Page 10 of How to Lose a Pack in 10 Dates

Jace

I take the stairs two at a time before I say something I’ll regret.

Wes’s scent—bitter and territorial and steeped in four years of unresolved issues—clings to the air. He's always walked around like he’s carrying a file of grudges under one arm, but tonight it’s worse.

He doesn’t get it. He’s so tangled in whatever past version of Aimee he’s still angry at that he can’t see who’s actually in front of us now.

And yeah, I enjoyed myself tonight. Not just because of the scent match, but because she made me laugh. Really laugh. The girl teased me until I choked on a strawberry sample and had to fake a sneeze while two elderly omegas judged me next to the artisanal chutney stand, for gods sake.

She’s weird. She’s smart. She’s fun .

And okay—she looked incredible in that dress, too. Distracting and confident and entirely aware of the chaos she was causing.

But it wasn’t just that.

Two things can be true at once: she’s our scent match, and she’s someone I genuinely want to get to know.

Wes might not be able to separate instinct from control, but that’s not me. I’ve spent years learning to hold, to pause, to wait before I act. I’ve broken bones in the gym, had fights in the ring, taken hits I didn’t see coming, and never once lost my temper.

Wes, though?

Yeah. He’s already lost it.

Cam’s door is cracked open, and I knock lightly as I pass. “Hey man. You up?”

There’s a shuffle of blankets and a muffled groan from inside; something that sounds suspiciously like Napoleon and granola bars , but then Cam’s face appears, half-buried in a pillow, eyes squinting.

“You’re home.”

His voice is rough with sleep, and I smile. “Yeah. Didn’t flee the country. Yet .”

He shifts over and pats the space next to him.

I step inside and sit at the edge of the bed.

The scent in here’s different. Cam’s always smelled like comfort, like peace .

Everything’s neat and organized in his room; a single textbook open on the desk and a whiteboard hanging above it with the words Why The Treaty of Versailles Was a Hot Mess half-erased.

He stretches and yawns. “Tell me everything.”

“It was good,” I say.

“Good good, or...?”

“Good good.” I pause, let the quiet hang for a second. “ Really fucking good.”

He laughs, a little more awake now.

“You smell like her.”

I give him a look. “You really had to say it?”

“It’s not a bad thing,” he grins, moving to sit upright. “I like her.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Cam says easily. “I mean, she’s cool, and funny. Smart, and weird—in a good way. Not the… Wes kind of weird.”

I snort.

“She’s not what I expected,” I admit.

Cam’s whole energy is so different from Wes’s. He's lighter, more open. He might be younger than both of us, but he’s never once needed babysitting.

“You really like her?” he asks.

I nod. “I do.”

“Good.” His grin softens. “I’m glad.”

“Yeah, well. Wes isn’t.”

“He’ll come around.”

I raise a brow. “That before or after he bursts a blood vessel from clenching his jaw at me all night?”

“He said he was fine with it.”

“Yeah, well, he says a lot of things. But now he’s stomping around like I pissed on his territory.”

Cam shrugs, though not unkindly. “He’s probably just... thrown off. It’s a lot. You know what he’s like.”

“Yeah.” I rub a hand through my hair. “But he’s acting like I slept with his mortal enemy, not our literal scent match.”

“Wes has this thing where he needs to be the one in control or he short-circuits,” Cam sighs. “But he’ll get there. He’ll see she’s not who he remembers.”

“Or he’ll bite someone,” I mutter.

Cam chuckles, then nudges me with his foot under the covers. “I’m serious. He just needs time. You saw how he looked at her.”

“Yeah: like he wanted to kill her.”

“Sure. And then kiss her. And then kill her again.”

I laugh, despite everything, and Cam smiles wider. “Don't worry about it. He’ll get there. He just has to realize she’s not the same girl from four years ago.”

“Maybe he’s not the same alpha, either.”

“ Exactly ,” Cam nods, sinking back into his pillow. “Which is why it’s gonna work out.”

I look at him for a long moment, and Cam smiles faintly, lids half-shut.

“He’s scared.”

I let out a long breath through my nose and nod. Scared. I guess I understand it. Even if I do wish he wouldn’t keep dragging that emotion into the room with us.

I sit there a little longer, letting the weight of the night settle over both of us.

Cam’s breathing evens out again, his face soft in the glow of the hallway light.

I stand, stretch, then lean over to ruffle his hair—just enough to make him grunt and swat lazily at my hand without opening his eyes.

“Night, buddy,” I murmur.

He hums something that might be 'Night, Jace' or 'Nineteenth century' . Hard to tell.

I grin to myself and ease the door shut behind me. And despite the drama with Wes, my mind keeps circling back—

To the way she laughed when I tried to flirt with a peach. The way her fingers brushed mine like it wasn’t an accident. The way she didn’t look scared when things got intense—she looked curious .

And the way it felt—for the first time in years—like I wasn’t chasing something. It was just… there . Waiting.

I collapse into bed and check my phone, my brows raising slightly when I realize that I have a message waiting for me.

From Aimee.

Got home in one piece. Still thinking about the moist muffin line. Don’t let it go to your head.

I grin. Despite my insistence to drop her home, she’d declined, and it got to the point where even if I didn’t like it, I couldn’t do anything but respect her choice.

She clearly didn’t want me going to her place yet, and even if I can’t make sense of why she’d spend hours with me on a date and fuck me on the back seat of my SUV but not want me to drop her home, all I could do was accept it.

My stipulation had been that she’d let me know she got home safe. It’s good to know she followed through.

Too late. My ego has reached critical mass. May never recover.

It doesn’t take long for her response to fire back.

Good. You’ll be easier to defeat that way.

I stare at the screen for a second, still grinning. She’s a little weird, I’ll admit it; but weird in a way that makes me want to hear everything that goes on in her head.

I tap out a reply, still half-laughing to myself.

Thanks for tonight. Really.

There’s a pause. Then:

Me too.

I put my phone down and let my head hit the pillow.

For the first time in a long time, things feel... good .

And I fall asleep before I can overthink it.