Page 33 of The Beta's Blind Date

“When we were kids, I called him a dickhead at training. The next day, after school, I fell asleep on the couch in the alpha apartment. Now picture this: one minute, I am sleeping peacefully, dreaming of what my wolf will look like when I turn fourteen and shift for the first time, and the next, I am being jolted from my sleep by Seb banging a pan with a wooden spoon yelling ‘Who’s the dickhead now?!’ because he’d drawn a giant penis on my forehead with a permanent marker.”

Her hand is covering her mouth again, but her shoulders shake, and her eyes squint as she tries not to laugh. I narrow my eyes at her, and she breaks out in a fit of laughter.

“I’m sorry, but that is funny shit. And you kind of deserved it,” she says, pointing her finger at me.

“I’m sure he deserved to be called a dickhead. I don’t remember what he did that made me say that, but he was always doing things to get on our nerves. On purpose,” I add.

“How old were you?” she asks, still laughing.

“I was twelve, and he was ten.”

“Did you ever get him back?”

I wince and rub the back of my neck. “I put some bleach in his shampoo.”

She gasps and her eyes widen. “You did not!”

I nod. “I did. And Luna Emily was NOT happy. She made me bleach my hair too, even though I’m already blond, so Seb didn’t have to suffer alone.”

“I like her,” Taryn says.

Our food and coffee arrive, and the barista sets it all on the table between us. I eye the plate of fresh-baked cookies, debating eating one now while they are still warm because that is when they are best, but I decide against it. I’ve already given Taryn enough ammunition for a lifetime of teasing me about my cookie obsession.

Not that we’ll have a lifetime together.

“What about you and your friend?” I ask, picking up my sandwich. “Blake? You said she made you your Date-To-Mate profile, too. Do you two have any… dickhead stories?”

She’s already chewing a bite of her salad, so she holds a finger up to me until she swallows. “No, we don’t pull pranks on each other. But we have a friendly competition between ourselves that’s been ongoing since we were teens. A bet, of sorts, I suppose, although it’s just for bragging rights.”

“I thought you just moved to Silver Ridge a little over a year ago?”

“I did, but my parents were from there originally, remember? We used to come visit my aunt Georgia all the time, so even though I wasn’t born there, I was already familiar with the pack and most of the members when I moved here.”

I nod as I finish my own bite of food. “That makes sense.”

“So, when we were younger, after my first shift, we agreed to team up and train together whenever I visited, and we’d keep each other updated on our progress in between over texts and stuff.”

“Is her wolf small, too?” I ask.

“No, her wolf is normal-sized. But she has this natural white streak in her hair—kind of like Rogue from X-Men—and kids used to tease her about that and because she’s so short. Petite. In her human form, I mean. When I turned fourteen and had my first shift and my wolf was small, we made a pact to work harder so people would learn what happens when they underestimate us. Every workout, challenge, training, run—all of it goes on our scoreboard. There isn’t a prize or an end goal, but we use it to remind ourselves where we started.”

“I approve,” I say as she takes another bite of her salad. “But it would be more fun if there was some sort of prize,” I add with a wink.

“You would think that,” she says with a laugh. “I, on the other hand, don’t like losing every bet I make.”

“I don’t lose every bet I make.” She gives me a look, her brows lifting. “I don’t! I only lose every bet I make with Seb.”

She tilts her head back and laughs again, and my wolf locks his gaze onto the slender column of her neck. He tugs against my restraint, nudging me to move closer to her, to not let her be so far away from us.

He wants to bathe in her scent and let it wash over us so we can bring it back to the pack after she returns to Silver Ridge. And he wants his scent to be on her so everyone will know who she spent the day with.

I take another bite of my sandwich and rack my brain, searching for a reason to move so I can appease my wolf. Luck is on my side because the clouds move, sending a Goddess awful beam of sunlight right into my line of sight.

I squint, blink, and scrunch up my face—maybe exaggerating my reaction a little—and before I can ask, Taryn laughs and nods at the booth seat next to her. “Shit, that is bright! Do you want to move to this side?”

I switch seats before she can finish asking, moving my food, coffee, and the cookies with me. “Thanks,” I mumble.

“No problem!”

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