Page 24 of How to Lose a Pack in 10 Dates

“I’m just saying,” I add as we pass a flower stall, fully committed to the bit and very much not okay, “if you keep being this nice to me, I might end up writing‘Jace’in my scent journal and circling it with hearts.”

His brow arches. “You have a scent journal?”

“No. Yes. Maybe. It’s none of your business,” I snap, which is the exact thing someone with a scent journal would say. “What are you, the Scent Police?”

He plucks a daisy from the display, smooth as ever, and hands it to me with a wink so lethal it should come with a health warning. “Add this. For accuracy.”

I stare at the daisy.

“Wow,” I breathe, as my brain-to-mouth filter fully fails.

My suppressants are working so hard they deserve a bonus. My scent blockers are practically melting off my skin. My knees?Gone. Vanished. Off living a quiet life somewhere far from this disaster.

“You okay there?” he teases.

“I’mgreat!” I chirp, taking the daisy and tucking it into my bag as if that’ll somehow defuse the situation. “I definitely didn’t almost ask if you lift flower crates for core activation.”

He leans in just enough for my brain to short-circuit. “I definitelycan, if that’s what gets you going.”

I nearly trip over a paving stone. My foot wobbles, and my pride shatters.

Abort mission! Abort mission!

This is a disaster. A pheromone-soaked, criminally handsome disaster. I am aserious woman. A focused professional. A whole journalist with a mission and a backbone.

But despite all of those things, we keep walking, because I have no self-preservation instincts left.

*

This is not going well.

He buys me kettle corn. A literal child calls himCoach Jaceand he waves back, dimples flashing. He crouches to pet a passing dog—as in full knee bend, thighs flexing, back muscles stretching under sun-warmed skin while it licks his face.

Jace laughs along, and somehow,I’mthe one panting.

My body’s buzzing like I’ve swallowed a vibrator. My scent blockers feel tight, and my instincts are practically screaming to touch him.I tell myself it’s just the pheromones and the proximity, that it’s the natural result of Wes being a scowling repressive iceberg and Jace being the human embodiment of a lust spell.

But I know it’s a lie.

It’shim. It’s the way he keeps glancing at me as though he already knows what I sound like when I come. It’s the way his fingers brush mine when he hands me the kettle corn. The way he keeps stepping close like he’s testing a theory—like he wants to see how far he can push me before I cave.

And honestly, I’m about six seconds from crumbling.

Because what’s the harm, right? Icouldgive in. I could very easily scratch the itch and get the revenge I came for.

Ruin my ex, ride his packmate, write about it, and win a Pulitzer. That’s got to be the omega definition of work-life balance.

“Ready to try the artisanal nut butter stall?”

I blink, immediately snapped out of my trailing thoughts. “Sorry, thewhat?”

“Nut butter.” He says it slow. “It’s hand-ground.Verycreamy.”

He’s looking directly at my mouth when he says it, and my soul leaves my body.

It’s official: this man is actively trying to kill me. I knew I wasn’t going to make it out of this date alive.

“Cool,” I say, voice breaking against my will. “Nuts. Butter. Love that for us.”

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