Page 9 of How to Lose a Pack in 10 Dates

Two exits. Three windows. One umbrella stand I could weaponize if needed.

Iwasgoing to look good today, just to rub it in Wes’s alpha-hole face. I picked out a killer outfit last night—a silk camisole and high-waisted trousers that screamed effortless omega allure—but then I leaned over to re-tie my laces twenty minutes ago and split the back seam clean open. As a result, I’ve triple-sprayed scent blockereverywhereand ended up wearing what might just be the ugliest gray sweater that I own.

Perfect.

The door opens and I glance up, already braced for disaster and humiliation.

And thenhewalks in, dressed like death in designer form.

He’s head-to-toe in black with that unmistakable sharp jawline and those dark curls pushed back from his face. He’s broaderthan I remember.Bigger.If I didn’t know him, I’d think he looked hot; but unfortunately Idoknow him, so all I see is danger. And rage.

And a very expensive car I definitely didnotslash the tires on. (Allegedly.)

He spots me instantly and walks over. He doesn’t smile, or nod;in fact, he doesn’t even glance at the barista who stares at him the whole way through. He reaches the table and drops into the seat across from me with a heavy sigh.

“Erm,hi?” I frown at him. “Hello? Social skills? Sound it out.”

Also—where the hell is the rest of his pack? There’s no Cam, or Jace: just Wes.Alone.Grim, growly, and still annoyingly good-looking in that wholemy-therapist-gave-upkind of way.

He exhales through his nose. “Let’s not pretend this is a pleasant surprise for either of us.”

Ok-ay. Sothat’sthe tone we’re setting.

“Wow,” I say, sitting back. “Starting strong. Did you practice that in the mirror, or does it come naturally with the superiority complex?”

He doesn’t react. Four years have passed since the last time we were this close, and he still has that same unreadable expression.

Those same deep blue eyes that once used to look at me like I was oxygen and sin rolled into one, now barely flicker.

The worst part isn’t that I’m already annoyed: it’s that I’mdisappointed. Some tiny, delusional part of me actually thought there was a chance he might smile. That maybe—just maybe—he’d be glad to see me. That he’d be excited. That he’d rememberwhat it felt like the last time we were this close. That he’d saysomething, anything, that didn’t sound like a cease-and-desist.

That part of me is now being buried in an unmarked grave.

“You matched with my pack,” he says, low and flat. “Seriously, Aimee?”

“Oh, sorry—did I forget to tick the box that saysavoid emotionally constipated exes who ghosted me after scent-marking my throat?” I roll my eyes. “I didn’t do it onpurpose.Trust me, you’re the last person I wanted to be matched to, never mind your full pack.”

He doesn't so much astwitch.

“Cam’s excited about this. So is Jace,” he says, sounding almostbored. “I already told them it’s a bad idea. They didn’t listen.”

My smile wobbles, just a little. “So wherearethey?”

“I came alone.”

“Right. I can see that,” I roll my eyes. “What, did Cam finally realize you’re the worst possible spokesperson and decide to let you tank this one solo?”

He folds his arms across that unfairly broad chest as he levels me with a look. The one that always came right before he said something awful, or kissed me like he couldn’t stop.

“No.” He leans forward, and my traitorous instincts twitch. “I’m here to deal with you myself.”

My mouth opens, then closes. “Wow. Okay, terrifying lone wolf with a martyr complex. You’re sure the rest of your pack didn’t stage an intervention and send you as tribute?”

He doesn’t rise to the bait. “They’re giving you a chance, and I’m telling you not to take it.”

My jaw makes a cracking sound from how hard I clench it. “You’retellingme not to?”

“Exactly. This is a warning,” he says coolly. “You and I? We’redone. And I’m not letting you drag my pack into… whatever this is.”

---