Filed to story: The Alpha’s Pen Pal Book
“Just think about it,” Blake says, turning her head to look at me. “It won’t hurt anything to go.”
My teeth grind together, and I take the phone from her. I’m fuming, but I can’t help but agree that she has a point. I want to meet my mate, and he’s clearly not in Silver Ridge. And this guy seems great. Laid back and fun-loving, but obviously ready to settle down since he’s on Date-To-Mate.
“Are you going to shower here or at your place?” Blake asks, grabbing a clean towel from the rack by the showers.
“Girl, you know I have to do that at home. I don’t have any of my products here,” I chuckle, shaking my head at her and pointing at my twists.
“I’ll see you later, Taryn,” she says, waving over her shoulder as she walks into the showers.
I lean my shoulder against the lockers, my thumb hovering over the delete message icon. Then, instead, before I can change my mind, I type out a reply.
Me: I’ll be there.
REIDMy knee bounces as
I sit in Wesley’s truck outside of Rendezvous. It is one minute until six p.m., and I should be inside already, but I’m not. I grip the steering wheel, then grab my phone and send off a message to TearinItUp.
Me: Running late because of the snow. Reservation is under the name Stephen.
I toss the phone on the passenger seat and press my forehead into the wheel, groaning. I used my middle name for the reservation since the entire premise of Date-To-Mate is to remain anonymous until you meet face-to-face. And because my original plan was to drive here, sit around for a few hours, and then drive home, so Sebastian will at least think
I’ve fulfilled my end of the bet.
But now that I’m here, I’m waffling on my plan. I can’t stand someone up, even if it’s someone I’ve never met. I am many things—a player included—but a man who breaks his word and his promises is not one of them. And with my luck, that plan wouldn’t fool Seb, anyway.
My phone buzzes and I snatch it up, scanning the message.
TearinItUp: No worries. I gave them your name, and they seated me. I’ll wait to order until you arrive.
I blow out a breath and drum my fingers on the wheel as I give myself a pep talk. “Okay, okay. You can do this, Reid. You can have dinner with a girl, you can make small talk, and you can end the night without her in your bed. You’ve got this.”
I give the wheel one last squeeze, then hop out of the truck, closing and locking it behind me.
I stroll down the sidewalk to the little French bistro and pause at the door. The hint of peonies tickles my nose, which is odd since they’re not in season. My wolf perks up in the back of my mind, but I push him away, opening the door to Rendezvous and stepping inside.
“Hi,” I say to the hostess. “I’m a little late, but I believe my date was already seated? Reservation for Stephen?”
“Oh, yes, we just seated your girlfriend. I’ll take you to the table,” the hostess says with a smile, waving at me to follow her.
We walk through the archway to the dining area. The lights are dim, with candles on the white tablecloths. The tables are small, giving off an intimate vibe, and they are far enough apart that you don’t feel you’re infringing on someone else’s date, while close enough for the restaurant to seat as many people as possible.
I shake my head as I follow the hostess around the tables and through the dining area. “She’s not my girl—“
But the scent of peonies I got a hint of before entering the restaurant hits me in full force, mixed with peaches and strawberries, cutting off the rest of my words. The scent takes me back to summers by the lake, when the flowers of the packhouse garden bloomed in full, and I would race along the shore, splashing through the icy water without a care. It brings up memories of cutting fresh fruit in the kitchen with my mom to mix with homemade vanilla ice cream, or to can and turn into preserves, or to put into a pie or cobbler to take to a picnic with the Stones and the Shepards.
It’s so fragrant, so sweet. It has my knees buckling and my heart skipping a beat in my chest. I never knew a scent could be so powerful, so meaningful, but the proof is filling my lungs and capturing my soul. My wolf pushes forward, attention caught, as the dark beauty at the table the hostess has led me to turns to meet my eyes.
My mate.
My blind date is my fucking mate.
I want to melt into a puddle and sink through the hardwood floor. I want to turn tail and run out of the restaurant, jump into Wesley’s truck, speed back up the mountain, and lock myself in my room in the packhouse.
But I can’t.
Because there are people all around us, and I can’t be dramatic. And because the female at the table is already rising, her gorgeous long legs carrying her to where I stand frozen. She smiles at me, holding her hand out for me to shake.
I don’t know what to do. I never expected I’d meet my mate in a crowded restaurant full of humans. There is no way I can tell her I don’t want her, because the scene it might cause will draw too much attention. And I can’t yell out “MATE!” like my wolf is pushing me to do, for the same reason.
Plus, I don’t want a mate.
And I definitely can’t shake her hand. I can’t let her touch me; let her feel the bond between us. From what I understand, the feel of skin-to-skin contact between mates is beyond what anyone can imagine, and I can’t let her have a taste of that, because then she’ll want more, and it will be harder to get rid of her.
I close my eyes and clench my teeth, holding my breath. Her scent is too much—everywhere around me and in me—and I can’t focus on anything else.
“Are you all right?” she asks, placing her hand on my forearm, just under my rolled-up sleeve.
My wolf forces me to open my eyes, and I look at her hand on my arm, marveling at the contrast between her smooth dark skin and mine, a zap of pleasure shooting to my fingertips.
My gaze travels to her face, to her eyes that are darker than a moonless night sky. A frown wrinkles the skin on her forehead, her eyes scanning over me. My first instinct is to rub my thumb over that wrinkle, to smooth it out so there is nothing marring her beautiful raven skin. But I close my eyes again and clench my fists to keep myself from giving in to that ridiculous notion.
“You should sit,” she says, taking my hand and guiding me to the chair across from hers at the square table. “Can we get another water?” she asks the hostess, and the retreating steps towards the kitchen tell me she left to do as my mate asked.
My mate.
Her reaction confuses me. Now that we’re sitting, now that my shock is clearing, I realize she didn’t react to me at all. Her pupils didn’t dilate; her nostrils didn’t flare. She didn’t even flinch when she put her hand on me, when our skin met for the first time.
“Here,” she says, handing me the glass of water already on the table. “I didn’t drink any of it yet. I’ll take the new one they bring out.”
I stare at her, then stare at the glass, at her hand wrapped around it. Her hand that touched my arm and held my hand, her hand that sent sparks across my skin. I take the glass without a word, brushing my fingers against hers on purpose. Just to test. Just to see.
Another jolt zips up my arm from my fingertips, and I grit my teeth again. Inside, my wolf, heart, soul, and brain wage a war, each fighting to be the one in charge of my response to her. