Page 5 of How to Lose a Pack in 10 Dates

Aimee

I f my ovaries could file a restraining order, they’d have done it the second I stepped out of the cab and saw the pack house.

This isn’t just any house: this is a sex-scented monument to poor decisions.

A fully renovated, jaw-droppingly expensive Victorian that screams alpha money from every manicured brick and bespoke black window frame.

We’re talking magazine-level curb appeal.

Fresh landscaping, a glossy front door, and the kind of symmetrical porch setup that says one of us is a senior partner and the other owns a gym empire with merch .

I haven’t even knocked yet, but the air already hums with pheromones. I’m so scent-blocked I could waltz through an orgy blindfolded and not blink, but that alpha energy still hits—clean sweat, dark spice, and something so outrageously good it should be taxed.

Whatever they’re pumping out into the atmosphere is not safe for work. Or my sanity.

The door swings open before I even knock, and suddenly I’m face-to-face with Cameron Richardson for the first time in four and a half years.

And— oh . Oh no.

He hasn’t changed, and yet somehow looks just like every alpha I’ve ever blocked, unfollowed, and then quietly re-followed at 2 a.m all at once.

His hair’s longer than I remember it being, sun-kissed and floppy and devastatingly touchable, and his amber eyes do this wide, stunned blink as if he wasn’t entirely sure I’d actually show.

“Aimee?” he says.

I clear my throat. “Hi.”

“Hey!” he beams. “I… wasn’t sure you’d come.”

“Honestly? Me neither,” I admit, half-laughing. “There was a moment outside where I almost left and joined a convent.”

Cam’s twenty-three, technically one school year below Wes and I.

In my mind, he was always the grinning boy who helped me carry a bookshelf into my third-floor apartment and then tripped over his own feet trying to flirt; but now he’s six-foot-one, broad as hell, and wearing a pair of gray joggers and a fitted black tee that is doing unspeakable things to his arms.

“Come in,” he beams as he steps aside and gestures behind him. “We made muffins.”

Of course they did. Alphas baking is apparently my new religion.

I step inside, and instantly, I’m wrapped in pack . I keep my expression neutral and pretend I’m not being choked by the overwhelming scent of three bonded alphas who smell like sugar and dominance and danger all at once.

And then I meet Jace.

He’s draped across the corner of the oversized sectional, clearly aware of his own impact.

His short-sleeved button-down is more suggestion than shirt, clinging for dear life to ridiculously muscular biceps.

It’s unbuttoned all the way down, revealing abs so sharply defined they could legitimately be used to tenderize meat.

His light brown curls are almost artfully tousled, and his lips twitch the second our eyes meet, as if they're in on the joke.

“Hey,” he says, with a voice that does something highly illegal to my insides. “So you’re the infamous Aimee.”

His smirk is pure sin: confident, slow-moving, and so practiced it should be criminal.

“Oh,” I say faintly. “You have... abs.”

Cam chokes on a laugh, but Jace just grins wider and lazily gestures down his body—like yes , this is the main attraction, and yes , it’s always this good.

“I also own a gym brand,” he says, voice dropping half an octave. “You might’ve seen it online.”

Oh, I’ve seen it. I’ve seen him . All over my feed, all over everyone’s feed—shirtless kettlebell swings, dripping sweat, mouth slightly parted while omegas lose brain cells in the comments.

“I’ve seen your... work,” I manage, voice thinner than dignity should allow.

After all, seeing him in person is like discovering your vibrator's been severely underperforming.

Unfortunately, that’s the exact moment Wes appears in the doorway, radiating disapproval. I ignore the traitorous flip in my stomach at the sight of him. He might be emotionally unavailable and morally questionable, but he’s still stupidly hot, even if he is looking at me like I’m a biohazard.

“You’re late,” he says.

“Hi, Wes,” I say sweetly. “Still controlling? That’s cute.”

Cam clears his throat, clearly panicked. “Did I mention we made muffins?”

“Twice,” Jace adds, his voice like honey. “First batch was too moist. I couldn’t stop testing it.”

I blink, my brain malfunctioning as I process his words.

“I’ve never heard that sentence… in a sentence.”

“You’ll get used to it,” Cam says.

“You will,” Jace echoes, flashing a grin. His gaze drops to my mouth, lingers, then trails slowly down the line of my throat. I get the impression that he’s thinking about tasting something other than muffins. “Want to try this batch?”

His voice is full of harmless confidence, and I take exactly one step closer, letting my smile bloom slowly.

“I mean,” I murmur, batting my lashes at him, “I’d hate to waste anything... moist. ”

His grin tells me that I’ve passed a secret test.

“I like you already.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” I purr, “I’m very likable.”

