Page 127 of Pack Choice

“I eat tacos,” he says.

“Then can we swing by Taco City to pick some up? I’m still so hungry and I’m not ready to go home just yet.”

Ford groans in a way that isn’t like him. He’s usually the embodiment of professionalism. Am I finally glimpsing the real man? “Silver’s been blowing up my cell for the last two hours. He wants you home.”

I groan this time. “Even more reason to go for tacos.” I am not looking forward to the interrogation I’m going to receive when I get home.

“If you want,” he says, lifting his hand from the steering wheel and sending it towards my thigh, before he catches himself, and snatches it away.

I can’t blame him. I’m confused too. Everything seems to have shifted since the heat. I feel like those two days broke down my walls and let those men invade my heart. Which is not – most definitely not – meant to happen. They aren’t a pack. Even if they acted like one in my heat. Even though there seemed to be a connection between the four of us. A connection I’ve never felt before.

I rub at my temple. Is my mind imagining all this? Is it imagining it because it’s something I want so badly? I don’t think so. River and Colt felt it. Did Ford feel it too?

We find a quiet Taco City in the suburbs. The only people inside are a couple of high-schoolers and a lady talking to herself loudly about the state of the economy.

We order, Ford choosing so much food I almost faint, and then opt for a table in the corner away from everyone else.

When the server deposits our order in front of us, I stare at the pile of food stacked up in front of Ford with a raised eyebrow.

“First cookies, now nachos. Do I even know you anymore?”

“Hey, you’re not the only one starving after that heat,” he says, pulling a nacho out from a bed of dressings and catches the stringy cheese in his mouth. “I worked my ass off.”

My cheeks warm and I decide to punish him by stealing a nacho for myself.

“Do you want them?” he asks, pushing the basket my way. “Have them. Are you still hungry?”

I point to my taco. “I’m fine.” I pause. Is that true? Am I? Those butterflies in my stomach seem more lovesick than hungry, they’re making me nauseous. I leave my taco untouched. I exhale. “Although a little …” Ford looks up from his guacamole.

“What’s wrong? What do you need?”

You. Colt. River. Isn’t that the truth?

“Nothing, I guess, I’m just feeling confused.”

Ford examines my eyes. “It’s probably just the lasting effects of the heat. They can leave an omega feeling muddled–”

“No, it’s not that! Confused about us. About Colt. About River. About all of you.”

Ford leans back in his seat, chewing slowly. “What are you saying?”

“I don’t know. What areyousaying?”

Ford takes a deep breath. “Molly, I like you–”

“But,” I say, rolling my eyes.

“There’s no but. I like you. I want to be with you. I want to be with you even though I shouldn’t.”

“You shouldn’t?”

“I’ve been assigned to keep you safe. It’s unprofessional–”

“I know,” I say, prodding my taco sulkily.

“And your brothers won’t be happy.”

“Urgh.” I roll my eyes.