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Chapter

Six

LEXIE

I stare at my reflection in the full-length mirror propped against my bedroom wall, tilting my head as if a different angle might transform me into someone else. Someone who doesn't look like she's about to attend a funeral rather than a date with two supposedly compatible men.

"This is a mistake," I tell my reflection. She silently agrees.

The black dress hugs my curves in all the right places, but its severe neckline and knee-length hem scream "business meeting" more than "take me home tonight.

" I grab a chunky silver necklace from my dresser, hoping it might inject some personality into the outfit.

The jewelry lands heavily against my collar bone, looking about as natural as Christmas lights on a cactus.

I yank it off and toss it onto the growing pile of rejected accessories. My phone buzzes from somewhere beneath the mountain of clothes on my bed, all discarded options that failed to strike the impossible balance between "I made an effort" and "I didn't try too hard because I don't actually care."

Jessica's name flashes on the screen. Perfect timing, as always.

"What?" I answer, wedging the phone between my ear and shoulder as I dig through my closet for the fourth time.

"Wow, so pleasant," Jessica chirps, undeterred by my greeting. "Just checking you haven't bailed on your hot date yet."

"I still have an hour before I need to leave." I pull out a burgundy sweater dress that I'd forgotten about, considering its possibilities. "Plenty of time to develop a sudden case of food poisoning."

"Don't you dare." Jessica's voice sharpens. "What are you planning to wear? Please don't say one of your sweaters."

"What's wrong with my sweaters?" I ask, dropping the burgundy dress onto the bed. Good thing she can't see through the phone, even if I sometimes wonder.

"Nothing!" Jessica says quickly. Too quickly. "They're just not exactly first date material unless you're going to pick pumpkins at a pumpkin patch."

I roll my eyes. "I have sweaters that aren't... festive."

I glance at the stack of merchandise across my living room, where a particularly festive pumpkin-themed sweater catches my eye. It has little embroidered pumpkins with different expressions along the hem. The smiley one near the cuff practically winks at me.

She knows me too well.

Jessica snorts. "No wool. And no embroidered critters."

I drop the mini dress with little cats embroidered on the collar like it's made of lava. Shit.

I sigh, flopping onto the one clear corner of my bed. "I'll have you know people pay good money for my designs. You're wearing one right now, aren't you?"

"Yes, and it's perfect for sitting on my couch with a glass of wine and my husband. Not for meeting two potential matches at Martin's."

My stomach drops. "Martin's? Nobody said anything about Martin's."

"Oh." Jessica's voice takes on that faux-innocent tone she uses when she's been caught. "Did I forget to mention that? Andrew—the doctor —messaged me to change the reservation. Said the other place was too noisy for conversation."

"Andrew messaged you ?"

"Through the app! I made the account, remember?"

I pinch the bridge of my nose. "So you've been chatting with my dates behind my back?"

"Not chatting. Just... facilitating. And aren't you glad? Martin's is a much nicer restaurant. We've been trying to get reservations for months, you lucky dog, you."

I glance at the black dress I'd selected for the cozy little Italian bistro they'd originally suggested. Martin's requires an entirely different level of effort.

"I'm going to look underdressed now."

"Wear your blue dress," Jessica suggests immediately. "The one with the?—"

"Rhinestone collar?" I finish for her, already moving to the back of my closet where the dress hangs in its dry cleaning bag.

I'd bought it for Jessica's anniversary party last year and have worn it exactly once.

It's beautiful but impractical. The kind of dress that requires specific undergarments and careful movement to avoid wardrobe malfunctions that could end in public indecency charges.

"Yes! It's perfect. You look amazing in it."

I pull it out, eyeing the deep blue fabric. It is a knockout dress, with a neckline that showcases my collar bones and a hemline that stops mid-thigh. "Fine. I'll wear the blue dress."

Jessica makes a triumphant sound. "Send me a picture when you're done."

"Will you let me get ready if I say yes?"

"Absolutely. And I want all the details later. Preferably tomorrow morning," she adds with loaded meaning.

"You're impossible," I say, hanging up before she can respond.

I toss the phone onto my bed and stare at the blue dress. I haven't even met these men yet, and already this date feels like it's spinning out of my control.

Andrew, the doctor as Jess reminded me, seemed nice enough in his profile.

