Page 26 of How to Lose a Pack in 10 Dates

Cam

T he sun’s just starting to spill through the blinds when I wake up.

It’s soft and low—barely light enough to see by—but I don’t need light to know exactly where she is.

She’s still in my arms, tucked against my chest like she was meant to be there, her legs tangled with mine and her breath steady against my throat.

And I’m still knotted inside her.

The thought alone sends a flush of heat through me.

And underneath the vanilla and sterile notes of pharmacy-grade denial, I can smell her. Us . The match is always there, and fuck , I could stay here forever.

My hand finds her waist, then slides over the curve of her back. She stirs just slightly, nuzzles in closer, and I swear, something in my chest cracks wide open.

Having her in the house recently has felt like waking up to spring.

The whole place has shifted. There’s laughter now— the real, belly-deep kind.

Glitter in the hallway. Cupcakes with flirty and funny little messages written in icing.

Music playing from the kitchen while she cooks, and the scent of her shampoo lingering on my hoodies even when she pretends she didn’t borrow them.

She’s everywhere , and I love it.

She brings a kind of chaotic softness we didn’t even know we were missing until she arrived.

Jace and I—we’re better with her here. Calmer and lighter, like she took all the sharp edges and sanded them down just by being herself.

Even Wes—grumpy bastard that he is—feels more alive around her. Tense and infuriated, sure, but alive .

I know things are complicated between them. There’s still tension, still heat, still wounds that haven’t fully healed, but I believe in us. We’re a good pack, and we’ll figure it out.

For now, though… she’s mine.

I shift slightly and kiss her shoulder. She curls around me as my knot begins to soften, then she stirs with a sleepy sound that makes every nerve in my body tighten.

“Cam?” she whispers.

“I’m here,” I tell her. “Still got you.”

Her arms loop around my neck, and for a second, I think she’s drifting back to sleep; but then her hips shift.

I groan before I can stop it, already hard again, already aching.

“Is this okay?” I ask, even though every part of me is already answering for her.

She nods, her legs sliding higher around my waist.

“Yeah,” she breathes. “I want you.”

That’s all I need.

I sink back into her with one smooth, steady thrust, swallowing the broken little sound that escapes her throat with a kiss. Her lips part beneath mine, and her hands grip my shoulders tightly. I kiss down her neck, across the curve of her collarbone as my fingers tighten around her hip.

She moans again, and her scent slips through the cracks in her suppressants like a siren call.

Sugar and spice and mine .

“Still so fucking perfect for me,” I whisper. “Tight and warm and sweet—and your body knows who it belongs to.”

She shudders as I move deeper, slower, angling my cock until I feel her clench with a gasp that goes straight to my spine. Her nails dig into my back, her head tipping back and her mouth falling open.

“ Cam ,” she whispers.

“I’ve got you,” I promise again, biting it out against her skin. “You don’t have to think. Don’t have to pretend. Just let go for me.”

Her hips roll up to meet mine, chasing it now, greedy for every inch. Her scent is thick between us, fogging the room, bleeding through the layers she tries to hide behind. I feel my knot threatening, swelling at the base as her walls pulse around me, but I grit my teeth and fight it back.

I can’t get stuck—not when I’ve got work, not when my classroom will be full in less than an hour and a half—but fuck if it doesn’t take everything I have to hold that instinct at bay.

I speed up just slightly, chasing that final crest, holding her tighter as I bury my face in the crook of her neck.

“Fuck,” I grit out. “Gonna come—can’t stay in—”

I pull out at the last second with a growl that rips from my chest, fisting the sheets beside her as I spill across her stomach in hot, pulsing waves. The instinct to knot is violent , but I fight it. I have to.

“I’m sorry,” I murmur into her skin as I collapse against her, kissing just below her jaw. “Didn’t want to risk…”

“I know,” she whispers.

I nod, then pull back slowly, just enough to meet her eyes. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” Her lashes flutter, and she smiles softly. “I’m good.”

I lean in and kiss her forehead, then her temple, and finally, the corner of her mouth.

“Could’ve stayed inside you forever,” I admit. “But I’d never make it to work on time.”

My thumb brushes her cheek, and her smile widens. I sigh, then reach for the tissues from my nightstand. I clean her up gently, then I tug the duvet back over us, wrapping an arm around her and pulling her into my chest.

For now, she’s here with me; and that’s enough to make the whole damn day worth it—even if I’ll be walking into a 7 a.m. club briefing still aching for a knot I didn’t get to give.

