Page 38 of How to Lose a Pack in 10 Dates

Her expression is impossible to read, and my mouth justWon’t. Stop. Moving.

“I didn’t think it would beweird,” I blurt. “He gave me, like, a factsheet. Not an actual sheet, obviously. It… felt romantic. At the time.”

Aimee exhales a slow, pained breath. “Wes gave you a factsheet on how to survive a date with me?”

“Technically, it was more of an oral briefing. He’s a big believer in active recall.”

She stares at me, and I shift in my seat.

“It was meant to be cute?”

Another pause. Then—so calm it’s terrifying—she says, “And the hedgehog-shaped cheese?”

“Also Wes.”

She shakes her head. “Unbelievable.”

“I’m sorry,” I say quickly. “I wasn’t trying to manipulate you or anything. I just really wanted you to have fun. And not feel like you wasted your night. I thought maybe if I said something familiar, you’d—”

“—feel comfortable,” she finishes, and there’s something unreadable in her expression now. “Yeah. I get it.”

“You do?”

“I do,” she says lightly. “Because now I knowexactlywhat I’m going to say the next time Wes growls in my presence.”

“…what?”

She lifts her glass, all toast-like. “Pickle sends her regards.”

I groan.

“So… Assuming that’s a no to the cheese place?”

She points a breadstick at me. “Only if you promise never to say the words ‘hedgehog cheddar’ in my presence again.”

“Done.” I nod quickly. “Standard-shaped dairy from here on out.”

Her lips twitch, and then the tension melts away just a little. If she’s really plotting Wes’s downfall the way he’s been insisting, at least she’s pausing for pasta.

And honestly, I’ll take that as a win.

*

The date goes better than I could’ve hoped.

No, scratch that—better than Icould’ve imagined.

She laughs. Not just at my jokes, but with that real, bubbling kind of laugh that comes from being relaxed and at ease. She sips her wine slowly, tells stories with her hands, and when I mention my freshman class and the kid who asked if the Cold War was called that because it happened in winter, she actuallysnorts.

It’s a good sound. I want to bottle it.

And when she smiles—like,reallysmiles—it hits me somewhere low and primal. I think I might’ve imprinted on her like a baby duck. Or a very well-behaved alpha who suddenly wants to rearrange his whole life around making sure she never has a bad day again.

I don't kiss her at the restaurant. Iwantto—god, I want to—but I don't.

This is the part I never get right: the part where I don’t rush, where I take my time and let things build.

I offer to drive her home, and to my surprise, she agrees.

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