Page 6 of How to Lose a Pack in 10 Dates

Cam frowns. “You’re not?”

“I’d like to get to know you both a little better before we discuss me staying anywhere,” I say, my tone honeyed as I glance between Cam and Jace. “You know: some one-on-one bonding time. No pressure.” My eyes flicker over to Wes. “And without any...glowering hallway monitors.”

Wes scoffs. “This isn’t a marketing internship. You don’t get to schedule coffee chats with the alphas.”

“Oh, I don’t?” I flutter my lashes. “That’s a shame. They have such promising… credentials .”

“I always was top of my class,” Jace says, winking as he stretches one arm across the back of the sofa. “In oral presentations.”

Cam, red-faced, valiantly attempts to change the subject. “I, um—I’m not free in the mornings during the week. School hours are Monday to Friday, obviously. But I could take you out for dinner? This weekend?”

My heart flips. Of course he wants to take me out properly. Of course he works full time shaping young minds and probably volunteers at soup kitchens or rescues stray puppies in his downtime.

“I’d like that,” I say, softening slightly.

Wes doesn’t soften. At all.

“She’s not a tourist,” he mutters. “You don’t need to impress her with candlelight and carbs.”

“No; but I wouldn’t mind being wooed by risotto and clear communication. You know—two things you’re famously bad at.”

Jace grins. “Well, I don’t have class in the morning. I could take you to the farmers’ market. I know the guy who makes those cinnamon rolls the size of your face.”

I blink. “You know a cinnamon roll dealer?”

“Perks of being hot and charming,” he shrugs.

Wes makes a sound like he’s either choking on bile or repressing a scream. Possibly both.

Jace shoots him a look. “ Hey . I don’t see a problem with giving this beautiful woman the VIP experience.”

Then he winks at me. Winks. I let out an obnoxiously loud giggle—half for effect, half because it’s genuinely funny watching Wes lose structural integrity in real time.

“Do you hear yourself, man?” Wes turns to Jace. I’m convinced he’s one muscle twitch away from violence at this point. “She’s playing a game!”

“ Oh ,” I chirp, beaming at both of them. “I love games. Especially when I win.”

Wes scoffs. “Yeah, and the rules change every time she blinks. It’s like dating a landmine with lip gloss.”

“That’s rich, coming from someone who ghosts, growls, and then tries to alpha his way through every conversation as if he’s the boss of my uterus.”

“I’m not letting you screw this up,” he barks out.

I raise a brow. “Because you think I will? Or because you already did?”

There’s a beat of silence. It’s heavy, charged, and utterly delicious—

But then Cam clears his throat. “You’re not leaving yet, though… right? I mean, even if you’re not staying the night, you should still get the tour.”

“ Exactly ,” Jace agrees. “Full orientation. That way you’ll know where the emergency exits are. And the beds.”

“Subtle,” I deadpan.

He winks, again.

I pretend to consider, then my shoulders sag. “ Fine ,” I say, pretending to be fighting a grin. “But only because Cam looks like he might cry if I don’t.”

Cam flushes. “I—no—I just think it’s good manners.”

Wes mutters something dark and stalks toward the kitchen, deliberately staying behind as we head upstairs.

“Enjoy yourselves,” he calls out sarcastically. “Try not to break anything. Or anyone.”

*

I’m flanked by two Alphas, and pretending I’m not hyper-aware of it is taking every ounce of restraint I have.

Cam walks on my left, smelling like warm linen and the kind of citrusy cologne that probably lowers your heart rate. It’s soothing, and dangerous in the way that comfort always is—like something you could fall into without noticing until it’s too late.

Jace, on the other hand, is all cedarwood, heat, and the subtle promise of very bad decisions.

They both have that alpha posture—shoulders relaxed, legs slightly too long, as though the house was built to accommodate them and I’m the one who has to adjust.

And honestly, I am adjusting. Rapidly.

And internally panicking about it.

“This is the laundry room,” Cam says cheerfully.

“Has great acoustics,” Jace adds. “If you’re into that.”

I raise an eyebrow. “You mean for moaning, or karaoke?”

“Who says you have to choose?”

Cam makes a noise halfway between a laugh and an eye-roll. “It’s also where the dryer is. You know. For actual laundry.”

“Oh, I’m listening,” I say, trying to keep my tone casual, though my heartbeat has picked up considerably. “I love domestic tension.”

“You’re gonna love Jace’s protein pancake obsession, then,” Cam mutters.

“I heard that,” Jace says proudly.

We keep moving, but I keep glancing at Cam. He’s taller and broader than I remember—filled out more, too, his face more defined. But it’s not just that. It’s the calm he carries now; the way he walks as if he doesn’t need to prove anything. The steadiness in him.

I remember Cam as the youngest, the puppy dog alpha who blushed when I teased him and couldn’t make eye contact without stammering, but now ? He’s still a sweetheart, still softly spoken and genuinely kind, but there’s something different. Something grown .

It hits me, suddenly, how dangerous it is to be this close to them: three scent-matches, all in one house. I swallow and try not to let it show on my face.

Jace is flirting, Cam is glowing, and Wes is…

somewhere downstairs, probably planning a murder-suicide involving his own pride and a steak knife.

Meanwhile, I’m standing between two biological magnets with a rapidly deteriorating sense of self-control and a scent blocker patch that’s doing its best but might not survive much longer.

“This one’s Cam’s room,” Jace leans in slightly as we pass another door. “Great lighting. Cozy bed. Very photogenic—if you’re into that kind of thing.”

I smirk. “Are you offering a tour or a calendar shoot?”

“Why not both?”

I let out an involuntary laugh—loud and bright, and maybe a bit too flirty on purpose, since I know Wes will hear it.

And I know he’ll hate it.

Cam nudges me gently with his shoulder. “You okay?”

I glance up at him and catch something sincere in his amber eyes. He’s watching me carefully—not suspicious, not defensive, but quietly calm, and noticing .

“Yeah,” I say softly. “I’m good.”

For a moment, the tension eases.

Until Jace opens the next door and immediately says, “This would be an excellent place to make bad decisions.”

“Jace,” Cam sighs, rubbing his temple. “It’s the coat closet.”

“Some of my worst decisions have happened in coat closets,” Jace says, deadpan. “Small space. High stakes. Jackets for cushioning. It’s perfect, really.”

I press my lips together, trying not to giggle again—but I’m fighting a losing battle.

I glance back toward the stairs, but there’s still no sign of Wes. No shadow, no glare, no gritted teeth. He’s probably off brooding somewhere, no doubt still trying to figure out what my game plan is, but I just know he’s listening.

I bite back a grin. One thing’s for sure: I may not be staying tonight, but I am absolutely staying in their heads.

And as far as tomorrow’s market date with Jace goes. Well. Let’s just say, things are going to get very educational.