball Alphas get bid on? I'd rather eat glass."

"Iris is helping run the event this time. Q and I are going to support her, plus Avery and Declan will be there. It could be fun." He pauses, then plays his ace. "I heard the events committee splurged on those little crab cake things from last month."

"Milo, I'm not going to an auction to eat crab cakes."

"You say that like it's not a valid reason.

" He grins, bumping his shoulder against mine as we push through the double doors and into the courtyard.

The March air bites at my wet hand and I shove it into my jacket pocket, hissing through my teeth.

"Besides, the basketball team is auctioning off their starters.

It should be entertaining. Easton's one of them. "

My feet stop moving.

Milo takes two more steps before he realizes I'm not beside him anymore and turns around, his brows furrowing. "What?"

"Easton's being auctioned?"

"Yeah. He's one of the main attractions, apparently. Star player, big donor draw, you know the drill. And get this, he said he’ll do whatever the winning bid wants." Milo's head tilts to the side, his expression shifting from casual to suspicious in a way that reminds me exactly why this man figured out how to snag the coach’s daughter without getting killed. I’m mildly jealous of how happy he is from betting on her during February’s auction. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

Something is forming in the back of my brain.

Something reckless and stupid and deeply, viciously satisfying.

My savings account has been growing since winter break because I picked up extra shifts at the campus bookstore, telling myself it was for textbooks and emergencies.

This qualifies as an emergency. A spiritual one.

I think about Easton's smirk, the way he leaned in close enough for me to count the links on his chain. The way he said wouldn't waste his time like I was beneath the effort. The way his scent curled into mine and my body responded before my brain had a vote.

I think about how satisfying it would be to own his entire night, to stand in that crowd and claim the thing he values most, his time, his image, his precious Alpha pride, and use it against him.

Make him carry my bags. Make him sit through a movie he hates.

Make him call me sir. Make him understand what it feels like to be at someone else's mercy for a few hours.

The smile that spreads across my face isn't kind. It's the furthest thing from kind, actually, and Milo sees it forming in real time, his eyes widening.

"Kit. Whatever you're thinking, stop."

"I'm going to the auction."

"Oh no."

"And I'm going to bid on Easton Cole."

Milo's mouth opens and closes twice before he finds words. "Kit, that's insane. You hate him and you swear up and down that he hates you. You're going to spend actual money on a man who shoulder-checks you for fun?"

"I'm going to spend actual money on making his night a living hell, Milo." I start walking again, faster now, because I've got an outfit to pick and a bank account to check and an Alpha to destroy. "He wants to waste my time? Fine. Tonight, I'm buying his."

Milo jogs to catch up, his expression caught somewhere between horror and the kind of morbid curiosity that got him tangled up with an Alpha and his own twin brother on the other side. "This is going to end badly."

"For him? Absolutely."

"I meant for you."

"Then you underestimate how petty I am." I push through the door to the south building, the warmth of the lobby hitting my face as my smile sharpens into something with teeth. "Now help me figure out how much I can spend without losing my meal plan."