Page 2 of Pack Plus One

“So get a temporary one,” Zoe suggests with a shrug, like she’s proposing I borrow a handbag.

“A temporary pack?” I raise an eyebrow. “Should I check the rental section at the local mart, or…?”

“I’m serious!” Zoe grabs her phone, her fingers flying across the screen. “There are services for this. I saw an article about it last month. Ah! Here!” She thrusts her phone at me.

I squint at the screen. “PackPlus: Professional Accompaniment for the Modern Alpha and Omega…”

“It’s like an escort service, but for omegas who need a pack for events.” Zoe is practically vibrating with excitement. “They’re not real escorts—they just pretend to be your pack for parties, weddings, work functions... Basically any place where showing up alone would suck.”

“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard,” I say, handing her phone back.

“More ridiculous than staying home while Eric marries Melissa, thinking you’re too heartbroken to show your face?”

I wince. She’s not wrong. “I’d rather fake-marry a cactus than rent a pack of strange alphas.”

“You don’t have to marry them. Just show up with them, act like you’re part of their pack, and leave Eric wondering what he lost.”

The idea is so absurd I almost laugh. Almost. But a tiny voice in the back of my head wonders if it might actually work. No, that’s the wine talking. I drain my glass and set it on the table with a decisive thunk.

“Even if I wanted to—which I don’t—how would that even work? ‘Hi, I’d like to rent three alphas for the weekend, please make them hot and not serial killers?’”

Zoe giggles. “From what I read, they’re all screened. Some are even actors or models doing it as a side gig.”

“Great, so not only would they be strangers, but they’d be impossibly attractive strangers who’d make me look even more pathetic by comparison.” I head to the kitchen to refill my wine glass. My apartment suddenly feels too small, too empty. Just like my life.

“You’re not pathetic,” Zoe says, her voice softening. “You’re just... stuck.”

“Stuck,” I repeat. That’s exactly how I feel—like I’ve been treading water since Eric left, not drowning but definitely not swimming forward either.

Which is ridiculous because I havezerofeelings for him and he was a pretentiousprickthat deserved to be left in the dust.

“The bakery is your fresh start, right? Maybe this could be part of that.” Zoe follows me to the kitchen, watching as I pour more wine for both of us. “Just think about it. What’s the worst that could happen?”

“They could be axe murderers.”

“They won’t be axe murderers.”

“They could be terrible actors and embarrass me in front of everyone.”

“Better than going alone and definitely being embarrassed.”

I take another sip of wine. “Eric would know they weren’t really my pack.”

“How?” Zoe challenges. “It’s not like he’s kept tabs on you. For all he knows, you found the perfect pack the day after he left.”

I snort. “Yeah, right.”

“Leah.” Zoe puts her hands on my shoulders, forcing me to look at her. “Two years ago, that alpha broke your heart, told you that you weren’t ‘pack material,’ and then hooked up with Melissa—who, may I remind you, was supposedly just his ‘work friend’—within a month.”

I feel the familiar ache in my chest at the memory. Eric had been so cruel at the end. So dismissive of everything we’d shared.

“Don’t you want to walk into that wedding with your head held high?” Zoe continues. “Don’t you want to show him that you’re thriving without him?”

“Of course I do, but?—”

“But nothing. This is your chance to rewrite the narrative.” She taps my forehead gently. “Stop thinking of yourself as the omega he rejected and start thinking of yourself as the omega who dodged a bullet.”

I laugh despite myself. “That’s a nice spin.”