Page 63 of Knot my First Rodeo

I stare at the screen for another second before adding:

Me- Seriously? I’m one missed call away from murder, you biker wannabe. Go ask the walking STD for some biker porn and tell my dickhead brother to call me.

The porch light buzzes overhead and behind me, the screen door creaks.

“You hiding?” Tripp asks.

I lock my phone and shove it face down beside me.

“Nope.”

His gaze lingers for a second too long.

“You sure?”

The answer sits somewhere between absolutely not, and I have no idea what the hell is wrong with me.

Instead, I shrug. “Just tired.”

Concern flickers across his face before he covers it.

“Come eat before Briggs starts emotionally spiraling.”

I snort. “Briggs has emotions?”

“Terrifying, right?”

Despite everything feeling too warm, too loud, too weird, I still find myself standing to follow him back inside.

Chapter

Twenty

Briggs

Something’s off with Autumn.

I notice before my cousins do, or least before they say anything, which is irritating because I’m not supposed to notice her at all. She sleeps too long, eats too little, snaps quickly, then looks like she wants to apologize but doesn’t know how to get the words out without choking on them. It has to be her biker club upbringing.

Every now and then, her black cherry and almond scent cuts through the usual ranch smells stronger than it should, faint enough that I can almost convince myself I imagined it, if my alpha didn’t clock it before my brain got a say.

Yesterday she slept the day away, made an appearance for afternoon chores, then headed right back to her room. Now it’s lunchtime, and she’s sitting at the table with one knee tucked under her, pushing food around her plate. Clint’s watching her from the counter while pretending to refill his water glass, and Tripp keeps glancing at her between bites. Nobody says anything for a minute, which in this house should be a warning sign.

“We’re goin’ to town,” I say, reaching for my hat off the back of the chair.

Autumn’s fork pauses halfway through a halfhearted bite of her mac and cheese. “Congratulations?”

“You’re coming.”

Her eyes lift to mine, gray and sharp even with the surprise sitting under them. “Excuse me?”

“We need feed and groceries. You need whatever girly, or omega, shit you’re out of.”

Tripp coughs into his drink while Clint looks down, but his mouth twitches.

Autumn sets her fork down. “Girly omega shit?”

I pull my hat on and pretend not to notice the way her scent gets warmer when her irritation kicks up. “You’ve been wearing that same hoodie for two days now.”