About Last Knight (Knoxton Knights, #1)

by Michaela Cole

Being with you is not settling. I’m lucky to have you in my life.” My voice rises higher and louder. “You are everything to me. I’m the lucky one. How do you—” A laugh rumbles deep inside my chest and then bubbles to the surface. “How do you still not realize this, Ryne?” I’m rewarded with a glare. I can’t believe he thinks I’m so much better than him. That’s completely laughable. He’s amazing, every grouchy, sexy, frustrating inch of him. Now that he’s finally opened up and I understand where he’s coming from, I get it. Is he perfect? No, hence the frustration. But neither am I. Yes, we’ve had our fair share of problems, but he soothes my frayed, singed nerves and makes things seem more manageable, less chaotic. He may not be perfect, but he’s perfect for me.

But his eyes always tell a different story; they expose his truth and his vulnerability. He’s not cold, not emotionless. From the first moment we met, his emotions have blazed hot and bright, so tangible I could almost reach out and touch them. I’ve seen the kind of man Ryne is through his actions when other people aren’t watching, and he lets his shields drop. He’s quick to come to the aid of his friends, no questions asked. Yes, they also rag on each other all the time, but honestly, the snark is part of the charm. And we work, I know we do. His walls and shields don’t work on me. I see him. The real him. I always have.

Adrenaline surges through me and the urge, the desire, the need to claim him, is fierce and demanding and all-consuming.

Do I deserve him? No. But nevertheless, he’s mine.

I am still so out of my element with Dacen, but I’m exactly where I need to be. My initial attraction to him what seems like eons ago was like a giant slap in the face, a wake-up call, a big sign with flashing lights and arrows, pointing out two very important things: I was an unhappy bastard, floating through life and not taking any of the kinds of chances that really mattered, and I didn’t know myself as well as I thought. And ever since then, these actual feelings I’ve developed for him—me, Ryne, closed-off bastard having feelings, imagine that—they’ve come on so strong it was more than a little scary, but just what I needed. The thought has me smiling again.

When it comes to Roman, it’s a challenge to keep up with where his head is. It can be a crazy, seemingly random place sometimes to an outsider, but he’s always calculating, always thinking, always planning, and always one step ahead of everyone else. In this case though, he’s being purposely confusing because he likes to mess with people.

I lean over and plant a full kiss on his lips. “Oh God,” Roman groans. “You two have Princess Bride-level cuteness going on with that shit. Stop it before I catch feels. You know I don’t do emotions.” He visibly shudders. “Ehhh, it turns out that emotions aren’t the devil, man. You should try them sometime. I mean, I love this guy,” I nod my head toward Dacen, “and it hasn’t killed me yet.” My tone is teasing but I’m speaking the absolute truth. I sneak a glance over to Dacen and he’s looking at me wide-eyed and his mouth has gone slack. “Did you just say you love me?” “Yeah.” I rub my collar bone and drop my hand to my side again. “I mean, I do. It’s thing number six. From the list.” “I love you, too.” His words are a soft whisper but ring loudly in my heart.

“I don’t know how you did it, but you weaseled your way into my cold, dead heart and breathed life back into it. Now my heart, my mind, my body are all filled with your empathy, your love, your weirdness.” I place a gentle kiss on his lips and speak my next words with my forehead against his. “And I wouldn’t have it any other way. You own my heart. I love you, Taco Socks. I’m in this for the long haul.”

“I love you so fucking much.” The words depart my mouth on an exhale. Now that I’ve said it out loud, I don’t want to stop. “Sutton. Becker. No PDA on school grounds. You know the rules. Don’t make me get the hose.” Coach walks past, chastising us, but not actually looking upset. “Sorry, Coach,” we both mumble and take the slightest of steps away from each other.

Kill me now. I can see my tombstone clearly in my mind. The engraving reads: Here lies Ryne Sutton. Instead of being bested by a spiral-bound planner, the poor bastard perished from an epic case of blue balls while attempting to placate his best friend with buck hunting when all he wanted to do was bone his hot boyfriend.

“Southerners are so freaking weird.” He makes this whispered proclamation while our lips are still pressed together, and I smile. “Yeah,” I move to kiss the smooth skin below his right ear and am rewarded with a cascade of goosebumps along his neck. “But you love it. Or me, anyway,” I whisper into his ear and suck on his earlobe. A shiver runs through his body, and he presses even tighter against me. Then he leans back enough to see me. The depth of emotion pouring from him is staggering. “I really do. I love you, Ryne.” I will never get tired of hearing it. There’s only one thing keeping me from dissolving into a pathetic puddle at his feet, and it’s that I know my feelings mirror his, in all the ways that matter, and I need him to see it. I need him to hear it. I need him to know. Hell, I just need him. “I love you too, D. So much.”