Page 14 of The Beta's Blind Date

It is too bad, though, that he doesn’t want more dates. And not just because of how he looks, but because I can tell there is more to him than meets the eye. He is more nervous than I would expect of someone with his reputation. Then again, if he’s never been on a date, that might explain the nerves.

But the anxious laughing and the fidgeting—like playing with the condensation on his water glass—makes him more endearing. More real. And there is something else. Something under the surface, another side of him. A side I am guessing he doesn’t let anybody see.

“My best friend, Blake, made my Date-To-Mate profile too,” I say. “After Alpha Dominic decided he couldn’t man up and commit, and I stopped sleeping with him, she put the app on my phone and created the profile and everything.”

In the dim light of the restaurant, it’s hard to tell for sure, but I think his jaw clenches beneath his neatly trimmed facial hair. But as soon as I register it in my mind, it’s gone, and he’s laughing. “Sounds like her and Sebastian are of a similar mind. They’d probably get along like two peas in a pod.”

“Maybe we should set them up!”

“I would say that’s a genius idea, but Sebastian is waiting for his mate.”

“So is Blake!”

“How old is she?” he asks.

“Twenty,” I say.

He nods and opens his mouth to say something, but the server comes back to our table and cuts him off.

“Are you ready to order?” he asks us.

“Oh, I—I haven’t even looked over the menu,” I say, scrambling to open it, only to find it is written in French.

“I’ll give you a few more minutes?” he asks, and in my periphery, I see Reid nod and smile at him.

A megawatt smile that would melt the iciest of hearts.

I stare at the menu, then peek at Reid over the top. He’s sitting there, hands folded on the table, watching me as he waits.

“Do you know what you’re getting?” I ask.

“Thecoq au vin,” he replies in flawless French.

“You speak French?” I ask, and he nods. I set the open menu in front of me and point at it. “Can you read this?”

“Yes. Or, you can tell me what kind of food you like or don’t like, and I’ll ask Claude to make you something amazing,” he says with a wink.

“You know the chef?”

“I do.”

“So, do you bring all the girls here?” I ask, leaning my elbows on the table and resting my chin on my fists.

“N-no. Claude joined our pack when he moved here and opened the restaurant,” he sputters. “I promise, you are the first girl I’ve ever brought here,” he says, swiping his hand through the air and then resting it on the table.

He sits back in his seat and rubs his face again with his other hand. I rest mine on top of his on the table, and his eyes snap to it, staring at it as I pat his hand.

“Relax. I’m only teasing.”

“Right,” he says, giving himself a shake. “Right,” he repeats. Then he waves at the server. “Can I speak to Claude?” Reid asks as he approaches.

The server nods and leaves again, and we both sit there, waiting, neither of us saying anything. With anyone else, I’d want to fill the silence with small talk. But with him, it feels natural. Normal. There is no expectation—from either of us—and that means there is no pressure. I can be myself and not worry about rejection at the end because we’ve already agreed there is no reason to move forward or see each other again after tonight.

We’re just two people having an enjoyable meal together. It’s refreshing.

A short, bald male approaches our table, wearing a traditional chef’s hat and coat, and his eyes light up when he sees Reid.

“Reid!” he says in a thick French accent.

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