Page 21 of How to Lose a Pack in 10 Dates

I glance back toward the stairs, but there’s still no sign of Wes. No shadow, no glare, no gritted teeth. He’s probably off brooding somewhere, no doubt still trying to figure out what my game plan is, but I justknowhe’s listening.

I bite back a grin. One thing’s for sure: I may not be staying tonight, but I amabsolutelystaying in their heads.

And as far as tomorrow’s market date with Jace goes.Well.Let’s just say, things are going to getveryeducational.

Chapter Six

Aimee

When Jace answers the door, I have two immediate thoughts:

I am going to die on this date.

I am going to dieon purpose—smiling, sweating, with no regrets and zero electrolytes left in my system.

Becauseholy hell.

The man is a walking protein shake; a gym-built god in deep blue jeans and a sleeveless black tee that’s practically clinging to his torso. His arms are outrageously defined, his chest is criminal, and even wrapped up in denim, his thighs look like they have their own gym memberships and possibly separate tax brackets. I black out a little just looking at them.

Rachel never said I couldn’t sleep with them. In fact, I’m 99% sure her exact words were“wring them dry and write about it.”So, you know. Not exactly a glowing endorsement of abstinence.

Still, I’m trying to be strategic. Incontrol.

Which isexactlywhy I refused Jace’s offer to pick me up earlier. No way am I handing out my home address like candy on the first date. A woman’s got to have boundaries—especially when she’s considering obliterating them later. You know: for science.

“You ready?” Jace asks.

“No,” I say honestly.

“Excellent.”

My knees threaten to buckle. I pretend it’s the incline of the driveway.

He opens the car door for me, and I step inside, equal parts smug and shaken. Just as I settle into the passenger seat, I glance back toward the house—

And there he is. Leaning in the hallway arch, dressed in a white shirt with the sleeves rolled, laptop in one hand, coffee in the other. No doubt he’s allegedly working from home today, though I have a strong suspicion the only case he’s focused on right now ismine.

“Shouldn’t you be at the office?” I call out sweetly.

Wes sips his coffee like it’s wine and glares like it’s foreplay. “Shouldn’tyoube doing… whatever it is you’re actually here to do?”

“Working on it,” I mutter under my breath, before smiling wide. “Don’t wait up.”

He scoffs. “Trust me, I won’t.”

Jace rolls his eyes as he rests his palms against the roof. “Ignore him. He’s just jealous he doesn’t have an ass like mine.”

“You don’t know that Idon’t!” Wes calls after us.

“You’re right,” Jace replies cheerfully. “But I also don’tcare.”

I laugh, and he winks down at me before he closes the passenger side door. I try my best to ignore the fire in my chest. Or loins. Or wherever it is you store unresolved alpha tension and questionable life decisions.

*

The beach trail that leads up to the farmers market is stupidly scenic. Waves crash rhythmically in the distance, there are birds doing poetic things overhead, and the breeze is fresh and salt-tipped. Meanwhile, I’m trying not to trip over a rogue piece of driftwood and faceplant into a fantasy where this man—this actual, real-life thirst trap—respectfully ruins my life and then carries me home in broad daylight with zero shame.

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