Page 22 of How to Lose a Pack in 10 Dates

Cam

D ogs never ask questions.

It’s probably why I loved them first.

Before there was Wes, there were animals. Before I knew how to talk to people—or stop crying long enough to try—I knew how to sit quietly next to a dog and feel a little less invisible.

I used to sneak out into neighbors’ yards to lie in the grass with their pets. I’d pretend they were mine, that I wasn’t just the quiet kid with a broken mom and no one left to fix it.

My mother was never cruel. Just… wrecked .

After my father died, she retreated into herself, but then Wes’s dad came along and changed everything.

Their relationship didn’t last long, though.

And when he left her—the man who’d promised forever and then handed her back to loneliness—she barely looked at me.

Couldn’t look at me, not properly, not without seeing all the things she’d lost.

I think I reminded her of too much.

But Wes stuck around. And even though my mother couldn’t stand to look at the boy she used to call her own, I couldn’t get enough of him.

He was everything I wasn’t: loud and angry, brilliant and brave.

He was only two years older than me, but he seemed so grown up, so mature; and I followed him like a shadow that barked.

Still: dogs were there for me first. And sometimes, when things get too loud or complicated, I still come back here. To the dogs. To the quiet.

They don’t care that I’m the lowest-ranked alpha in the house, or that I alphabetize our snack drawers as a stress response. They don’t blink if I smell like nesting diffusers or pink glitter or someone else’s omega. They just wag their tails and shove toys at me and act like I hung the moon.

It’s humbling. And therapeutic.

And the only place I can wear my paws before bros cap without Wes threatening to burn it.

I’m kneeling by a litter of wriggling mutts, half-covered in fur and slobber, when I hear the front bell jingle.

“Hi,” Aimee’s voice floats in—syrupy-sweet and doing strange things to my heart rate. “We’re looking for a tall, soft alpha with abandonment issues and a mild savior complex?”

I glance up just as Jace closes the door behind her. He’s got his sunglasses pushed up into his hair and the vaguely annoyed expression of someone who’d rather be scenting her neck than making small talk with strays.

“Hey,” I grin, tossing the toy I’d been holding aside and wiping my hands on my jeans. “Didn’t know I was getting visitors today.”

Aimee crosses the room and crouches next to me without hesitation, easy and unbothered by the smell of kibble or chaos or the trail of fur on my shirt. Her thigh brushes mine as she reaches for the nearest puppy.

“Jace said you were here,” she says. “I wanted to see your secret life.”

I watch her as she laughs, soft and unguarded, when one of the pups licks her wrist. The sound curls under my ribs and settles there.

“Pretty glamorous, huh?” I manage.

“It’s adorable,” she murmurs—and then she looks up at me, her dark eyes wide and warm. “And so are you, by the way.”

My brain short-circuits. I blink at her, suddenly aware of every inch between us.

“Oh,” I say, very intelligently.

Aimee tilts her head, the corner of her mouth curving upward. “What?”

“Nothing. Just—uh. You’re here.”

She smiles again, softer this time, and reaches out to brush a bit of fur off my chest. Her fingers skim my shirt—barely there, but enough to ground me in the fact that this is real.

Behind us, Jace snorts. “You two want a room, or are we just gonna vibe next to the pee pads?”

Aimee doesn’t even look at him. Her gaze stays on me, fingers lingering just a second too long. “We were thinking of catching a drive-in movie later,” she says. “You wanna come?”

I clear my throat. “Oh. Yeah. Definitely. What’s playing?”

“No clue.” She shrugs, and her knee bumps mine again. “Something dramatic and low-stakes. I mostly want popcorn and air conditioning and for two alphas to be nice to me for two hours straight.”

“I can be nice,” I offer, nudging her gently with my shoulder. “I’m famously nice.”

“I know,” she says softly.

It’s such a quiet answer that I almost miss it, but her hand lingers on my arm, and her scent softens just enough to feel like trust. For a second, the rest of the world—Jace, the puppies, even the faint hum of air conditioning—fades out.

It’s just her eyes on mine, and I swear, the strangest thing happens.

For the first time in a long time, I don’t just feel like the sweet one.

I feel wanted .

“Okay,” Jace says. “Movie later. Pack house in an hour.”

“Sounds good.” I stand up and brush off my jeans. “Let me just finish up here and I’ll meet you guys back at home.”

I glance back at Aimee from where she’s still crouched beside the puppy pile, her brown hair falling around her face, smile relaxed and open.

I hold out my hand, and she takes it without hesitation. She gives the sleepy pup in her lap one last gentle scratch before letting me pull her to her feet.