Behind me, the air thickens. It’s not scent so much as it is pure, electric tension. I swear, I can feel Wes’s eyes burning into my back, his whole body probably clenched tight enough to snap bone.

I don’t even need to look. The fury is palpable .

Meanwhile, Jace is practically oblivious; gloriously unaware that his flirty little back-and-forth with me is making his packmates' left eyelid twitch.

It’s almost too easy, and god, it feels good .

Cam looks between the three of us before clearing his throat and trying again. “So, um. We were going to give you the tour—”

“She doesn’t need a tour,” Wes cuts in. “She needs to say what she came to say.”

And there it is: that tight, clipped authority.

I turn to face him, letting the corner of my mouth curl. It’s subtle, but he’s perceptive, so I know he won’t miss it, and he’ll know that I know just how much I’m getting under his skin—and the way I plan to keep digging.

After all, he’s at his most fun when he’s fuming.

“ Actually ,” I say, unbuttoning my coat and slipping it off one shoulder, “I came for the muffins.”

The clingy blue dress underneath earns me exactly the reaction I hoped for.

It’s not scandalous— technically . The neckline dips just enough to invite commentary, and the fabric hugs my curves just right.

Wes’s nostrils flare as his eyes drag down my body, and I notice how one of the muscles in his jaw jumps as his hands clench by his sides.

“And everything else?” I continue, locking eyes with him as my smile widens. “That’s just a bonus.”

Jace lets out a low whistle behind me. “Damn,” he mutters. “This is gonna be fun.”

I might be scent-blocked to the gods as a precaution, but I’m still a woman, and these alphas have still got eyes. There’s no harm in using what evolution gave me— especially if Wes is going to stand there looking like a thundercloud with a superiority complex.

Jace hands me a muffin and gestures toward the couch.

“So…” he says as he flops onto the opposite end of the sofa, one ankle propped on his knee. “How’s the investigation coming? The one about, uh—heat suppressant shortages?”

“You… you read my article?” I pause mid-chew, blinking. “That only got published, like, yesterday.”

“Sure did. Cam sent it to us,” he grins. “You’re a really good writer. And also kind of terrifying?”

“Thanks,” I say. “That’s honestly the exact energy I’m going for.”

“Mission accomplished,” Wes mutters from the armchair. “Even your footnotes are passive aggressive.”

I shoot him a look. “Just be grateful I’m not writing about you. ”

Wes exhales sharply, but I ignore him as Cam steps around the couch and sits beside me.

“We’re really glad you came,” he says. “It’s been—what, three years?”

“Four,” I say automatically, then instantly want to yeet myself into the trash.

Cam’s smile softens. “You look good.”

“You, too,” I say. “Like a very earnest substitute teacher who could also throw a car.”

His ears pink. Wes mutters something under his breath, and Jace full-on laughs.

“You’re doing great, buddy,” he says, leaning forward and patting Cam on the back. “Real smooth.”

“I’m being normal ,” Cam protests.

“None of this is normal,” Wes growls.

“I think it’s cute,” I offer, just to watch Wes short-circuit.

He does. His jaw clenches so hard I’m surprised his molars don’t crack.

“I think,” Wes says tightly, “that Cam shouldn’t be left alone with someone who once tried to burn a pair of my shoes.”

“It was symbolic arson,” I say sweetly.

Jace whistles. “This just gets better and better.”

“Wait until you hear about the glitter bomb,” I smile.

Cam lights up. “So that was you!”

Wes pinches the bridge of his nose, and I dust my hands off as I finish my muffin. “So. Where do we start?” I ask. “Group interview? Alpha obstacle course? I do a vibe check on your Spotify playlists and pantry labels?”

“You’ll be staying here during the trial period,” Wes says flatly.

My stomach drops. “I’m sorry, what ?”

“It’s standard pack-bonding protocol,” he replies, clearly delighted by my panic. “One week. Full compatibility assessment.”

“I thought we were dating,” I say. “Not entering a pheromone-themed escape room.”

“Oh, don’t worry—you’re free to leave,” Wes adds. “No one’s forcing you to be here.”

Cam visibly panics. “Wait— no ! Don’t leave. I mean—you don’t have to stay, but I think it could be…good. Nice. Comfortable. If you want.”

Jace raises an eyebrow. “He means we already changed the sheets and stocked the fridge.”

I blink. “You changed the—? Oh my god.”

Wes doesn’t turn around. “The spare room’s at the top of the stairs, second on the right. Don’t touch anything that isn’t yours.”

“Can I touch Jace?” I smirk.

“Please do,” Jace replies instantly.

Wes turns, looking like he might genuinely combust. “ No. ”

“Tempting,” I murmur, stretching just enough to pretend I’m adjusting my dress and watching as the vein in Wes’s neck twitches. “But… I’m not staying tonight.”