"This is ridiculous," I mutter, grabbing a dark green sweater. "It's just dinner."
Just dinner. With three alphas. Who all want to date me. At the same time. As a pack.
This is not the plan. This was never the plan.
I came home to focus on my career. To figure out whatIwant. To recover from Terrance and all his bullshit expectations about what my life should look like. Not to fall into another relationship—especially not one withthreepeople who all apparently want to formally court me like this is some kind of regency romance.
I pull the sweater over my head and immediately yank it back off. Too casual. Or maybe not casual enough? What's the dress code for "first official pack date where you're supposed to figure out if this whole thing is actually going to work even though you absolutely should not be doing this"?
And why am I even going? I should cancel. I should text them right now and say I'm not ready for this, that I need space, that yesterday with Grayson was a mistake and?—
My stomach twists at the thought of calling yesterday a mistake. Because it wasn't. It was terrifying and intense and probably the best orgasm of my life, which is exactly the problem.
Stop. Focus. This is supposed to be about YOUR career. YOUR life. YOUR choices that have nothing to do with any alphas.
There's a knock on my door.
"Bea? Honey?" Mom's voice is gentle. "Can I come in?"
"Only if you promise not to laugh at the disaster zone. Or try to talk me into going through with this."
She opens the door and surveys the explosion of clothes covering every surface. To her credit, she doesn't even blink. "That bad, huh?"
"I don't know what to wear. I don't know if I should even be going. This whole thing is—" I gesture helplessly at my closet, at the mess, at my entire life. "I came home for me, Mom. To figure out whatIwant. Not to fall into another relationship."
"And is that what this feels like?" Mom asks gently, sitting on the edge of my bed. "Falling into something you don't want?"
"No. Yes. I don't know." I sink down beside her with a groan. "That's the problem. Part of me wants this so badly it scares me. And the other part is screaming that I'm being an idiot, that I'm supposed to be focusing on ME for once, not on what some alphas want."
"What if it's not about what they want?" Mom says thoughtfully. "What if it's about what you want?"
"I want to not be terrified," I mutter.
"You know," she says, "when I went on my first date with your dad and papa, I changed seven times."
I look at her in surprise. "Really?"
"Really. I was so nervous I actually put my shirt on backwards and didn't notice until we were already at the restaurant." She laughs at the memory. "Your papa was too polite to say anything for the first hour."
Despite my panic, I smile. "What made you finally relax?"
"Your dad made a terrible joke about the pasta being 'impastable' to resist, and I laughed so hard I snorted wine out my nose." She wrinkles her nose. "Not my most graceful moment, but it broke the tension. They weren't looking for perfect, Bea. They were looking for me."
"But you weren't running from something," I point out quietly. "You weren't trying to prove you could be independent after your last relationship told you who to be."
Mom is quiet for a moment. Then: "Actually, I was. I'd just gotten out of a relationship with someone who wanted me to be the perfect omega—docile, agreeable, nothing but supportive. Your fathers? They wanted me exactly as I was. Messy, opinionated, terrible at cooking. All of it."
I lean my head against her shoulder. "I'm really nervous, Mom. And not in a good way. In a 'this is the opposite of what I'm supposed to be doing right now' way."
"I know, honey." She wraps an arm around me. "But those three young men? They already like you exactly as you are. You could show up in a potato sack and they'd think you were beautiful."
"Please don't give me outfit ideas. I'm desperate enough to try it." I pause, picking at a thread on my jeans. "But what if... what if I'm making the same mistake again? What if I get so caught up in being what they need that I forget whatIneed? I'm supposed to be figuring out my career, Mom. Building something that's mine. Not jumping into the deep end with three alphas who?—"
"Who what?" Mom asks gently. "Who treat you with respect? Who let you make your own choices? Who've been very clear that they want you, but haven't pressured you into anything?"
"Who make me forget why I came home in the first place," I say quietly.
Mom is silent for a moment. Then she stands and moves to my closet. "You know what I think?"
