Knot Your Pucking Doll (Knotty Puckers #8)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

NOA

My final consultation for the day leaves, and I sigh with relief. As much as I love custom orders, I’m pretty antsy today. My cheeks are quick to flush with heat at nearly every word I say, and every conversation seems to run in my head on a loop.

The calendar on my desk is a constant reminder of what’s coming, and yet, I can’t get myself to deal with it just yet. My heat will lick at my heels any moment now.

Despite being on the run for two years now and finally feeling safe enough to settle down here in Nashville, I still don’t have a proper plan for dealing with my heats.

They come on quickly and painfully, and every time I just closed shop and dealt with it, I promised myself this time I would plan better, plan something, and I haven’t yet.

Running my hands in my hair, I make my way up to the front of the store, clicking on the air humidifiers. They integrate scent blockers into the air, damping any lingering scents from other designations that come in.

My consultations may be done for the day, but now it’s time to open to the public.

The scent blockers are the highest expense after rent for my little shop, but the experience my customers have selecting the right blankets for them makes the cost worth it.

The security it gives me as an unbonded omega is worth every darn penny.

The sterile scent of the blockers doesn’t ease me, not today. My shoulders are tense as I organize the fabric samples and clean up the desk. The sterile smell the building takes on puts me further on edge. I need the scents, I need to know who is here and who is not.

My baby, my business, Cozy Bear Blankets, has been running for two years now, and I’ve finally got my first storefront up.

A place where an omega can touch the textures and fabrics, see the colors, and get a good sense of whether this blanket is the right fit for their nests before purchasing a blanket from me.

Before Nashville, I was stuck in a small town near Columbus, Ohio, where I was forced into a Pack that didn’t want a working omega. At least not in this way. When I spoke of my dreams and my goal to run my business, they laughed, and when they noticed I was serious, they… they got angry.

No alpha is ever going to hurt me again, not like that.

Taking out the wipes from under my cash register, I wipe down absolutely everything. The chairs at the counter, the tables, the legs of the tables, in case someone’s skin touched them. I don’t want a single smell in this store.

Before I open up the walk-in portion of my day, I try to give the first few customers a chance to be here scent-free. It’s for them, I remind myself as I clean.

I split most of my working days up into halves. One half is for appointments, whether they want a custom blanket made or if they want to browse the store privately, and the second half is for everyone to walk in and browse the blankets, no appointment needed.

I hear the crowd before I see it. The foot traffic here is amazing, and a lot more hockey fans buy blankets than I thought. Maybe because it’s cold in the arena?

I wouldn’t know; I haven’t been even though I’ve had this shop here for about six months now.

Though this crowd seems a bit excited, I step cautiously towards the door. I try to get a better sense of what’s coming, but all I see is a black blur coming this way.

They aren’t coming towards my store, are they? No, they aren’t here for blankets. I scoff at the insane thought. They must be here to see the hockey practice or something.

My little storefront is right outside the Scented Scorpions arena.

A hockey team that had a rough start based on the traffic coming from that way, but has grown as the wins started piling up.

I play the sports channel on the TV in the store for customers so they can keep up with the game and shop, but it also tells me when to push more blankets out and when I can relax.

Pulling my pink sweater up from dropping off my shoulder, I refold the blankets again on the display tables. Trying to calm down as I watch the massive crowd come closer.

Crowds mean I blend in. Crowds mean I’m harder to find. There are benefits to crowds, and yet the pit in my stomach grows, and anxiety builds in my chest.

Noa, even if only one person comes in to see the blankets, it’d be worth it.

The bell above the door rings, a soft chime that doesn’t scare the daylights out of me whenever someone comes in. Still with my nerves out of control, I jump as if a gunshot goes off, and I turn towards the door.

I plaster my best customer service smile despite the tinge of tears behind my eyes.

“Welcome to–” my smile drops as I take in the empty doorway. Did they change their minds and walk back out before I could see them? “Hello?”

