Page 4 of Pack Choice
I may not be ready to settle down just yet, but I know that when I am, it will be with a pack.
No lone wolves for me.
Not even for a heat.
He flops back in his seat, crossing his arms over his broad chest.
Honestly, I thought he’d have left by now. I’ve given him enough reasons to go.
He jerks his chin at me. “Why are you here?”
I twist the pencil around my fingers. For such a jerk, he does have really pretty eyes, and a pretty face too. What a waste.
I consider giving him the spiel I’ve been practicing in my head – the one where I pretend I’m here to meet new people and blah blah blah. Instead, I decide to go with the truth.
“My best friend, Ava Jones, organized this thing. I’m here to lend my support.”
“Ava Jones?” he asks, peering over my head in the direction of my best friend.
Even from across the ballroom, I can smell her sweet vanilla scent. No wonder nearly every pack wants to meet her.
“Before you ask, no, I can’t introduce you.” I’m not throwing my sweet best friend into the path of a lone wolf to be gobbled up for dinner and spat out a day or so later.
“She’s not my type,” he mutters.
I roll my eyes for a third time. Sure, and the sun doesn’t rise in the east and set in the west.
“She’s not your type? Are you blind? Smell-impaired?”
“I can see and smell perfectly well,” he says, his gaze returning to me and becoming somehow more penetrating. “So you’re not looking for an alpha?”
“If I was here looking for anything, it would be for a pack.”
“Instead, you’re here to waste people’s time — people who are serious about searching for a mate.” He sounds annoyed.
“Did you seriously think you’d find a mate here tonight?”
He doesn’t stand a chance against all the packs here. I mean, Pack Stone is here. That pack is nearly as wealthy as my brother’s. And then there’s Pack MacPhey, made up of highly regarded artists and actors. Pack Johnson featuring a good number of the players from the city’s ice hockey and football teams. And Pack Wicks made up entirely of ex-military types – their ability to crush rocks in their hands, legendary.
“I hoped I’d meet some nice people.” He tucks his pen and his notes back inside his jacket pocket. “I was obviously wrong.”
“Seems a common occurrence for you.”
He shakes his head. “Word of advice, little omega,” he draws back his chair, the feet squealing on the polished floor, and stands, “tamper down that tongue of yours, otherwise you’ll never find an alpha, lone or pack.”
His words cut deeper than I’d like them to. Because I think he’s right. I’m not sweet like Ava or Bea. I’m not even any good at pretending to be sweet like Cassidy.
I will most probably end up alone. A spinster aunt with a houseful of cats and books.
I keep smiling.
Well, actually, that doesn’t sound so bad.
The fewer people in my life to love, the fewer I risk losing.
2
Molly