*

After a long, hard day, I walk through the front door—

And pause.

The house smells incredible. Like garlic and rosemary and something vaguely… burnt ?

“Aimee?” I call out, dropping my work bag in the hallway. “You’re not trying to burn the house down, right?”

“No promises!” her voice sings out from the kitchen.

I smile. It’s automatic now, and I don’t even try to stop it. I’ve been doing that a lot since she moved in: smiling .

I round the corner and stop short. She’s standing in front of the oven with a dish towel wrapped around her hand. There’s flour on her nose, her hair’s pulled up in a messy bun that’s leaning tragically to the left, and Wes —

Well.

Wes is standing at the other end of the kitchen, a fork in one hand, and an oven mitt in the other. From the look on his face, he’s debating whether to throw them or scream into them.

“What did you do?” I ask slowly, cautiously.

“I made dinner,” Aimee says proudly.

Wes lets out a sharp, disbelieving breath. “You did not make dinner. I was making dinner. You just… vandalized it.”

She lifts her chin. “I made it better.”

“You dyed the pasta pink, Aimee.”

“Technically, I just added some strawberry protein shake to the water. It was unsweetened,” she adds quickly. “And high in omega-3s. Very nutritious.”

Wes looks like he’s trying to calculate the exact moment he lost control of his own life. “I left the room for three minutes ,” he says, voice rising. “I came back and it looked like Barbie exploded in the colander.”

“I improved it,” she counters, holding up a tray with what might have once been garlic bread, now topped with rainbow marshmallows and what looks suspiciously like a drizzle of balsamic glaze in the shape of hearts. “I thought it needed a little whimsy.”

“It’s carbonara ,” he snaps. “And you put dessert on garlic bread. ”

She shrugs, then holds the tray higher for emphasis. “For love,” she says sweetly.

Jace appears beside me. “Jesus Christ.”

“It’s romantic!” Aimee insists. “Dinner should be an experience .”

Wes makes a strangled noise and slams the fork down on the countertop so hard it bounces.

“In one day, you’ve rearranged the condiments and organized them by ‘vibe’, again; put all my supplements in one jar that you've labeled 'Alpha Guilt Dust'; and gave the last box of my protein bars away to the fucking mailman because—and I quote—he looked undernourished and sad .”

“He was really grateful , actually.”

“Cam,” Wes grits out. “Back me up. Please .”

I hesitate, my mouth half open. Because yeah, she did hijack his dinner. But on the other hand… there’s a decorative candle burning in the rice cooker, and it kind of smells like a yoga studio in here.

“It’s a scent experience,” Aimee says brightly, and I'm too confused by everything going on around me to wonder how she managed to read my mind on that point. “Lemongrass and jasmine. It’s for ambience.”

Wes opens and closes his mouth in disbelief, then shakes his head. “You are unhinged .”

“Wes,” I say gently. “Come on, man. She’s trying.”

“So you keep saying. She's trying. Trying to what? Poison us with soy wax fumes?”

Jace opens the oven, stares for a beat, then lets out a confused noise.

“Why are there pink cupcakes… in the warming drawer?”

“Oh! They’re not cupcakes,” Aimee says, way too cheerfully. “They’re mini carbonara muffins.”

“What the fuck is a carbonara muffin?” Jace mutters, more to himself than anyone else.

Apparently, Wes draws the line at carnobara muffins. .

“You know what? I’m done,” he snaps. “You hijacked my dinner and turned it into a goddamn Valentine’s Day prank.”

“It’s not a prank,” Aimee says primly, placing a tray down on the counter with what I now realize are glitter-covered garlic knots. I don’t even know where they came from. “It’s hospitality.”

“There is glitter in the pancetta.”

There’s a second—a heartbeat—where it’s almost funny. I feel it tighten behind my ribs, that stupid involuntary laugh that wants to break through.

I blink, slowly. “It’s… edible shimmer, right?”

“It’s glitter , Cam. In. The. Pancetta.”

“It’s not even that sparkly,” Aimee sighs, shaking her head. “A dusting of festive sheen. A little protein with pizzazz. Is this your toxic masculinity flaring up again, Wes?”

“I swear to god,” he mutters, gripping the counter. “This is war .”

“ War ?” she gasps. “What, because I made your sad beige dinner fun ?”

I move to step in. “Guys—”

But Wes cuts me off, advancing on her, finger jabbing through the air.

“No. Because you know exactly what you’re doing.”

Her smile falters.

“You walk around here in your stupid fuzzy socks and other people’s hoodies like you’re just accidentally adorable. Like you don’t know exactly how to tilt your head and blink those big omega eyes to get away with murder.”

Her hand tightens on the tray she’s holding.

“You’re manipulative. You’re calculated ,” Wes spits.

“And it’s so fucking transparent it’s insulting.

You parade around this house, stirring up heat pheromones and cooking weird glitter food like you’re some sweet little housemate—like you didn’t climb straight into bed with Jace the second he smiled at you.

And now what? You’ve got Cam wrapped around your finger too? ”

My jaw clenches hard enough I feel it in my temples, but it's Jace who moves fast, stepping in front of her with an expression that tells me he's this close to putting Wes through a wall.

“Hey. Back the fuck off,” Jace growls. “Now.”

“I was just—” Aimee starts, but her voice is trembling now. “I was just trying to help with dinner. I thought it might be… nice.”

She sets the tray down carefully, then she glances my way, and it fucking wrecks me.

She’s not smiling anymore.

“I know I’m not…” she stops. Breathes. “Whatever you think I am, I’m not trying to ruin anything.”

Wes lets out a sharp, joyless laugh. “ Right . You just waltzed in here with your fake sweetness and glitter casseroles and fucked your way into a pack you don’t even want.”

Aimee flinches as Jace growls again. “Say one more word, man—”

“I don’t want to be a problem,” Aimee says.

Her voice is barely above a whisper, but still cuts through whatever threat Jace was going to follow up with.

“Yeah?” Wes sneers. “Then maybe stop acting like a stray that keeps dragging in chaos and pretending it’s affection.”

Her face crumples .

I want to move, but I feel frozen to the spot, helpless for the first time in years as she turns without another word and walks out of the kitchen. There’s no storming, no theatrics; just quiet devastation.

We all stand in silence. The air is razor-thin as alpha instincts coil like loaded springs, mine and Jace’s both.

There’s nothing funny anymore. This isn’t pasta. This isn’t dinner.

This is our pack, splintering at the seams.

Jace speaks first. “You happy now?” he sneers.

His tone snaps me out of it, and I take a breath as I turn my attention to Wes, too, but it does nothing to cool the burn in my chest.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” I bite out.

Wes scrapes a hand down his face, then slams it onto the counter.

“I’ve fucking tried ,” he announces. “Tried to ignore her. Tried to be civil. But she’s pushed and pushed and pushed, and you’re both too fucking soft to see it.”

“You think she’s doing this on purpose?” I grit out. “You think she’s making dinner and smiling at us just to piss you off?”

“She’s not just making dinner,” he scoffs, his blue eyes practically burning. “She’s making herself indispensable. She's charming the shit out of you two and driving a wedge straight through the middle of this pack.”

“She wants to belong ,” I tell him. “The whole reason we’ve all come together is because the app scent-matched her to us. Now she’s scared and alone and still doing her best to connect with us, and all you’ve done is act like her existence is a personal attack.”

“She’s not scared ,” Wes says coldly. “She’s calculated . Every little smile, every touch, every ‘ oops I reorganized your shit ’—you think any of that’s innocent? She knows how to bait me, and she fucking loves it .”

“No,” Jace snaps, stepping right into his space now. “She’s trying. You’re the only one who seems determined to sabotage this.”

“She walks around here like she owns the place,” he mutters, but there’s less fire behind it now. More hurt. “Like she belongs. Like this is her pack.”

“You sound insane,” Jace says flatly.

“No—I sound like someone who actually sees her for what she is. She knows exactly how to play you both. Big doe eyes and fucking glitter casseroles while she turns you against me, one stupid protein-soaked pasta dish at a time.”

“ She’s not turning us against you,” I growl. “You’re doing that all by yourself.”

“You’re fucking blind.”

“And you’re not part of this pack if you keep treating her like this.”

The silence stretches long enough that even Jace shifts beside me. Wes looks between us both as if he doesn’t recognize what’s happening—as though he can’t quite believe the ground is shifting under his feet and he’s powerless to stop it—and then, without a word, he turns and walks out.

I wince as the front door slams to a close a few moments later.

Jace lets out a long sigh as he mutters something about going to check on her; meanwhile, I stay rooted in the kitchen, fists clenched so tight I can feel my nails in my palms.

The pasta still shimmers pink on top of the stove, but all I can think about is the look on her face when she left…

And the look on my brother’s, too.

Fuck.