My soft orange crochet blanket is in my hands, my grip tightening as my nervousness rattles. I step closer to the door. Maybe I imagined the bell?

I jump a mile when I see him. My scent perfuming my fear, and if it weren’t for the heavy scent blockers wafting through the room, I’m sure he could smell me.

A man, tall, at least 6 feet, if not more, crouches on the floor. He’s got light green eyes that pierce my own, in… in fear? Shock, maybe?

An alpha. An unbonded alpha. No marks on his neck that I can see, but maybe it’s somewhere else. My omega doesn’t seem to like that a bond mark may be somewhere else on him.

The man has wavy black hair that falls past his eyebrows and into his eyes a bit. Lightly tanned, he’s dressed in sweats and a t-shirt even though it’s winter.

Though it is Nashville, Tennessee, it doesn’t get too cold here. Not like it does back in Ohio. Another reason I don’t want to go back, I chuckle to myself, as if winters were a genuine part of why I left Ohio.

My attention goes back to the man on the floor. It’s like we’re at a standstill. Holding our breaths, I am at least. I’m sure with him being on the floor, he isn’t here to buy a blanket.

I’m the one to break the silence first. “Um, can I–” I can’t get the words out. My breath catches at his beauty and at the fact that I have a grown man hiding behind a display table.

“Don’t tell them I’m here.” Despite his words being rushed, I can hear the deep sotto voice. It’s calm, and for once, while talking to an obvious alpha, I am… calm. My face still heats as he talks to me, but my skin isn’t as tight as it was, not as itchy.

“Tell who?” I whisper. I can’t help but match his voice, and I almost bend down beside him.

“Them.” He points outside to the disappearing crowd, and it clicks. He must be a hockey player. Hiding from his fans. In my blanket shop.

“So you’re not here to buy a blanket?” I question, even though I obviously know he’s not here to buy a blanket.

His gaze moves to take in my store. I watch him, my earlier flush weighing down my confidence even more. I yearn for his approval. Not surprising since I always long for everyone’s approval, but he feels different. In my gut, I want his approval more than the average customer.

Is it because he works so close to me? As in, in the hockey stadium. I bet one social media post from him would set my business straight for at least a year. Not that I’m not doing well already; actually, I’m doing more than well, as I’m currently drawing in orders.

But publicity also means… also means people finding me, and there’s a particular Pack I can’t risk finding me or my little shop.

Maybe it’s better if no one knows he’s here.

“Is this a blanket shop?” he asks and then shakes his head. I hoped it was apparent with the insane amount of blankets everywhere. From display tables to ladders filled with blankets, I hoped the shop would scream, buy blankets here. “No, don’t answer that; I’m here to get samples.”

Samples? Oh my god, samples. They sent a hockey player to get samples?

I’d emailed the Scented Scorpions PR team to see if we could collaborate and get a license to make team-themed blankets for the hockey fans who come in.

They emailed me back months later asking for samples. I thought they’d ghosted me. I mean, with their recent success, I’m sure it was accidental, but none of that matters because they still got back to me.

“Oh, yes!” I say, turning on my heel. “Let me get those for you.” My mind zeros in as I run to my office, my heels clacking against the tile floor as I grab the three blankets I’d prepared.

One a granny square crochet blanket with a mini team jersey in half the squares and plain white for the others.

I also made two quilted versions. One giant quilt with the team logo big across the back, and then one puff-style quilt with mini logos.

“It’s a big box. Do you want me to carry it for you, or–” I say, beginning to ramble as I hand him the box.

“I got it, Peach Puff,” he says, and I freeze. So does he. His hands landed on mine, and it became extremely difficult to let go. “I’m-I’m sorry.” He scowls as he moves his hands and the box away from me.

“You can smell me?” I ask, scrunching my eyebrows. He shouldn’t. Not with the hundreds of dollars of scent blockers I have in the room. How? Why?

