Page 22

Chapter

Fifteen

LEXIE

I hold up two different earrings to my ears, squinting at my reflection in the bedroom mirror. "Gold hoops or these dangly silver ones?"

Jessica glances up from the sweater she's carefully folding into tissue paper.

"Gold. Matches your bracelet better." She seals the package with efficiency despite not working for my business in an official capacity, just a sisterly one.

"Though honestly, I doubt professional hockey players are going to notice your earrings. "

"It's not about them noticing. It's about me feeling put together." I slip the hoops through my earlobes, trying to ignore the flutter of nerves in my stomach. Three days since my dinner with Darren, and I still can't quite believe I agreed to a second date.

With his entire pack, no less.

Jessica secures another package with packing tape, adding it to the growing stack by my door. "Soooo… this is quite a step up from the insurance salesman."

"Please don't remind me about Brandon." I smooth down the front of my burgundy wrap dress. It hugs my curves without being obvious about it, the hem hitting just above my knees.

"Five extremely fit, extremely wealthy professional athletes," Jessica continues, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Luke nearly collapsed when I told him. The Grizzlies are his favorite team."

I apply a final coat of mascara, careful not to smudge. "You know, in high school, I wouldn't have pegged you for the type to marry a hockey fan."

"In my defense, I didn't know I was marrying a hockey fan.

It was dormant until we moved here. Like a werewolf bite.

" She checks the shipping label on the next package.

"Now he watches every game and explains things I don't ask about.

Did you know there's a difference between a slashing penalty and a high-sticking penalty? "

"I did not." I step back from the mirror, assessing my reflection.

The dress works. My hair falls in loose waves past my shoulders, and the gold hoops do complement the thin bracelet at my wrist. I look good.

Not trying-too-hard good, but definitely put-some-effort-in good.

"But if this date goes well, I guess I'd better learn. "

"Thank you for helping with these orders," I say, gesturing to the packages. "I wouldn't have gotten them done in time otherwise."

Jessica waves dismissively. "Are you kidding? The promise of Grizzlies tickets, let alone having an entire hockey team of brothers-in-law, is worth a little manual labor." She seals another box with a flourish. "Luke's going to owe me for life."

I roll my eyes, reaching for my clutch. "You're getting way ahead of yourself. It's just a date."

"A date with five pro athletes, one of whom happens to be a recently-presented omega, which goes against every dating rule you've established since Mark.

So no, I don't think I'm getting ahead of myself.

" She sets down the tape dispenser, fixing me with her sisterly I-can-see-right-through-you stare. "This is a big deal for you."

She's right, of course. It is a big deal. Darren is a big deal, in ways I wasn't prepared for. I can't stop thinking about him. His smile, his laugh, the vulnerability beneath his tough exterior. The way he talked about his struggle with his new identity resonated with me more than I care to admit.

Darren and I have been talking through text a little, and when he told me I could mention it to Jess if I needed a sounding board while I’m figuring things out, I was more relieved than I want to admit.

Especially since I know he’s keeping it a secret from the world.

But he’s not just asking me to break my rules without expecting anything in return.

That’s a show of trust and a leap of faith in one.

A big one. And it shows he’s serious about making this work.

I never thought I'd have anything in common with an omega in that way, but he's full of surprises.

“I can't deny I've been thinking about Darren,” I confess, applying a nude lipstick that won't leave obvious marks on wine glasses. “There's something about him that just...clicks. Even if the whole omega thing is complicated. Remember, you can’t tell Luke about that yet. Maybe never.”

“Scout’s honor. Speaking of that…” Jessica leans against my dresser, crossing her arms. “I’m surprised you're giving this pack a chance, considering how adamant you've been about avoiding omegas.”

"Trust me, you're preaching to the choir." I cap the lipstick, tucking it into my clutch for touch-ups later. "But if I'm being honest with myself, my hesitation isn't so much about omegas as always being second to one. Always being left for one."

I take a deep breath, finding the words for something I've only recently started to understand myself.

"If this pack already has an omega, and he's the one who actually wants someone else…

I'm willing to give it a try." I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear.

"It's different, you know? I'm not competing with some hypothetical perfect omega they might meet someday.

Or worrying they're going to walk around the corner and magically meet their scent match.

The omega is right there, saying 'hey, let's add someone else to our dynamic. '"

"So he is their scent match?" she asks.

I freeze, realizing I didn't actually ask. "Uhm. I'm assuming? I didn't really get too much into the pack dynamics. First date and all that."

Jessica nods slowly. "That... actually sounds reasonable."

"Don't act so surprised," I say dryly. "Besides, it's just dinner. I'm not moving in with them tomorrow."

"But you're interested."

It's not a question, and I don't treat it like one. Instead, I touch up my lipstick one last time and grab my coat from the back of the door.

"I'm curious," I admit finally. "And it's been a long time since I've been genuinely curious about anyone."

Jessica's answering smile is warm. "Well, that's reason enough to go. Just promise me details afterward. And photos. Luke will die."

