Page 3 of Pack Plus One

“It’s the truth.” She gives me a little shake. “Promise me you’ll at least look at the website.”

I sigh, knowing she won’t let this go. “Fine. I’ll look. But I’m not promising anything else.”

“That’s all I ask.” Zoe grins triumphantly, then grabs her wine and heads back to the living room. “Now, can wepleaseorder pizza? I’m starving, and renting you a fake pack has worked up my appetite.”

“I didn’t agree to that yet!” I call after her, but I’m already reaching for my phone to order our favorite Hawaiian.

Later, after Zoe has gone home and I’ve changed into my pajamas, I find myself sitting cross-legged on my bed with my laptop open to the PackPlus website. The homepage is sleek and professional, featuring tasteful photos of attractive alphas and betas escorting smiling omegas at various events.

“This is insane,” I mutter to myself as I click through the testimonials.

“PackPlus saved my work gala! My colleagues never suspected a thing, and my boss finally took me seriously when I had three alphas backing my presentation.” — Sandra T.

“After my pack moved across the country for work, I didn’t want to attend my sister’s wedding alone. PackPlus provided the perfect temporary pack so I could enjoy the day without awkward questions.” — Jamie S.

I hover over the “Services” tab, then click before I can talk myself out of it. The prices make me wince—not just wince, but full-body cringe. My bakery startup has cleaned out most of my savings. There’s no way I can justify this expense, no matter how satisfying the revenge fantasy.

“Four thousand dollars for a weekend?” I whisper-shriek at my screen. “That’s a commercial mixer!”

There are different packages available, from a single alpha escort to a full pack experience, but none of them fit my budget—which is approximately “zero dollars plus whatever’s in my change jar.”

The “Premier Pack Experience” catches my eye anyway: three alphas, fully coordinated, with “natural pack dynamics and protective behaviors.” The description promises they’ll act like a real pack, complete with subtle scent-marking and protective instincts.

I chew my lip as I scroll through the sample packs available. They all look like they’ve stepped out of a magazine—all perfect jawlines and broad shoulders and confident smiles.

“This is ridiculous,” I tell my empty bedroom, but I don’t close the laptop.

Instead, I find myself still staring at the screen when a small text link at the bottom of the page catches my eye: “Budget Options: Community Classifieds.”

I click it, curious.

The page that loads looks decidedly less polished than the main site. A disclaimer immediately pops up:

PackPlus Community Classifieds connects users seeking budget-friendly options. These arrangements are NOT vetted by PackPlus. Users connect at their own risk. Basic background verification only. 75% discount on standard agency fee.

“Uh…” I sigh, scrolling through the listings.

Most are single alphas offering to be plus-ones, but occasionally I spot a pair of friends or even small packs looking to make extra cash. The listings are brief, almost like dating profiles:

Alpha (32) available for corporate events. Professional appearance, respectful behavior. References available.

Beta/Alpha pair (28/30) seeking event opportunities. We clean up nice and know how to work a room. Fee negotiable.

As I scroll, I think about Eric and his stupid smug face. How he’d always made me feel like I was lucky to have him. “An omega like you,” he’d said during our breakup, “just doesn’t inspire protective instincts. It’s biology, Leah.”

I’d later found out he’d been seeing Melissa for months—apparently she did “inspire” those instincts. Whatever. I don’t love Eric anymore—I don’t even like who he is as a person—but sometimes those words still sneak up on me during my lowest moments.

“Screw it,” I mutter, scrolling back to the top of the classifieds and clicking “Post a Listing.” This is ridiculous, but what do I have to lose? No one’s going to respond anyway.

I fill out the form with a sort of reckless abandon:

Omega (28) seeking temporary pack for ex’s wedding. He ended things saying I “wasn’t pack material.” Would like to prove him wrong. Event is black-tie. Open bar, gourmet food. Will cover basic fee, but budget is tight.

I hit submit without even rereading it, like I’m sending a risky text after two glasses of wine. The confirmation page cheerfully informs me that my listing is now live.

“Like anyone’s going to respond to that,” I laugh, closing my laptop. I’ve just wasted thirty minutes that could have been spent perfecting my signature pastry recipe, but at least I can tell Zoe I tried.

My phone pings with a text from her, right on cue: