Page 4 of How to Lose a Pack in 10 Dates

Wes

S he still smelled like trouble.

Even through layers of scent blockers and suppressants, something of her had cut through. Not her notes—those were masked. But the base was still there. That deeper signature underneath it all; the raw, biological imprint of a scent match I’d never been able to forget.

It hit me the second I stepped into the café: that punch of recognition, of want, of mine , and I’d frozen in place just long enough to hate myself for it.

She was sitting there like nothing had ever happened, one leg crossed over the other, chin tilted, messy brown hair falling smoothly over her shoulders and framing her pretty fucking face.

That ugly gray sweater didn’t hide anything—not the soft curves I used to map with my hands, and definitely not the mouth I’d memorized in every mood.

She still looked like chaos with those big brown eyes, pouty lips, and freckles scattered across skin I’d once kissed like it was mine to keep. I’d bet good money on the fact that she still tasted like a mistake I might make again, too.

And my body had remembered all of it before my brain caught up.

My hands itched to reach out to her, and my scent had flared beneath my own suppressants, trying to push forward, trying to touch her; to stake a claim I’d once nearly made. It was instinct, plain and simple. Unwanted, yet undeniable.

And she’d known it.

She’d sat there smirking as if she could smell my restraint unraveling, as though she could tell how close I was to reacting, to losing . I’d told myself I was over her, that four years of silence meant that I’d moved on; but sitting across from her—even for a few minutes—proved otherwise.

I hadn’t planned to storm out. I’d meant to stay calm, to say what I needed to say, eat some nice food in celebration, and walk away with dignity.

But I knew if I’d stayed another second—if I’d looked at her mouth again, or let her say Cam’s name in that infuriatingly sweet voice—I'd have said something I couldn’t take back.

Or worse, done something I couldn’t take back.

I take the long way back to the pack house, trying to cool off, but it’s not working. Every step feels wired. I keep hearing her voice, sweet and taunting, practically daring me to lose control.

If I want to make your sweet little packmates fall in love with me, I will.

Of course she would. She’s the only omega I’ve ever met who’d throw herself into a bond just to prove a point. And Cam—fucking Cam —is a walking vulnerability. He falls fast, loves hard, and always sees the best in people, even when they’re clearly setting fire to the metaphorical lawn.

Which, in Aimee Saunders’ case, isn’t metaphorical.

God, I should’ve told him to delete the app the second she came up on it. But no—he was already excited.

“ Maybe it’s fate ,” he’d said. “ Maybe she’s changed! ”

She hasn’t.

She’s still too mouthy, too proud, too much . And yeah, that used to be what I loved most about her—if I can call it love. Whatever it was, it was the closest I’ve ever felt to it, and it scared the shit out of me.

Four years. Four fucking years of pushing her out of my head, of telling myself I did the right thing by backing off, that I protected her, that I protected myself ; and here I am now.

I grew up watching my father cheat on his scent-matched omega like it was a game.

He destroyed her, destroyed us . He gave me no choice but to believe that loyalty was optional and bonds were traps; so when I met Aimee, and when it started feeling like something real, I bailed.

I was young and dumb and couldn’t fully make sense of it myself, so there was no way I’d be able to explain it to her in any way that felt like it would matter.

She didn’t handle it well. ( Understatement of the year .)

She keyed my car, paid a gardener to mow the word asshole into my lawn, and sent me an anonymous glitter bomb that’s still infecting the glove box of my car four years and two detailing attempts later.

And that’s just what I can prove.

Neither of us left the city after college, which meant that avoiding her became a full-time side hustle. I’ve rerouted morning runs, memorized her favorite cafés, and once climbed out a back exit at a networking event because I was certain I'd caught a whiff of her scent.

It hasn’t been easy. There've been too many close calls, too many moments I turned a corner and nearly ran headfirst into history, but I’ve managed to make it work.

Until now.

Now she’s back in my life and sitting there smiling at me like nothing happened, like she didn’t spend an entire summer waging psychological warfare with scented stationery and weaponized glitter. She’s dangerous—spiteful and vengeful and borderline fucking terrifying —

And somehow, she’s still the most distracting thing in the damn room.

The worst part is that she’s still able to get under my skin so fast. It’s like she never left at all, scoffing and smirking and biting out quick-witted retorts like I’m the punchline.

Fuck. That.

I cut through the alley behind the house, my jaw tight and my blood still hot. The August heat clings to everything, but I barely notice. I’m too focused on the sound of my own boots hitting the back patio.

The second I slide the door open, I hear Jace call out from the kitchen.

“Well?” His voice is far too casual for someone who already knows how pissed I am about this whole thing. “Did you propose?”

His head appears around the corner of the door.

He’s shirtless, obviously, and not long back from his early afternoon run, judging by the towel slung around his neck and the gleam of exertion on his chest. His light brown hair is pulled into a tiny bun at the base of his neck, curls wild around his temples, and the stupid little moustache he refuses to shave is still somehow thriving.

Combine that with the confidence of an alpha who flirted with a traffic warden to get out of a parking fine just last week, and you’ve got Jace in a nutshell.

“You look like you just lost a custody battle,” he adds, one brow cocked.

“I cancelled a client meeting for that,” I snap, side-stepping past him and yanking the fridge open. “I had a father about to file for emergency visitation, and instead I was listening to my unhinged ex wax lyrical about emotionally ruining my brother.”

Jace winces. “Oof. So not a love match, then.”

“She’s a menace.”

He follows me, cracking open a protein shake with one hand. “I thought you said she used to be hot.”

“She is hot,” I growl before I can stop myself.

He grins. “Awesome.”

“Objectively speaking, obviously,” I mutter, unscrewing the cap on my water bottle too hard. The plastic crumples slightly under my grip. “That doesn’t mean anything.”

“Sounds like it meant something to your scent glands,” he says, taking a swig. “You’re practically vibrating, man.”

“Yeah, well. She smelled the same,” I admit. “Even under blockers.”

He whistles. “Four years and your instincts are still that fried?”

“She was the closest thing to a bond I’ve ever felt,” I tell him. “And the only person I’ve ever walked away from before I could do real damage.”

Jace’s smirk fades just slightly. “So why does it feel like you’re still doing damage now?”

I turn on him. “Because she’s going after Cam.”

“She’s not ‘ going after Cam ’,” he says, laughter in his voice. “Cam’s a grown man. He’s the one who reached out to her. He actually invited her round tomorrow.”

“ Right . And she said yes just to mess with me,” I snap, though it’s not the first time I’ve pointed this out. “Look: you didn’t see her. She was smug as hell. She’s not interested in the pack—she’s interested in chaos, and revenge. And Cam is easily hurt.”

Jace tosses his towel onto the counter and leans back against it, arms crossed. “Cam’s also not an idiot. He’s soft, yeah. Romantic, definitely. But he’s not stupid . If he gets burned, he’ll survive.”

“That’s not good enough,” I grit out. “He doesn’t deserve to be anyone’s collateral damage.”

“Come on, man. She’s not a monster.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying. She had some kid mow the word asshole into my lawn, Jace.”

He snorts. “Okay, yeah, that’s kind of iconic. You’ve got to admit—”

“I don’t.”

“You do. ”

I narrow my eyes at him. “You’re enjoying this.”

“Maybe a little.” He shrugs, cocky as ever. “It’s been a while since we had any real pack drama. I’m kind of living for it. Besides, it sounds like she’s got bite, which is pretty refreshing compared to all the omegas who try to bake their way into a bond.”

“She’s a journalist ,” I frown. “You don’t find it even slightly suspicious that the one person who already hated scent-matching ends up perfectly matched with all of us?”

He blinks at me. “I’m not following, man. You’re gonna have to spell it out for me here.”

“This has exposé written all over it,” I tell him.

Jace honest-to-god laughs . “Why—was she taking notes?”

“She doesn’t have to take notes . She is the note.”

He laughs again. I drain the rest of my water and slam the bottle into the trash.

“I’m not letting this happen,” I declare.

“So what, you’re gonna sabotage it?”

I hesitate for a moment. “If I have to.”

Jace tilts his head. “That seems... mature.”

“Yeah, well, better that than letting her screw her way into the house and mess everything up.”

He raises a brow. “You really think she’s here to screw her way in?”

I glare at him. “ Don’t .”

He holds his hands up, grinning. “Hey, I’m just saying, if the sexual tension at that table was even half what I’m picking up from you right now, I’m gonna need to change shirts before dinner.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

I look away, jaw tight.

“Look, man. I know you think you’re doing the right thing,” he starts. “But if she’s really that bad, she’ll tank it all by herself. You won’t have to lift a finger.”

I shake my head. He doesn’t know her, doesn’t understand what she’s capable of.

“Yeah, well; I’m not leaving it to chance.”

Jace sighs. “Just... try not to light the whole house on fire, alright?”

“No promises,” I scoff.

Tomorrow, she’ll be here. She’ll walk through our front door like she hadn’t left a war zone behind her the last time we spoke. But if she thinks she’s going to charm her way into this pack, into Cam, into any of it, then she’s wrong.

She’s going to find out exactly what the word no looks like, and if I have to be the one to show her?

Well. Even better.