KNOT MY EXES
A SMALL TOWN OMEGAVERSE ROMANCE
1
SAVANNAH
The Riverside Pack's reception is going perfectly, which is what people pay me the big bucks for. Guests are mingling, the band is playing at exactly the right volume, and the bride is glowing instead of having a nervous breakdown in the bathroom. All good signs for a wedding planner who's built her reputation on making everything look effortless.
That's when I noticed him.
Rick of the Stonepeak Pack picks up his champagne flute and runs his tongue around the entire rim before taking a slow, calculated sip, his gaze scanning the reception for something specific.
Look away, Savannah. You're the wedding planner. You're an unmated omega whose romantic life is basically a masterclass in "how to get your heart broken in creative ways." You have a job to do and a reputation to maintain.
But then my vision betrays me, becoming magnets drawn to exactly what he's doing to that poor, innocent champagne flute. The way his tongue moves with deliberate precision, the way his lips curve around the glass like he's making love to glassware. I should look away, but apparently my brain has decided to take acoffee break and leave my eyeballs in charge. It's like watching a car accident in slow motion, except I'm about to become the car accident.
He notices me staring. Of course he does. His eyes lock onto mine across the reception hall, and he slowly lowers the flute from his lips with the kind of theatrical timing that suggests he's done this before. Then he mouths "your turn" in my direction with enough smug confidence to choke a horse.
"Shit!" I scream out, jerking backward so fast I nearly bump into the table holding three tiers of lemon buttercream that are about to redecorate my black dress in the most expensive way possible.
"Whoa there." Strong hands steady the wobbling cake stand while another arm catches me around the waist, preventing both a fashion disaster and what would have been the most mortifying moment of my professional career. "Easy, sweetheart. That cake's probably worth more than my truck."
"Thank you," I gasp. "It would have been a disaster of epic proportions."
"No problem," he says with a slight smile. "You looked like you'd seen a ghost."
More like I'd seen an alpha with a champagne flute and a complete lack of shame, but I'm not about to admit that to a stranger. Especially an alpha. "Just wedding planner nerves. I'm always expecting something to go wrong."
He nods and walks away as if he's bored with the small talk or just me. This is exactly why I left Pine Hollow eight years ago. I knew back then in my small town that there was a bigger world out there, and more alphas. But then after a couple of years, I decided it was just best to concentrate on my career and forget about finding a pack.
Yeah, I'm doing just fine. At first I tried to be a dancer. Broke my toe, my leg, and somehow my finger just during auditions.
I tried singing. Got told my voice wasn't even good enough for drunk karaoke.
Acting? I thought obsessing over Angelina Jolie was enough. Spoiler: it's not.
Chocolatier? I love chocolate, so I figured I'd make and eat it. Sweet plan, bitter ending.
Finally someone suggested event planning. I like organizing things, and I needed a win. It stuck.
Given my love life, I figured planning weddings was safer than having one. Because if there’s one thing I’m not, it’s a bride.
Honestly, I make “dumped omega” sound like a career path.
And here I am at the tenth wedding I’ve planned this year, watching as the pack has their first dance. My business is finally thriving. I’ve got one full-time assistant, a growing list of clients, and things are looking brighter every day.
The opening beats of "Shut Up and Dance" by Walk the Moon fill the reception hall, and I can’t help but smile despite the knot in my chest.
The Riverside Pack moves like they've been choreographing this moment their entire lives. Then again, they didn't care about anything else in relation to this wedding, only this dance, so I was thinking it better be good.
Not bad.
Sarah, the bride, is radiant in her flowing cream dress as she spins between her six alphas with effortless grace. And by radiant, I mean she's practically glowing like she swallowed a disco ball. The woman is five-foot-nothing in heels, with wild curly red hair that defies every hair product known to mankind, and freckles that make her look like a fairy tale come to life.
Rogue, the head alpha, takes her hand first. He's built like a linebacker, all broad shoulders and smoldering dark eyes which never leave hers as they sway to the beat. Then Jake cuts in with a playful grin that transforms his entire face from "dangerousalpha" to "golden retriever who found a tennis ball." He's tall, athletic with sandy hair which flops into his green eyes, and he lifts Sarah clean off her feet, spinning her until she laughs so hard I can hear it over the music.
Devon steps forward next, he’s the pretty boy of the group, all sharp cheekbones and perfectly styled black hair, but there's something soft in his blue eyes when he looks at Sarah that makes my chest ache with recognition. The way all six of them move together, no jealousy, no territorial pissing contest, just pure synchronized joy.