“Don’t be late,” she smiles. Her eyes sparkle as she tilts her head. “I’m in a cuddly mood.”

She walks out with Jace’s arm draped over her shoulder, and I’m left in the middle of the shelter, holding nothing but air and the echo of her voice.

*

The drive-in screen flickers to life just as the sun dips below the horizon, painting the world in soft gold and that weird, dreamy pink you only get toward the end of summer. The movie opens with a dramatic baking montage set to choral music, and Jace snorts.

“We’re really watching two dead pastry chefs fall in love?”

“Romance. Tragedy. Frosting,” Aimee says airily. “Try to keep up.”

Before I can ask what that means, she climbs into the backseat with us.

She’s wearing an oversized sweatshirt that keeps slipping off her shoulder, and I clock the way that Jace’s eyes flick to the exposed skin and linger.

Her bare thigh presses against mine, and I try not to think about her shorts. Or the fact that they’re barely legal.

“I brought popcorn,” she announces. “And gummy bears for Jace, since he gets cranky when his blood sugar’s low.”

“ Cranky ?” Jace drawls, peeling open the bag. “I get hungry. There’s a difference. You should see me when I’m actually cranky.”

“She’d probably enjoy it,” I mumble, already internally spiraling. Her scent is soft and sweet and heady—suppressed, sure, but leaking just enough to fry my brain.

“Would I?” Aimee turns her head, all wide eyes and too-perfect lashes. Then she casually reaches across my lap to grab a handful of popcorn, pressing even closer. “Is it just me, or is it getting kind of hot in here?”

Jace doesn’t miss a beat. “I thought that was just your pheromones kicking in.”

She giggles. “Guilty.”

Her hand slides onto my thigh, and I forget how to function.

Jace glances over, lazy and smug. “Aw, look. Cam’s glitching.”

“I’m not glitching,” I choke out.

“You’re buffering at best, ” Jace says, then leans around her, eyes glinting. “Want me to kiss him better?”

Aimee hums, clearly delighted. “Maybe later.”

I might be dying.

She shifts again, this time settling fully between us like a queen on her throne. Her legs stretch out, one resting across my lap, one tangled with Jace’s. She nibbles on a gummy bear, then licks a bit of sugar off her lip in a move that has to be illegal.

“You’re both being really quiet,” she says with a pout. “I’m starting to feel unloved.”

“You’re always loved,” Jace murmurs, leaning in. “You’re the fucking plot twist.”

“Oh?” Her tone turns coy. “Then you won’t mind if I do this.”

She turns her head and kisses him. There’s no hesitation, no buildup: she just leans over and takes it, her fingers curling around the front of his shirt. He groans into it immediately. His hand goes to her waist, grip firm, and she makes this soft noise—

And I don’t know what to do with myself.

When they finally break apart, she’s flushed and smug, lips kiss-bitten and breathless.

And then she turns to me.

“Hi,” she whispers, still cradling Jace’s jaw with one hand. “Miss me?”

Before I can blink, she’s kissing me.

She presses in close until there’s nothing but heat and skin and the soft gasp of her breath against mine as her free hand slides behind my neck and pulls me in. Her lips part on a sigh, coaxing mine open, and I swear I lose about five brain cells trying to remember how kissing works.

Her thumb strokes the side of my throat while her nails scrape lightly through my hair as she deepends it, and my own hands hover uselessly at my sides until instinct takes over and I grab her waist.

Aimee melts into it. Her body presses flush against mine, all soft curves and dangerous intent as her scent wraps around me. It’s muted, but somehow still rich—omega-slick under the surface seeping past every suppressant patch and straight into my bloodstream.

I don’t even realize I’ve made a sound until Jace laughs beside us.

“Told you he’d short-circuit.”

Fuck : he’s not wrong.

She likes this, I can tell. She enjoys the power that this gives her. She’s feeding us both the same smile, the same teasing glances and too-soft moans, the same intoxicating scent that’s seeping past every suppressant she wears—

And it’s working .

Jace’s mouth trails down her neck, pressing lazy, open-mouthed kisses against her skin.

I catch her mouth again, slower this time, drawn in by the way she sighs into me.

Her hands are everywhere—one clutching the front of Jace’s shirt, the other fisted in mine, pulling both of us closer with equal intensity.

Her legs shift, spreading wide to straddle the bench seat, one bare thigh bracketing mine, the other pressing against Jace’s hip. Her tiny shorts ride even higher with the movement, and every inch of skin she reveals makes me dizzy.

She doesn’t choose between us. She doesn’t have to.

We’re already hers.