Page 130 of How to Lose a Pack in 10 Dates

“You’re the omega equivalent of a gas station,” Wes laughs from the front seat.

“Yeah, well,you’rethe alpha equivalent of a parking ticket,” she shoots back, not missing a beat.

Jace chuckles from the driver’s seat, eyes flicking to the mirror. “Incorrect. She’s the omega equivalent of a national treasure, actually.”

“Oh my god,” Wes groans. “I’m jumping out at the next light.”

“Says the man who cried during her heat,” I chime in.

“That was one tear.”

“A bonding tear,” Jace adds, too quickly to be innocent.

“I hate this car,” Wes grumbles.

But Aimee’s grinning now, tucking her face into the sleeve of her hoodie as though she’s trying to hide it. I bump her leg with mine, and she bumps it right back.

Progress.

The first half of the drive is chaotic in a way that only feels good now. We argue over snacks and then slide into an overlapping debate about scent-matching tech and whether it should be regulated like pharmaceutical-grade chaos. Jace arguesyes. Aimee arguesarson.

I back her, obviously.

“She makes a compelling case,” I say, flipping the trail mix bag upside down and watching three rogue M&Ms fall into my lap.

“You’re both feral,” Wes sighs, but he doesn’t sound annoyed. Just resigned.

Eventually, the SUV settles. Music filters in, and Wes doesn’t protest, which is growth. He even taps a finger against the door.

By the time we hit mile marker twenty-seven, Aimee’s head drops onto my shoulder. My chest tightens, but not in a bad way.

More in aI-might-scent-mark-a-blanket-laterkind of way.

*

The campsite’s nothing special, which isexactlywhat makes it perfect.

There’s a little clearing, a patch of uneven ground we’re pretending is level, and a lake somewhere in the vague direction of “over there.” There’s no cell reception, no traffic, no nosy neighbors; and, more than anything, there’s absolutely no chance Wes will be able to check his emails before 9 a.m.

Which is probably why he looks like he’s either about to cry or build a makeshift cell tower out of sticks and shame.

Jace, on the other hand, is in his natural element. His shirt was off within minutes of us arriving, and he’s wearing a pair of sunglasses despite the questionable cloud coverage. We’ve barely been here an hour and he’s already hung a bug-repellent lantern, started a fireandorganized our granola bars.

I don’t know if I want to kiss him or sedate him.

Wes is less enthusiastic.

“These poles are defective,” he announces, glaring at a bundle of tent rods.

“Ormaybe,” Aimee says, perched barefoot on a rock and swinging her legs, “you’re just being outwitted by a pack of bendy sticks and some canvas.”

I nearly choke on my water.

“And here we have the alpha,” she continues in her best David Attenborough voice, “desperately attempting to assert dominance over a structurally unsound nylon dwelling. Watch closely as he fails.”

Jace wheezes.

“I swear to God,” Wes mutters, shoving a stake into the ground with far more aggression than necessary. “Say one more thing.”

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