Page 22 of Knot Just a Spectator
blair
It’sbeenfourdayssince my Alphas bonded me, and the entire campus has lost its collective mind. Everywhere I go, people stare. Whispers follow me like a second shadow—“Did you see the bites on Reyes?” “Both of them? At the same time?” “Coach Vega and Roxie Calloway? Holy shit.” The gossip is loud, messy, and relentless. Someone even started a group chat called “Knotlocke’s Newest Throuple Watch” that’s already got three hundred members. I know because Kenji sent me screenshots with the caption “you’re trending, asshole.”
I’m loving every second of it.
The bites on my throat are impossible to hide. I don’t even try. I wear my singlets a little lower at practice, tilt my head when I’m walking across the quad, and let the marks show like badges of honor. Every time someone stares, a smug little thrill runs through me. Mine. Both of them.
And the best part? I’ve basically moved into Sol and Roxie’s apartment without anyone officially saying the words. My duffel bag showed up two days ago. Half my clothes are now hanging in their closet next to Sol’s hoodies and Roxie’s fight shorts. My favorite blanket is on their couch. My protein shakes are in their fridge. I wake up every morning sandwiched between them, their scents so deeply tangled with mine that I smell like a walking advertisement for bonded bliss.
It feels ridiculous. It’s perfect.
Saturday rolls around with no match, no practice, no nothing. Just the three of us with an entire empty day stretching out in front of us. I’m sprawled on the couch in nothing but gray sweatpants, scrolling my phone, when an idea hits me. I sit up so fast I almost fall off the cushion.
“I’m taking you both on a date,” I announce. “A real one. Not a gym-office-desk situation. Dinner. Bookstore. The whole thing.”
Sol, who’s been reading on the armchair with her glasses perched on her nose, slowly lowers her book. Roxie, stretched out on the other end of the couch with her head in my lap, freezes mid-scroll. They both stare at me like I’ve grown a second head.
“A… date,” Sol repeats, her voice flat with disbelief.
Roxie’s eyebrows shoot up. “You want to take us on a date.”
“Yes,” I say, already grinning like an idiot. “A real date where we dress up and go to a nice restaurant. Maybe hold hands in public like normal people. I’m feeling romantic.”
Roxie snorts. “You’re feelingsomething, alright.”
Sol sets her book down completely. “Blair. We just claimed you in the middle of a heat spike four days ago. The dean is breathing down our necks. Your father is probably plotting something or another faculty member that doesn’t even work here and you want to take us on a date?”
“Exactly,” I say, already bouncing up from the couch. “Life’s short. The dean can wait. My father can choke. Everyone else has to deal. I won you both fair and square and then got claimed like a champion. I’m cashing in on the romance portion of the program.”
Roxie starts laughing first, Sol watching me with that dry, fond look that makes my stomach flip.
“You’re serious,” Sol says.
“Dead serious. Get dressed. I’m taking my Alphas out.”
They stare at me for another long beat. Then Roxie shrugs, stands up, and heads toward the bedroom. “Fine. But if this ends with us getting kicked out of somewhere, I’m blaming you.”
Sol follows, muttering something under her breath that sounds suspiciously like “this boy is going to be the death of me.”
I go all out, finding a tailored black suit that fits me like it was made for sin, crisp white shirt open at the collar just enough to show off both fresh bites, and every single one of my silver earrings settled on my face and ears. I add a couple extra studs just because I can. When I step out of the bathroom, both of them are already waiting in the living room.
Sol is in a sharp black pinstripe suit, the jacket hugging her broad shoulders and tapering at the waist. Her red-auburn hair is loose for once, falling in soft waves past her shoulders. She looks like sin and power and every dirty fantasy I’ve ever had rolled into one.
Roxie stuffed herself into a tight red wrap dress that matches Sol’s hair almost exactly. The fabric clings to every lean, cut line of her curves and the worn leather jacket she threw over it ismaking me want to cancel the date altogether and take them both to bed.
My brain short-circuits so hard I actually forget how to speak for a second. “Fuck,” I manage. “You two are trying to kill me.”
Roxie smirks and does a slow turn. “Good?”
“Criminal,” I push out, a small purr following. “I’m going to need a minute.”
Sol’s mouth twitches as she steps forward, straightens my collar, then leans in and kisses the bite on the left side of my throat. “You look good enough to eat, Reyes.”
Roxie presses in from the other side, kissing the matching bite on the right. “Ours.”
I shiver between them, already half-hard in my slacks. “Date first. Sex later. I’m being romantic, damn it.”
They both laugh and each take one of my arms. I feel like the luckiest bastard alive as we walk out the door.
