Page 44 of Knot So Lucky

"Lightning doesn't strike the same place twice. Not in this sport. Not for Omegas."

Cale doesn't argue, which I appreciate. He knows better than to offer false platitudes about things changing or rules being updated.

We both know the reality:the racing world opened its doors a crack for Auren Vale, then slammed them shut again the moment the opportunity passed.

"It's okay though," I continue, forcing brightness into my voice that I don't entirely feel. "I have another outlet that gets rid of the noise. That gives me the same kind of silence."

"What's that?" Cale asks, leaning in slightly.

I smirk, popping the bacon strip into my mouth and chewing with exaggerated slowness while maintaining eye contact.

"Nothing."

His eyes narrow.

"You're lying."

I shrug, smile widening.

He knows what my outlet is—has experienced it firsthand more times than I can count. The silence I find in sex and pleasure, and the temporary obliteration of everything complicated about my existence. The way orgasms make the world disappear for those few perfect seconds, where nothing matters except sensation.

But I'm not giving him the satisfaction of saying it out loud.

Cale's expression shifts from curiosity to realization to that particular brand of possessive satisfaction that makes Alpha pheromones spike.

Then, with deliberate intent, he reaches over and steals a bacon strip from my plate.

"Hey!"

He pops it in his mouth before I can retaliate, chewing with a smug grin that makes me want to simultaneously kiss him and strangle him.

"Cale fucking Hart!" I use his full name like a weapon, pointing my fork at him with murderous intent. "I'm going to kick your balls if you don't give that back right fucking now."

He swallows, still grinning.

"The bacon is already in the depths of my stomach. Can't get it back now."

I pout—actually pout, which I never do because it's not part of the Rory Lane performance—and he immediately huffs in resignation.

"Fine, jeez. I'll make you more. You're so dramatic."

But before he can stand, I grab his wrist.

Pull him back down.

Lean up to kiss him slowly, deliberately, letting my tongue trace the seam of his lips before tugging at his bottom lip with my teeth.

He tastes like coffee and bacon, and when I pull back, we're both breathing harder.

We share a look—heated and knowing and full of promise.

"Rain check on the bacon," Cale says, voice rougher now, edged with want.

His hand slides up my thigh, leaving trails of heat in its wake.

"Why don't we do something else instead?"

Yup…rain check…for another round of blissful silence.