Page 62 of How to Lose a Pack in 10 Dates

Trying to give me an aneurysm via aggressively weaponized nesting.

In reality, if anyone’s been trying the way Cam meant it, it’sme.I’ve been playing nice. I haven’t growled at her once this week.I even saidgood morningyesterday and didn’t spontaneously combust.

But she’s escalating.

She keeps brushing past me and making those soft little omega noises, then blinking at me as thoughI’mthe one who’s unhinged. She gasps every time I grunt, as though it’s at all surprising that her giant, wound-up alpha ex has a reaction to being glitter-bombed with strategically deployed sweetness.

In the last four hours alone, she’s left a scented velvet scrunchie on my gear bench and renamed the Wi-Fi toOmegaNet: Streaming Hormones 24/7.

And I cannot keep living like this.

Cam told me to lean into the softness. Jace said that maybe it’s time we learned to embrace some color.

But then Aimee blinked up at me after dinner, all wide-eyed and pink-lipped and fake-sweetness as she asked; “Is it okay if I put my diffuser in your room tonight? Yours is the only one without, and it helps with my sleep regulation.”

The diffuser smells like cherry blossoms and emotionalsabotage, and this is not okay. This is notnormal.

This is a slow, pastel-colored descent into madness, and I am one more sparkle sticker away from Losing. My. Mind.

*

Cam, in his infinite golden-retriever optimism, declared that Saturday was the perfect time for some quality pack bonding.

Translation: group grocery shopping, family-style lunch, and,apparently, the psychological breakdown of one pissed off alpha.

We’re not even past the driveway before I’m assaulted.

Jace’s SUV smells like slick. Specifically,heromega slick. It hitsthe moment I open the door.

“Oh,” I say flatly. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Cam does a subtle double inhale. Then another. His brows rise in slow horror. “Ah.”

Jace shrugs from behind his sunglasses, cool as ever. “Yeah, don’t mind that. We didn’t have wipes.”

I turn to him. “You absoluteferal—”

“Anyway,” Aimee says sweetly, squeezing past me through the open door and climbing into the front passenger seat like it’s her throne. “Shotgun! Omegas get carsick in the back.”

“That’s not even biologically—” I start, but she’s already kicked her shoes off and propped her bare feet up on the dashboard.

Cam nods, smiling right at her. “That makes total sense.”

I can't hold back my growl of annoyance.

“Here.” She hands me a flavored candy from her pocket and smiles. “You need to calm down.”

I climb into the back with Cam, slam the door harder than necessary and stare ahead.

I’m still trying to process the assault on my senses when I see it.

Dangling—no,swinging—from the rearview mirror like some unholy omen of doom are two giant, fluffy, pastel pink dice.

One readsmy alpha.The other?

My omega.

I stare at them in mute horror.

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