"I'm not taking creeper photos of the Grizzlies on a date for your husband," I laugh, slipping my feet into black heels that add three inches to my height. Not that it'll make much difference next to Darren's 6'4" frame, but every little bit helps when surrounded by hockey giants.

"Fine, be selfish with your pack of hot hockey players." Jessica hands me my phone from the nightstand. "Go knock 'em dead. And if any of them are weird or make you uncomfortable?—"

"I'll climb out a bathroom window. I know the drill."

"I was going to say 'call me for an emergency extraction,' but sure, architectural escape works too."

I gather my things, giving her a quick hug. "Thanks for helping. And for not judging my life choices too harshly."

"That's what sisters are for." She squeezes my shoulders. "The not judging part, I mean. The helping is just because I'm a saint."

"And the Grizzlies tickets."

"Mostly the Grizzlies tickets," she says with a grin.

The restaurant is even more intimidating in person than it looked online. The Terrace sits atop one of the city's most exclusive hotels, all gleaming glass and discreet opulence. The kind of place where they don't put prices on the menu because if you have to ask, you can't afford it.

As the hostess leads me through the main dining room, I'm acutely aware of my wrap dress. It had seemed elegant enough in my bedroom mirror, but surrounded by designer labels and old money, I wonder if I've horribly misjudged the dress code.

"Your party has reserved our Blue Room," the hostess says, her smile professional but warm. "The best view in the house."

A private room? Now I'm really wondering what I've gotten myself into. The pack must be loaded if they can casually book a private dining space at The Terrace. I knew professional athletes made good money, but this feels like next-level wealth.

We pass through a frosted glass door into a space that steals my breath.

Three glass walls showcase the city lights in a way that makes me wonder if I've stepped into a fantasy realm.

The fourth wall houses a private bar and a discreet service entrance.

The center of the room features a round table set for six, with candles and fresh flowers.

"Can I get you something while you wait?" the hostess asks.

"Just water for now, thank you."

As she leaves, I wander to the windows, drawn by the spectacular view. From up here, the city looks almost magical, problems and imperfections softened by distance and darkness. I press my palm against the cool glass, grounding myself.

What am I doing here? Five days ago, I was swearing off dating entirely after the insurance salesman disaster. Now I'm in a private dining room waiting to meet not one man, but five, one of whom happens to be the very thing I've been avoiding for years.

I check my watch. Only 7:58. They're not late yet. But the silence of the empty room is making my nerves worse. Especially after last time. What if they all stand me up this time?

Pretty sure I'm just going to find a cabin to go live in the woods. Or join a convent. Can you knit at a convent?

To distract myself, I pull out my phone and google "Grizzlies hockey team" again.

I've already done this research, of course.

Shamelessly stalked their team profiles and read all the stats that mean absolutely nothing to me.

I recognize Darren immediately in the team photo, number 47, "The Brick" according to his bio.

His expression in the official photo is stern, almost grim, nothing like the man who laughed openly across the dinner table from me.

Before I can click to the next player, a movement by the door catches my attention.

My heart jumps into my throat as Darren steps into the room, looking even better than I remember in dark jeans and a charcoal button-down that stretches across his broad shoulders.

His blue eyes find mine immediately, and the smile that breaks across his face makes my pulse skip.

He's not alone.

Behind him walks a younger man, tall and athletic but with a slighter build, light brown hair with a blue streak dyed into it, and striking green eyes. He must be in his early twenties, with a scattering of freckles across his nose and cheeks that give him a boyish charm despite his height.

I recognize him as Aidan McKinney, the team's 22-year-old rookie goalie, from my online research. But the pictures didn't do him justice at all, and that's saying something. In person, he has a presence that the camera doesn't capture, an energy that vibrates just beneath the surface.

"Lexie." Darren crosses the room in a few long strides, taking my hand in his. The contact sends a pleasant warmth up my arm. "You look amazing."

"Thanks." I'm suddenly hyperaware of my dress, my hair, everything. "So do you."

His smile widens, and for a moment it's just the two of us, picking up where we left off the other night. Then he steps back, gesturing to his teammate.

"This is Aidan McKinney, our rookie goalie and one of my packmates."

Aidan steps forward, offering his hand. "Nice to meet you." His smile doesn't quite reach his eyes, which are busy assessing me with an intensity that makes me want to check if I have lipstick on my teeth.

"You too." I shake his hand, noting the firm grip.

He smells like vanilla, subtle but distinctive.

An alpha scent that should be comforting but somehow isn't in this context.

Hell, I shouldn't be noticing it at all.

Alphas have a stronger scent than betas, but it's not usually something I notice more than I would notice someone's cologne.

It's just there, and it's either pleasant, neutral or off-putting, but gone and forgotten in a matter of seconds.

His scent, though, is… different. It leaves me wanting to lean in and get a better whiff, but the way he's looking at me immediately pours a cold bucket of water over that unusual fire.

All of a sudden, I'm left wondering if the Lawson pack is a little more than just unsure about bringing someone else into their dynamic like Darren implied.

And this right here is exactly why I don't do packs. Literally or figuratively.