Page 57 of How to Lose a Pack in 10 Dates

“Don’t be shy, sweetheart. That wasadorable.”

“You just came on my face,” I deadpan. “Don’t call me adorable.”

“Can’t help it,” he says, looking smug as sin as he reaches down and pulls me gently to my feet.

His hand cradles the back of my neck, thumb stroking once behind my ear before he leans in and kisses me. It’s slow and dirty—the kind of kiss that tastes like heat and filth and something I’m not supposed to want again.

“You’re lethal,” I mutter when we part.

He shrugs one shoulder, still close enough to kiss me again. “And you keep coming back for more.”

“Unfortunately.”

“Fortunately,” he corrects, smirking as he tugs me toward the back office. “C’mon. Let’s get you cleaned up. Can’t have you walking out of here glowing like that without at least wiping off the evidence.”

“Glowing?”

He eyes me over his shoulder. “You’re radiant, baby. Like you just got blessed.”

“You’re so full of yourself.”

“Only because I’m right.”

His office is thankfully private, with a mini bathroom and a stash of towels. He wets one and hands it to me, watching with entirely too much satisfaction as I wipe off my face.

“I hate you.”

“Nah,” he winks. “You love me.”

He says it so flippantly, socockily, that my brain short-circuits, and I almost drop the towel.

“I literally don’t even like you.”

He steps in again—closer now, towel forgotten, his mouth brushing mine. “Sure, babe,” he murmurs. “That’s why you sound likethatwhen I go down on you.”

I slap his chest. “You’re insufferable.”

“I’m also your favorite workout partner,” he says, tilting his head. “So. When’s our next session?”

“Never,” I lie.

He grins wider. “What about our nextdate, then?”

“...Wait, are you serious?”

He leans a forearm on the doorframe and cocks an eyebrow at me. “Deadly.You’re not the only one running a little experiment, Aimee. I’m just better at disguising mine.”

My stomach flips. “You think this is an experiment?”

“I think this isfun,” he says simply. “And maybe you need more of that.”

I hate how much that lands.

“I—well.” I gesture vaguely at my own still-sweaty self. “Can we at least pretend I’m mysterious and sexy and not currently dripping post-gym shame out of every pore?”

He laughs. Like,reallylaughs. It’s warm and real and easy, and I don’t think I’ve heard anything like it from an alpha before. There’s no ego, no weight behind it—just him, laughing because of me.

“You’re a menace,” he says fondly. “Come on, let’s grab food.”

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