Page 19 of How to Lose a Pack in 10 Dates

Jace

I t’s late, and the taco place is half-empty, which is perfect. Nobody’s paying attention to the sweat-damp alpha and the omega in his hoodie arguing over quesadilla sizes.

“This is too much cheese,” Aimee says, frowning down at her plate.

I blink at her. “There’s no such thing.”

“Jace; it’s oozing .”

“Exactly. It’s supposed to ooze. That’s the mark of quality.”

She gives me a look—the kind that says I’m annoying and she hates me, but also, she’s biting back a smile.

She’s sitting across from me with her dark hair scraped up in a ponytail and her thighs still pink from my hands, and I should not be as into this as I am.

“Are you always like this?” she asks, blowing on a hot bite and leaning forward. “Like. Always… this ?”

“Hot? Charming? Right about cheese?” I say around a mouthful of carnitas. “Yeah. It’s exhausting .”

She groans and throws a tortilla chip at me. I catch it in my mouth, and she laughs; full and real and head-tipped-back ridiculous, and something about the sound settles low in my chest.

I’m not used to omegas laughing like that around me. Usually they’re too busy trying to impress me, or acting like I’m some kind of fun pit stop before they move on to someone better, someone serious.

That’s the thing about being the designated fuckboy alpha.

They don’t see it, but I do. I’m the one they hook up with when they’ve just broken up with their scent match.

I’m the one they circle back to when they need a break from their ‘real’ relationship.

I’m the last hurrah before they go and get knotted and bonded and build a life with someone safe.

And fine. I like sex, and I like being wanted, and I’ve never once pretended otherwise.

But I’ve never knotted anyone, either. It’s a line I don’t cross.

I know that once I do, there’s no going back, and I want to save it for the right one.

Until then, they can use me however they want, and I’ll enjoy every second of it; but I’m not giving them that part of me. No one’s ever earned it.

At least… not yet .

“So,” I say, tossing a nacho onto my plate and trying to keep it casual, “what’s your deal, anyway?”

Aimee raises an eyebrow, still licking salt from her thumb. “My deal ?”

“With the app. You trying to collect all three of us like scent-matched Pokémon?”

She snorts, but there’s a flicker of something in her expression—too quick to name. “Maybe I just like variety.”

“Right,” I nod slowly. “Variety. Chaos. Emotionally complicated alphas with mild attachment issues. The dream.”

Her mouth twitches, but her gaze skims away for a beat too long. “It’s not that deep.”

I tip my head. “Isn’t it?”

She pops another nacho into her mouth, but I can tell she’s bracing. “Why can’t it be fun?”

I study her face, the way her jaw tightens just slightly.

“Nothing wrong with fun,” I say. “Just seems like there’s more going on.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know.” I lean forward a little, keeping my voice easy even as something twists inside me. “Wes…” I stop, clear my throat, then start again. “Wes thinks you’ve got a whole plan in motion.”

Her smile doesn’t drop exactly—but it dims .

“Wes thinks a lot of things,” she says.

I feel the shift immediately. She looks away like she’s trying not to care, like she’s trying not to show that she cares, and I swear my whole chest tightens.

Shit .

“Aimee—hey,” I say gently, reaching out and brushing my fingers over hers. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything. Don’t let him get in your head.”

She blinks once, then slowly meets my gaze. Her voice is soft when she says, “He really thinks I’m using you, doesn’t he?”

I hate the way she asks it. Hate the flicker of hurt that dances across her face like a flame catching.

“He’s just being Wes,” I mutter. “Overprotective, and suspicious of anything he can’t control.”

Aimee nods slowly, but her lips press together.

“And what do you think?” she asks, barely above a whisper.

Fuck . It’s instinctive: the way I move closer, the way every cell in my body responds like she’s mine and I have to fix it, smooth it out, make it better.

“I think you’re honest,” I say. “Direct and funny and smart. And if I didn’t think you were serious about this—about me —I wouldn’t be here.”

She stares at me for a long moment. “You mean that?”

There’s a glimmer in her dark eyes now. It looks like vulnerability.

“Yeah,” I nod. “Of course I mean it.”

She looks down at our hands, where my fingers are still tangled in hers.

“He makes me feel stupid, sometimes,” she murmurs. “Like this is all just a game I don’t know the rules to.”

God, that kills me.

I tighten my grip on her hand. “You’re not stupid, and this isn’t a game. Not for me.”

She doesn’t answer right away, and when she finally does, it’s with a sigh so soft I feel it in my bones.

“It’s just been a long time since someone chose me without some kind of agenda.”

Jesus .

I don’t know if it’s true, but I believe it. I understand it.

And that’s enough to make me want to grab her and hold her so close nothing can ever touch her again.

“I’m not him,” I murmur.

Her eyes meet mine. “I know.”

She leans in then and presses her lips to my cheek. It's just a brush of a kiss; a silent and fleeting thank-you , but I feel it like a brand.

“You know,” I say, trying to lighten the mood. “You didn’t answer my other question.”

“Which one?”

“When’s our next date.”

Her mouth opens, then closes. “You know, now that I think about it… you don’t really seem like the dating type.”

I shrug. “Maybe I am now.”

She goes quiet, chewing her lip and tracing her nail along the condensation on her plastic cup. I lean back in the booth and stretch my arm across the top of it, watching her.

Wes didn’t want to do the app. He said it was dumb, that it would never work.

So naturally, I voted to sign us up.

At first, I figured we’d get a few decent matches. Maybe flirt, maybe fuck, maybe laugh when Wes inevitably got paired with someone terrifying. I thought it’d be fun. A game .

But then I saw her , and everything stopped feeling like a game.

The match percentage was almost comical—something out of a fantasy or a glitch in the system. Wes lost his shit when he saw her profile. He acted like it was a threat, but I saw a fucking miracle; and I’m not about to walk away from that just because he’s too scared to deal with it.

“So. You gonna come back to the gym?”

She gives me a flat look. “Do you want to kill me?”

“I want to train you.”

“You want to ruin me.”

“Same thing,” I grin. “But I’ll take you out after, so it balances.”

She pretends to think it over, reaching for the last chip and dunking it dramatically in the salsa. Then—eyes wide, voice sugar-sweet—she asks, “Are you and Cam still serious about that whole… me staying at the pack house thing?”

I pause, tension rising. “We are dead serious . Come on, Aimee. You know that.”

She bites her lip. “I just… I don’t know. I really want to stay, and give this a real shot, but… I don’t want to push Wes too far. He looked like he was barely tolerating me the other day, and if I start showing up around the house…”

She trails off with a helpless shrug, and I lean forward.

“He’ll deal with it.”

“Jace…”

“ No ,” I cut in. “You don’t worry about him. You want to come stay, you come stay. I’ll handle Wes.”

Her brows lift. “You’d do that?”

“I’d do anything to make sure you’re safe and close to me,” I tell her, and fuck, and I mean it. Every word. “You’re matched to us. To me . You think I’m just gonna let you wander off?”

She stares at me for a beat, then tilts her head. “You’re very intense, you know that?”

“Good.” I lean back again, picking up my water bottle. “You deserve intense.”

“Well… I appreciate it.” She smiles, soft and coy. “And... I’ll think about it.”

She chews slowly, then lifts another chip and extends it out to me, like a toast.

“Here’s to bad decisions,” she says.

I smirk as I clink my bottle against it. “To seeing where they lead.”