“A little.” He says, his skin turning red as the silence between us grows. Oh no, I’m making this awkward.

“It’s just that I have scent blockers–”

“I can smell those too, but… your scent is strong, and sour,” he says, trailing off.

“Oh, right,” I say, letting go of the box. My hands instantly go to cradle my neck, trying to get myself to calm down. Of course I didn’t get the highest grade scent blockers, but still, they should… they should have held out.

“Do you have a really good nose by chance?” I ask, hoping I didn’t get defective blockers. For the price I paid, I’d have to say something, and I really don’t want to do that. I hate confrontation.

“Not that I know of.” He says, the corner of his lips tilting up in a smile. It makes me want to smile, too, which is odd. It’s not a feeling I’ve ever had before. “Can you smell me?”

I stop and breathe in. His scent is faint under the blockers, but I can smell the cherry. “You have a fruity smell too?”

Fruit and … alpha. He’s an alpha, which I could assume from his stature, but—I step away, trying to find something else to smell. Pure cherry filled my senses, and I absentmindedly stepped closer again. Not fucking thinking. It’s warm yet refreshing.

I’m supposed to stay away from alphas, not wanting to drag them into a mess they can’t handle in case my old Pack ever finds me. And yet I inhale, hoping like hell I can get another whiff.

“Wow,” I say. “Oh, my- I’m sorry.” We’re close, so close, and his scent is much stronger now. Is he pushing it out?

“It’s okay.” He mutters, shaking his black hair.

“Okay,” I mutter back. Now we are just a bunch of muttering fools, but I don’t want to say goodbye. Not yet. “Anything else I can help you with?”

“I need to pay for this, don’t I?” he asks, not meeting my eyes as he stares at the door, watching the deflated crowd disappear.

“Oh shoot, of course, oh my god.” My face is hot with embarrassment as I lead him to the cash register. “Oh wow, okay, the total is $125.67.”

The man pays, and I hand him a receipt. My mind runs as time ticks like a grandfather clock in my head. Each sound grows louder as the moment fades away. Do I really want to let his cherry-smelling alpha go? All alphas can’t be bad. Not every alpha is like Jackson, or Derrick, or Mayfield.

It’s been two years. If they were gonna find me, they would have by now, right?

Maybe they don’t care. Perhaps they already found another omega, hopefully not.

I actually hope they are dead in a ditch somewhere, but after this long, I should be free to do as I please, right?

I can be with an alpha if I want. It’s in my biology, and more than that, I really don’t want him to leave.

Is it too forward to get his name? It wouldn’t be right?

“Wait, um, what’s your name?” The words rush out of me. My face can’t get any hotter than it is, so I might as well try.

Wow, Noa, you’re really putting yourself out there.

He stops at the door and turns around, the box clearly not too big or heavy for a hockey player. I’m embarrassed at having asked him if he needed help, but as I look at him, I don’t want him to leave. Not yet.

I wanted to drool over his hockey player for one more second. One second is all I’d selfishly take, and then he’ll leave, and I will probably never see him again.

Unless… unless, I go to a hockey game.

Then I could see him again.

No, Noa, that’s stalkerish.

My eyes meet his again, and he’s staring at me.

“Thorne.” A cool name for a cool guy. Of course. He looks like a Thorne. Dark wavy hair, light skin, piercing green eyes. He’s a Thorne all day long.

I nod and smile. What should I say? I haven’t… I’ve never flirted before, and here I am flirting with the hottest man I’ve ever seen.

Can he even tell I’m flirting? Oh, my God. What if he can’t? I need to end this now. I’ve embarrassed myself enough. I look away, letting the hunky hockey player go, but I don’t hear the door chime.

He stands there, box in hand still, and I scrunch my eyebrows.

I swallow my pride, trying to wash away the embarrassment of my failed attempt at flirting. I finally ask after moments of us staring at each other.

“Are you okay?”