Page 1 of Pack Down Bad

ChapterOne

Belle

My grip on my phone is so tight that my fingers are turning almost the same shade of pink as my manicured nails. Jason should have been here ten minutes ago. I pretend to read the screen for a little longer before smiling across the table at my best friend, Mia.

“He’s almost here,” I reassure her. He hasn’t texted, so I might be lying.

“I’m not going anywhere.” She shrugs one shoulder, content to wait patiently while sipping her lychee martini. I think the cute beta bartender she’s been checking out has something to do with her patience. She signals to him that she’ll have another drink.

Tonight, I’m introducing my new boyfriend, Jason, to Mia for the first time.

Mia has been my best friend since we were in diapers, our moms spending hours in the park bonding while we learned to play together. And once we designated as omegas, we trauma-bonded through our parents lecturing us on everything about knots and heats. She’s also the most bluntly honest person I know. She’ll tell me the truth about what she thinks of Jason without sugarcoating anything.

Of course, I’m totally confident that she’ll love Jason. He’s super charismatic and has all these great stories from being a pilot. What’s not to like?

“This place is really packed tonight,” Mia says before sucking down the last of her drink. Within seconds, the bartender is sliding another in front of her. She leans forward over the bar to watch his butt as he walks away.

“Shameless,” I tease her, playfully slapping her arm. I take a quick look around the bar and realize she’s right, the place is more full than usual. I didn’t notice when we walked in... I was distracted texting Jason. He should have gotten back into town within the last couple of hours, but hasn’t texted me. Usually, he checks in once his plane lands.

He’ll be here, though. He never flakes. His dependability is one of the things that drew me to him.

“Tonight isn’t karaoke night, is it?” Mia groans at the prospect. Listening to drunk people attempt to sing songs they barely know the lyrics to is the bane of our existence. Especially when I’m completely sober.

The bartender, light on his feet, has already made it back our way and chuckles. “Not tonight,” he reassures her, pausing in front of us. “Every Tuesday at this time, we do beta happy hour. Half-priced drinks for all betas for another hour, then things usually slow down again.”

“When is omega happy hour?” Mia tosses her dark hair in a sassy way that I’ve hopelessly tried practicing in the mirror before. Mia pulls off the balance between mysterious and haughty impressively well.

The bartender laughs again, already ensnared by her mystique. “Omega happy hour happens all night every weekend. When’s the last time you saw an omega have to buy her own drink on a Friday night?”

“Touché.” Mia raises her fresh martini and takes a sip. She’s still holding eye contact with the bartender over the edge of her glass until someone else waves to get his attention further down the bar.

“I’ll be back,” he tells her, tapping the bar. He’s a goner.

I wait until he’s out of earshot. “I don’t know how you do that.”

“Do what?” She widens her warm, brown eyes to feign innocence.

“Captivate strangers within a couple of sentences.” I shake my head even as I smile wider. I’m envious of her social skills, but I know I have plenty of my own strengths, too.

“Belle, your hair is hot pink. You’re the one that everyone is looking at when we walk into a room.”

I duck my head as I push a few strands of hair behind my ear. I didn’t dye my hair bright pink to get attention, I just liked the color and wanted to do something fun with my hair.

While Mia’s vibe is sexy banter, mine is more... girl next door who spends her free time going for hikes in search of the perfect hammock spots so that she can lose track of time while reading a fairytale-esque romance novel.

What can I say?

I’m named after a fictional princess, and I love a happy ending. Bonus points if the happy ending involves sharing a toe-curling orgasm at the end of the story.

“So,” Mia changes the subject, “How far away did Jason say he was?”

Crap.

“I forget. Let me check.” I angle my body away so that she can’t see my phone as I squint at the screen.

Sixteen minutes late and counting. Still no message from him. My heart somersaults in my chest as I realize he might be about to ghost me for the first time. My sweet, stable, pilot boyfriend is going to ghost me the day he’s supposed to undergo bestie approval at my favorite bar.

I had this exact nightmare once. The reality is way more terrifying than a bad dream.

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