Page 11

Here we go. I paste on my best I’m fun and approachable smile and head over. Two of them slide out to greet me properly. The shorter one is dancing. Not a lot but moving side to side to the beat of the background music. And the taller one is… oh. Hello.

Dark wavy hair that looks like it probably feels like rabbit fur. Sharp, dark eyes that crinkle at the corners when he grins. There’s even the hint of a dimple lurking. Score one for truthful dating profiles. His scent neutralizer is doing overtime, but that doesn’t stop my omega from doing a hopeful little shimmy behind my ribs before I can tell her to behave.

“Douglas Pack?” I ask, even though it’s obvious.

The tall one grins. “That’s us. Hi, I’m Doug.” He sticks out his hand.

I take it, blinking. “Doug… Douglas?”

His laugh is genuine. “Everyone asks. No, it’s Smith. But you’ll see.”

He turns to the table and starts the introductions. “This is Doug,” he says, gesturing to the guy still half-dancing next to him. The man is literally moving his shoulders and hips to the low jazz track playing overhead.

Dancing Doug flashes me a bright, slightly chaotic smile and does a little spin as he shakes my hand. “Nice to meet you, Cammie. You’ve got great energy.”

I’m twenty-eight, and already I’m too old for this shit.

Tall Doug keeps going. “That’s another Doug in the middle.”

This Doug is… Jesus. Shoulders so wide the word needs extra syllables. Big Doug’s built like a refrigerator, but his eyes are surprisingly blue and his words are quiet when he says hello. He gives me a polite nod and a gentle smile that says he knows exactly how much space he takes up.

Next to him sits a man in a crisp white button-down and an actual bow tie. In a wine bar. On a Wednesday.

“Another Doug,” Tall Doug says, almost apologetically.

Buttoned-up Doug adjusts his bow tie and gives me a crisp, academic little nod. “Pleasure.”

And then, on the far side of the curved booth, still seated and making zero effort to stand, is the final Doug.

Old AF Doug.

I am not exaggerating. This man has liver spots older than I am. His profile picture was clearly taken sometime during the Roosevelt administration. Teddy’s, not Franklin’s. He’s wearing a cardigan even though it’s easily eighty degrees out today.

My omega, who was doing a full happy dance thirty seconds ago, slowly sits back down and pulls a blanket over her head.

The waitress stops by and asks if I want something. Seeing that the table is already littered with drinks and appetizers, I order a martini. Dirty and strong. Then I turn back to the table of Dougs.

“Do you guys have a Dachshund?” I ask, casually, sliding into the booth between Big Doug (who’s warm and surprisingly comfortable) and Dancing Doug (who immediately starts swaying again and using his fingers as drumsticks).

“No, why?” asks Buttoned-up Doug.

I shrug. “You could name it Weiner Doug. They would love it on Instagram and TikTok.”

Dancing Doug barks a laugh. “That’s hilarious.” He hooks his thumb at me and announces dramatically to the rest of the table, “I like this one.”

Tall Doug smiles at me again with that dangerous dimple-adjacent situation and says, “So, Cammie. We’re really glad you came.”

I smile back, happy and pleasant, while my brain quietly starts drafting an escape plan. “Me too,” I lie sweetly. “Tell me about yourselves, Dougs. So far, I know you’re dogless. What else should I know?”

Tall Doug leans forward, elbows on the table, and that dimple-no-dimple smile does dangerous things to my concentration. “Most of us are pretty outdoorsy. Hiking, rock climbing, that kind of thing. You?”

I tilt my head. “Do Mai Tais by the beach count as outdoorsy?”

Big Doug lets out a low, warm chuckle that vibrates pleasantly against my side. “Close enough,” he says in that surprisingly soft voice. “We could find a beach hike. Sunset, good views, no pressure.”

Okay. Okay. These two might actually be salvageable.

Dancing Doug is still swaying in his seat like the jazz trio on the speakers is for him. “I’m all about dancing,” he announces cheerfully. “Clubbing, festivals, kitchen at two in the morning. It doesn’t matter. I can dance to anything.”