Page 2 of Zoinks! Nice Pack, Bro

What in the Howlquin romance novel have I gotten myself into?

The alpha who saved me from knee scrapes and hurt pride is smiling down at me. Down because he’s easily 6’5, which I didn’t think existed outside of the dirty pack romance books I read.

I’d like to say a silent thank you to the extra strength scent blockers my job provided to all workers.

Government job for the win.

He’s softly tanned, light brown hair and that golden retriever good looking that I would put under either a football player sports romance or some form of country boy. His brown hair curls slightly at the end and his eyes crinkle as he checks me over with laugh lines you get from age.

He has to be older than me. Or send me to straight to jail.

He has three friends, who are surrounding me like my own personal bodyguards. Which, I might need them to save me from myself. All of them tall and built like fictional men come to real life and it instantly puts me at unease.

Are they a pack?

Chocolate Cherries and Coffee. Oranges and Rosemary. Cardamom and Vetiver.

Oh.

Oh Shit.

Bad.

Not good.

Need to escape.

Scent matches.

Clearly I did fall, smacked my head and now am living in some book fantasy as I’m transported to Mass General in a coma for the second time in my life.

Also, someone get me a mop because I can feel the slick gathered in my underwear. Underwear that does not have built in slick protection so they’re about to be very uncomfortable against my skin. Not a great day to be me.

The man with his hand still touching me squeezes my bicep, which earns him a glare as smirks at drawing me out of my fantasy of running away.

“You good, little darlin’?” The slight drawl is soft, southern and sweet.

I want to bury my nose in his neck and breathe in the outdoors that hangs heavy on hisskin.

It’s so comforting and makes me feel nostalgic. Not that I have great memories but he makes me feel safe like I could have had great memories from him.

Oh this issobad.

His drawl has no business around me and my inherited bad mood. It runs in my blood, like any proud New Englander. My bad mood is worse because I’ve always grown up in places where I can see the shadows of Boston from my window.

So instead of saying ‘yes’ or ‘thank you’ to this undeniably hot stranger. The one who is touching the part of my body that is highlighted as one of my biggest insecurities, in my mind. I rip my arm from his touch, eyes narrowing like I’ve been sitting in traffic for an hour and my road rage has settled in.

All my escape ideas are running wild now.

“ZOINKS! Nice Save, bro.” I roll my eyes at him like I’m annoyed and walk away like he didn’t just save me.

Smooth.

So frickin’ smooth.

It’s only made worse by the three guys with him who break out in roaring laughter. I make sure not to turn back and look at them because my cheeks are burning with embarrassment and I can’t help myself.

Why am I like this?

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