Page 23 of How to Lose a Pack in 10 Dates

“Huh?”

“Oh, nothing,” I smile sweetly. “So do you condition people to fightyouspecifically, or…?”

He laughs; full-on, head-tipped-back, biceps-flexing, teeth-flashing laughter.

(I am momentarily blinded by sunlight and pheromones.)

“Only if they flirt first,” he grins, and I trip over absolutely nothing.

*

We arrive at the farmer’s market, and Jace immediately turns intothat guy. You know the type: walking thirst trap with the body of a demigod and the situational awareness of a golden retriever.

He’s changed back into his jeans—which is rude, because now I have to watch the way they cling to his thighs—but is shirtless within seven minutes.Seven. Heaccidentallyspilled water on himself from his emotional support gallon jug, which, of course, meant the shirt had to go. For... drying purposes.

And now I’m being punished.

“Want to try a smoothie?” he asks, holding up two tiny compostable cups.

“I—sure,” I croak, because my frontal lobe has shut down in protest after clocking his bicep flex.

I reach out to take one, but he doesn’t let go.

“Uh— I can hold it myself?”

“Nope,” he says. “Open up.”

“I’m a grown woman,” I protest weakly, already halfway to doing it anyway.

His gaze drags down my body, and my skin ignites.

“Damn right you are,” he murmurs, tipping the cup toward my lips as if this is some kind of smoothie-based seduction ritual. “C’mon. You’ll like it. Mango-pineapple.”

And because I’m a spineless, scent-blocked disaster with something to prove and a very flimsy revenge plan, I open my mouth. Like a baby fucking bird.

It hits my tongue, and I sigh. Out loud.

“Mmm,” I say, somehow managing to make it worse. “Delicious.”

Fuck.I hate myself.

“And now you’ll taste like mango.”

He grins, far too pleased with himself. At this point, I’m too suppressed to function and too attracted to care.

“I’m going to throw myself into traffic,” I mutter.

“What was that?”

“Oh wow!” I blurt, finger-gunning the nearest stall. “Look! Organic radishes. My kink.”

“Radish kink noted,” Jace says seriously, pulling out his phone and typing.

“You’re not—you didn’t—are you making a list?!”

“Yep.” Tap, tap. “Aimee: radishes, mango smoothies, emotionally unavailable banter.Got it.”

Dear sweet mother of suppressants—he’s hot, charming, smells like sun-warmed danger,andhe’s writing a fuckingkink listin the middle of a farmer’s market.

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