“I’m not telling you,” I say, already dying.

Zara waves her fork. “Just confirm the knotting. That’s all I care about.”

Lex nods in agreement. “Yeah. Did he knot you stupid, or knot you emotional?”

“LEX!”

“What?” she laughs, and Zara smirks knowingly. “Those are real categories and youknow it.”

“I’m going to peel my own skin off,” I groan.

“So…”Zara says, gesturing toward me. “Come on. Give ussomething.How bad was it?”

“It wasn’t bad. It was anythingbut.And that’s the point.” I sigh as I bury my face in my hands. “It wasn’t even supposed tohappen.But then he was justthere, turning up at my apartment all snarling and smug—”

“My god,” Zara cuts in, clutching her chest theatrically. “You hate-fucked your scent match.”

“I didnot.” They both shoot me a look, and my shoulders sag as I relent. “Okay.Technically. Maybe.”

“Where?” Zara asks, narrowing her eyes.

“...Against my living room wall.”

Lex lets out an unholy screech. “WALL-FUCKED?! YOUWALL-FUCKED HIM?”

“In my defence, I wasn’t the one doing most of the… you know.”

“Oh my god,” Zara gasps. “Aimee! This is…wow.So then what? You crawled into Cam’s bed for post-apocalyptic cuddles?”

She’s joking, but my silence says everything.

Lex drops her fork.

“OH MY GOD,” she squeals, and my eyes widen as I attempt to shush her. “You wall-fucked your scent matchandcozy-morning-aftered the pack cinnamon roll?! You’re going feral in reverse alphabetical order!”

“I hate you both so much,” I whisper through my fingers.

Zara wheezes. “You let one knot ruin your serotonin levels and now you’re out here emotionally clinging to the sweet one like he’s a weighted blanket.”

“He is,” I hiss. “He folds my laundry and brings me snacks and tells me I smell nice even when I’m a hormonal disaster! Do you know what thatdoesto an omega?!”

Lex wipes a tear from the corner of her eye. “It activates the nesting instinct and makes you want to schedule his dental check-ups, probably.”

“Exactly!”

There’s a moment of giggly, borderline unhinged silence as we all sip our drinks. My face is still warm, but I don’t even care that half the restaurant probably thinks we’re blackout drunk or in heat. My stomach hurts from laughing so hard, and I feel… well.Alive.

Zara finally exhales. “So what are you gonna do? About the article?”

“I’ve been thinking about it a lot. Since we spoke,” I tell her. “So… I’ve written two drafts.”

Lex leans in. “Spicy.”

“The real one and the fake one. Both titledHow to Lose a Pack in 10 Dates.”

They blink.

“The real one is… bad,” I admit. “It’s just me spiraling. Falling for them all—hook, line, and scent-matched sinker. It’s not funny. It’s not clever. It’s justhonest.”