Knot So Hot (Knots & Flavors #2)

Chapter 1

JENNIFER

"Jennifer, what are you doing?"

"Currently?"

I pour the minibar whiskey into the glass, then drink it as if I'm not sitting in my room alone, pretending that I’m in some bar.

Pathetic.

"Drinking cheap hotel bourbon."

"And?"

Anna, my sister, makes the sound. I can picture her in Cedar Ridge right now, probably standing in that kitchen that smells of butter and fresh bread, the baby balanced on the other, her alphas somewhere nearby being large and useful in the way that makes me feel like I wandered into the wrong fairy tale as a child and never fully found my way back out.

I look around the suite and take a slow breath.

Okay. So it's nice.

It is nice, actually. Floor twenty-two, corner suite.

The windows are enormous and the Strip is doing its whole thing down below, gold and pink and relentless, which is usual in Vegas.

There's a fruit basket on the marble counter that I haven't touched because I'm not here to be nutritious.

The champagne is gone. That happened fairly early in the grieving process. I don't regret it.

The envelope is on the coffee table.

I stopped looking at it approximately forty minutes ago and I intend to stay that way until these little babies have hit the right spot.

"With what money?" Anna asks.

"Three hundred dollars."

I carry the whiskey glass to the window and press my free hand flat against the cool glass. Twenty-two floors below, a group of men in matching shirts are doing something enthusiastic outside the casino entrance. A bachelor party, probably. There's always one here.

My scent shifts, which is my baseline, my everyday, the scent my mother used to say meant I was comfortable somewhere.

But underneath it something else rises, rose going sharp and acidic, the way it does when I am emotional and trying very hard to pretend I'm not.

My omega body, narcing me out to anyone within a twenty-foot radius with functioning scent receptors.

Fantastic. Absolutely love that for me.

I lean my forehead against the glass for just a second. The cold of it is honest in a way the rest of the room is not.

"Here is the short version, because the long version is something I've been narrating to myself for three days and I'm bored of it. Ricardo left."

"What do you mean left?"

There's no other way to describe it. Anna, left is left.

"Left means gone, far away, to a destination that he didn't disclose."

"Two-time loser. Then again, he could have just taken a break. You said the taco truck wasn't doing well. That's why you took up the job as a stewardess."

I tilt my head to the side, glad that she can't see me right now.

"Well, that was part of the truth. Business wasn't doing well, so I took this job. But he didn't come home. I flew in and saw all his stuff was gone, and his number is out of service."

"Jennifer. Sorry."

Yeah, not as sorry as I am for being one of those women who are so weak they give everything to their men.

"David did that to me. He left me with so much debt. And worse, when you have another mouth to feed too."

I would love a child one day. I thought Ricardo did too. Maybe he does, but clearly not with me.

Refill time. I head back to the minibar, because I haven't told her the worst part of the story.

"Not only did I finish paying off the truck, but he took the girl that I hired."

"It gets worse?" she gasps.

"It does."

I just swipe the whole thing down my throat.

"A friend found Ricardo's truck, and I spent a Tuesday night finding out about the baby via a mutual friend who clearly thought she was doing me a favor by telling me the whole situation."

"Bended," she barks.

Okay, whatever gets your fancy. It's not a word I would use.

"I can't say the real word. You know why. Kids and all."

I don't, but I get what she's saying, so I stop at grabbing one bottle at a time and just grab two. I shouldn't be mixing drinks, but this is a special occasion.

"I'm late for work—"

"As always," she interrupts.

"Anyway, I open my mailbox, grab an envelope, and then head to work. Leave my car at the airport, board the plane, and had every single colleague look at me like I was a ghost who didn't know she was dead yet."

"Weird," she says.

Not really. I haven't told her the worst part.

"Then the gate manager caught me at the jetway with a keycard and a second envelope and a smile, and that was how I found out I'd been let go before I'd even unfolded the first letter."

So. Three bad things.

Ricardo, the truck, the baby. That's three. That should be it. The universe should be satisfied. But apparently the universe wanted a bonus round, because here we are.

"I really wish I could give you a hug," Anna says, and her voice is so genuinely soft that I have to move away from the window before my face does something I'll resent.

"Go on then," I say, setting the whiskey down and facing the mirror, because I want to know if I look as bad as I feel right now. "Project your concern from Colorado. I'll receive it badly."

She laughs.

My reflection shows that my hair is still pinned up and hasn't turned into an electric shock, due to the number of blows I've taken within the last few days.

I'm wearing a red dress, because I bought it at the airport to cheer myself up.

I smooth my hand across my butt as I do a half-spin, thinking about the curves that Ricardo said I should get rid of, because he didn't like them as much as he used to when we first dated.

I'm going to enjoy myself. I'm going to go downstairs and have fun on the roulette table, indulge in the free drinks, and maybe, just maybe, some luck will come my way.

"Anna." The background noise has shifted, the small escalating spiral of her son deciding that this exact moment requires his full contribution. "Go. He needs you."

"I'll call you back later, I promise, just don't do anything."

"I'll probably be passed out."

"Jennifer."

But she's already half gone, the way mothers get, their attention pulled like a tide. The call ends with a soft click and I stand there for a second holding the phone, feeling the particular quiet of a hotel room that costs more per night than my old apartment.

I drop the phone into my clutch. The room key follows. The three hundred dollars, folded neatly, goes in last, because even in crisis I am organized about the things that matter.

I click off the light and let the door close behind me.

I head down the corridor, into the elevator, and once the doors open, then close, I arrive on the casino floor.

I do what any woman would do.

I head down to the roulette table as if my life depends on it.

I intend to forget about my worries and have some fun, for once in my life.

I damn well deserve it.