Page 10 of The Beta's Blind Date

“Girl, you know I have to do that at home. I don’t have any of my products here,” I chuckle, shaking my head at her and pointing at my twists.

“I’ll see you later, Taryn,” she says, waving over her shoulder as she walks into the showers.

I lean my shoulder against the lockers, my thumb hovering over the delete message icon. Then, instead, before I can change my mind, I type out a reply.

Me: I’ll be there.

Chapter 4

REID

MykneebouncesasI sit in Wesley’s truck outside of Rendezvous. It is one minute until six p.m., and I should be inside already, but I’m not. I grip the steering wheel, then grab my phone and send off a message to TearinItUp.

Me: Running late because of the snow. Reservation is under the name Stephen.

I toss the phone on the passenger seat and press my forehead into the wheel, groaning. I used my middle name for the reservation since the entire premise of Date-To-Mate is to remain anonymous until you meet face-to-face. And because my original plan was to drive here, sit around for a few hours, and then drive home, so Sebastian will at leastthinkI’ve fulfilled my end of the bet.

But now that I’m here, I’m waffling on my plan. I can’t stand someone up, even if it’s someone I’ve never met. I am many things—a player included—but a man who breaks his word and his promises is not one of them. And with my luck, that plan wouldn’t fool Seb, anyway.

My phone buzzes and I snatch it up, scanning the message.

TearinItUp: No worries. I gave them your name, and they seated me. I’ll wait to order until you arrive.

I blow out a breath and drum my fingers on the wheel as I give myself a pep talk. “Okay, okay. You can do this, Reid. You can have dinner with a girl, you can make small talk, and you can end the night without her in your bed. You’ve got this.”

I give the wheel one last squeeze, then hop out of the truck, closing and locking it behind me.

I stroll down the sidewalk to the little French bistro and pause at the door. The hint of peonies tickles my nose, which is odd since they’re not in season. My wolf perks up in the back of my mind, but I push him away, opening the door to Rendezvous and stepping inside.

“Hi,” I say to the hostess. “I’m a little late, but I believe my date was already seated? Reservation for Stephen?”

“Oh, yes, we just seated your girlfriend. I’ll take you to the table,” the hostess says with a smile, waving at me to follow her.

We walk through the archway to the dining area. The lights are dim, with candles on the white tablecloths. The tables are small, giving off an intimate vibe, and they are far enough apart that you don’t feel you’re infringing on someone else’s date, while close enough for the restaurant to seat as many people as possible.

I shake my head as I follow the hostess around the tables and through the dining area. “She’s not my girl—”

But the scent of peonies I got a hint of before entering the restaurant hits me in full force, mixed with peaches and strawberries, cutting off the rest of my words. The scent takes me back to summers by the lake, when the flowers of the packhouse garden bloomed in full, and I would race along the shore, splashing through the icy water without a care. It brings up memories of cutting fresh fruit in the kitchen with my mom to mix with homemade vanilla ice cream, or to can and turn into preserves, or to put into a pie or cobbler to take to a picnic with the Stones and the Shepards.

It’s so fragrant, so sweet. It has my knees buckling and my heart skipping a beat in my chest. I never knew a scent could be so powerful, so meaningful, but the proof is filling my lungs and capturing my soul. My wolf pushes forward, attention caught, as the dark beauty at the table the hostess has led me to turns to meet my eyes.

My mate.

My blind date is my fucking mate.

I want to melt into a puddle and sink through the hardwood floor. I want to turn tail and run out of the restaurant, jump into Wesley’s truck, speed back up the mountain, and lock myself in my room in the packhouse.

But I can’t.

Because there are people all around us, and I can’t be dramatic. And because the female at the table is already rising, her gorgeous long legs carrying her to where I stand frozen. She smiles at me, holding her hand out for me to shake.

I don’t know what to do. I never expected I’d meet my mate in a crowded restaurant full of humans. There is no way I can tell her I don’t want her, because the scene it might cause will draw too much attention. And I can’t yell out “MATE!” like my wolf is pushing me to do, for the same reason.

Plus, I don’t want a mate.

And I definitely can’t shake her hand. I can’t let her touch me; let her feel the bond between us. From what I understand, the feel of skin-to-skin contact between mates is beyond what anyone can imagine, and I can’t let her have a taste of that, because then she’ll want more, and it will be harder to get rid of her.

I close my eyes and clench my teeth, holding my breath. Her scent is too much—everywhere around me and in me—and I can’t focus on anything else.

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