Page 39 of How to Lose a Pack in 10 Dates

I unlock my car and help her in. The first few minutes of the drive are quiet, but in a comfortable way. Her profile’s lit up by the soft glow of the dashboard, her hair catching faint gold from the streetlights. She's not wearing strong perfume—probably because of the blockers—but underneath it, there's this faint hint ofher.

I want to drown in it.

“So,” she says, breaking the silence. “How many of those fun facts did Wes actually give you?”

“Just the highlights,” I say, shooting her a grin. “Although in hindsight, I should’ve guessed ‘hedgehog-shaped cheddar’ was a trap.”

She laughs in agreement.

“You know,” I say, drumming my fingers lightly on the steering wheel, “he really does look out for me. Always has.”

Aimee studies me with an assessing, sideways glance. “Interesting definition of ‘looking out,’” she says finally. “Weaponizing cheese trivia and childhood chinchilla trauma.”

I chuckle. “I mean, yeah. But hedoesfloss. So.”

She huffs another laugh, but I notice she glances out the window as if she’s trying to steady something in herself.

I steal another glance at her as I pull up outside her apartment building. “I had a really good time tonight.”

She hesitates, then says, “Yeah. Me too.”

I put the truck in park, but I don’t move to unbuckle. She doesn’t either. The air between us shifts. Her scent’s a little stronger now, like it’s fighting through the blockers just to get to me.

And I’d let it. I’d lether.

“You want me to walk you up?” I ask, voice low but careful.

She tilts her head. “What would you do if I said yes?”

“Whatever you let me.”

Her breath hitches slightly, and for a second, she just looks at me. Then—so softly I almost miss it—she says, “Okay. Come up.”

My brain short-circuits somewhere between pride and panic, but I manage a nod. “Cool. Yeah. I can do that.”

She unbuckles slowly, opens the door, and steps out, her heels clicking against the pavement. I follow, locking the car behind us, trying not to stare at the way her dress hugs her hips.

She pauses at the entrance to her building and glances back over her shoulder with a sly little smile.

“Just to my door,” she warns. “Don’t get cocky.”

“No promises.”

“I could be luring you to your death, you know,” she adds as we head up the stairs. “I might have a freezer full of severed alpha heads and a hobby in taxidermy.”

I grin. “Romantic.”

She snorts. “You’d still help me carry the bags, wouldn’t you?”

“Bags, bodies—whatever you need, sweetheart.”

She gives me a look that’s halfway between fond and dangerous. It makes my steps feel heavier, more certain. My instincts are buzzing under my skin like static, but I just about manage to keep them locked down.

Her apartment’s on the second floor. When we reach the landing, she digs around in her purse, grumbling softly about keys and lip balm conspiracies, before finally unlocking the door. She leans against it and looks up at me.

“Thanks for tonight,” she says. “It was… actually nice.”

“Actually?” I echo, pretending to be offended.

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