Tall, with salt-and-pepper hair and a wry smile that suggested he didn't take himself too seriously despite his impressive credentials.

Brandon, the insurance salesman, was a few years younger, with a boyish charm and enthusiasm that came through even in text messages.

Both betas, both seemingly normal, well-adjusted men.

No alphas, no packs—just two men looking for connection outside the traditional dynamics. Exactly what I claimed to want.

So why does my stomach feel like I've swallowed a fistful of pebbles?

I slip into the blue dress, readjusting straps and smoothing fabric. The fabric makes my curves look deadly. Jessica was right, it's a good choice.

To be honest, I wouldn't really mind getting some action tonight.

My needs haven't magically disappeared just because I've sworn off relationships.

The magic wand in my bedside drawer does its job, but it doesn't laugh at my jokes or run its fingers through my hair or press its lips against the sensitive spot where my neck meets my shoulder.

I may not be an omega who goes into heat, but I still have needs. Needs that aren't going away anytime soon unless I actually leave my front door.

I yank my thoughts away from that dangerous path. This is just a first date. It's two first dates, technically. A getting-to- know-you dinner with two strangers who might become friends or more or nothing at all.

No expectations. No pressure.

I repeat this mantra as I finish my makeup, opting for smoky eyes and nude lips. After a moment's hesitation, I leave my hair down, the reddish-brown waves falling past my shoulders in a way that makes me look softer, more approachable.

My reflection stares back at me, transformed from funeral attendee to someone who might actually be looking forward to a night out. I look good. Desirable, even.

Not that it matters. History suggests that nothing will come of this except another story for Jessica's entertainment. But maybe the universe owes me one decent night out with normal people who want normal things, even if they're not my happily ever after.

I grab my purse, check that I have everything I need, and head for the door. As I pass the stack of merchandise, I pat the pumpkin sweater affectionately.

"Next time, buddy."

Martin's glows with understated elegance. The place has soft lighting, crisp white tablecloths, and waiters who move like they're floating on air. I give my name to the host, who checks his tablet and nods like they've been expecting me.

"Your party is already seated, Ms. Goodwin. Right this way."

I follow him through the dining room, aware of eyes tracking my progress. I didn't overdo it with the dress, but I'm definitely not underdressed either. Score for me.

I spot them before we reach the table. Andrew's silver-streaked hair catches the light as he gestures to emphasize whatever point he's making.

Brandon leans forward, nodding, his back to me as I approach.

They look like they're already deep in conversation, comfortable with each other in a way that suggests they get along well.

I guess their careers are compatible enough.

Andrew notices me first, his face brightening as he stands. "Lexie! Wonderful to meet you in person."

Brandon turns, rising as well, his smile wide and genuine. "Wow. You look amazing."

They're both taller than I expected, both even better looking in person than in their photos.

Andrew has the distinguished appeal of a man who's matured like a fine wine, with laugh lines around keen gray eyes.

Brandon is more youthfully handsome, with perfect teeth and the kind of jawline that belongs in commercials.

"Sorry I'm a few minutes late," I say, accepting the seat that Brandon pulls out for me. "Traffic was worse than I expected."

"Worth the wait," Andrew says, his voice warm as he retakes his seat.

The waiter materializes with water and wine menus. We make small talk about the restaurant while considering our options. Andrew suggests a bottle of pinot noir that Brandon enthusiastically endorses.

"So," Brandon says once our wine has been poured and our orders taken, "we were just saying how refreshing your profile was."

I take a sip of wine to hide my surprise. "Refreshing how?"

"Direct," Andrew supplies. "No games, no unrealistic expectations. You'd be surprised how rare that is."

I think of Jessica crafting my profile and wonder what exactly she wrote that these two found so appealing. "I believe in being upfront about what I want."

"And what do you want, Lexie?" Brandon leans forward slightly, brown eyes focused on mine with an intensity that sends a pleasant shiver down my spine.

I take another sip of wine. "Honestly? Something simple. Connection without complications."

Andrew nods approvingly. "Precisely what we're looking for as well."

"We've both done the traditional route," Brandon adds. "Didn't work out."

"I know that feeling," I say, relaxing a fraction. Maybe this won't be a disaster after all.