Page 112 of How to Lose a Pack in 10 Dates

And then, I feel it: the heat of Wes at my side. He’s close, but not crowding. He’s just…there, all broad shoulders and calm tension, and I glance up to find him watching me with an expression that makes my knees threaten mutiny.

“Hey,” he says lowly, voice just for me.

“Hey,” I whisper back.

His eyes flick to my mouth, and then, before I can second-guess it, before I can even consider bracing for impact, he leans in and presses a kiss to the corner of it. He pulls back like it didn’t just detonate a small nuclear device in my chest, but I feel the weight of it all the same. Thechoicein it.

Cam glances over his shoulder at us from the stove and offers a quick smile. Jace doesn’t even blink.

“Finally,” he mutters, popping another grape.

It’s the first time Wes has touched me in front of them, the first time he’s let anyone see it—that instinct to claim, to want, to mark me as his without pretending he doesn’t care.

And the world didn’t end.

Nobody growls, or snaps. The hierarchy doesn’t shift, and the room doesn’t tilt into chaos. It just…is. Cam is still humming to himself, Jace is still lounging around, and Wes is just standingthere, cool as ever, as if kissing me in front of his pack is the most natural thing in the world.

Maybe it is. Maybe this is what it’s supposed to feel like. Easy. Warm. A little ridiculous, a little messy, butours.

I blink hard, trying to push the emotion down, but it bubbles anyway. It’s not panic this time, though; not guilt or fear or impending doom or anything else that I’m used to.

This time, it’s hope.

Somewhere between Cam’s smile and Jace’s muttering and Wes’s kiss, it hits me: Icouldstay. This could work. We’re rough around the edges, but we’re finding something real here. Something true.

And suddenly, I know how to end the article.

How to Lose a Pack in 10 Dates:

Start by pretending you’re not falling, even as every instinct in your body tells you otherwise.

Start by lying to yourself.

And end by realizing you never stood a chance.

I smile; big and stupid and full of something I haven’t felt in years.

“I think,” I murmur, “I need my laptop.”

Wes raises a brow. “That sounds urgent?”

“Kind of,” I say, already turning toward the stairs. “I’ve got a happy ending to write.”

Chapter Thirty

Cam

The house is quiet when I head upstairs, but it’s the good kind of quiet, now. There’s no simmering tension, no side-eyes or awkward silences. Just the soft hum of a pack finally settling into something that feels…right.

I’m still smiling when I pass Aimee’s door. It’s cracked open, warm light spilling into the hallway, and I pause when I hear the soft, muffled sound of her snoring. Curious, I knock once—barely a tap—then peek inside.

She’s out cold, curled sideways in bed, laptop still open beside her, face smushed into the pillow with just enough drool to make me grin. One leg’s kicked out from under the covers, her shirt riding up a little, and there’s a crease between her brows even in sleep.

God, she’s perfect. Not just because she’s beautiful, or because she smells the way warmth would if it had a scent, but because she’s here, with us. Still here, after all the chaos and sharp edges and Wes being, well…Wes.

Things are different now. Calmer,lighter. The bond conversation’s coming—I can feel it. The talk about claiming, about making this something permanent. It doesn’t scare me anymore. Not the way it did before she showed up and turned the whole house inside out with her silly voice memos and her late-night questions and her absolute refusal to be anyone but herself.

I love that about her. I love...her.

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