Page 135 of How to Lose a Pack in 10 Dates

“I’m a lawyer. I come with paperwork.”

“You come with ulcers.”

“Iamthe ulcer,” Wes deadpans.

Meanwhile, I’ve taken it upon myself to help by poking Aimee in the thigh repeatedly with a plastic spatula.

“Stop it,” she says, batting me away.

I grin as I poke her again. She narrows her eyes, reaches behind her, and whips a grape at my chest with sniper precision.

It bounces off me and hits Cam in the side of the face.

“Hey! Who threw produce at my pancake aura?”

“That’s it,” Aimee laughs, reaching toward the rest of the fruit and launching two strawberries in quick succession—one at me, one at Wes.

“Hey!” Wes barks, dodging. “These are some of Walmart’s finest produce, you absolute menace!”

“Oh no,” I grin, ducking behind a folding chair and arming myself with a banana. “You’ve activated the breakfast wars.”

It all escalates rapidly from there.

Wes starts hurling orange slices. Cam retaliates by flicking pancake batter onto Aimee’s arm and yelling “FOOD ARMOR!”. I’m not sure how it happens exactly, but I end up pinned beneath Aimee in the dirt, her knees on either side of my hips, both of us breathless and wild-eyed, her cheeks flushed and her hair a complete disaster.

She’s panting above me, her dark eyes sparkling, and, tragically, my knot chooses this exact moment to get deeply involved.

Not. Ideal.

Aimee stills. Her hips shift slightly, and her nostrils flare.

Yeah. She notices.

She doesn’t move, though. In fact, she raises a brow like shemightrock her hips forward just to watch me die.

Cam coughs delicately. “Children.”

Wes throws a fleece blanket over our heads. “Absolutely not.”

Aimee collapses in giggles on top of me. Her whole body shakes with it, and I’m helpless. I’ve got dirt in my back and a knot problem I can’t exactly walk off.

“I win,” she whispers, still laughing.

“You always do,” I whisper back.

She leans in like she’s about to kiss me, then licks my cheek and hops off instead. I lie there for a second, staring up at the sky, wondering if this is what happiness feels like: dirty, chaotic, and slightly sticky from syrup.

Cam appears over me with a plate. “Pancake?”

It’s slightly burnt and vaguely oval-shaped. I take it anyway.

“You’re just gonna eat mystery batter from the guy who whisked it with a stick?” Wes snorts.

I shrug. “It’s pack bonding.”

“It’s salmonella,” Wes says, but his mouth twitches.

Cam grins. “Tastes like trauma and togetherness.”

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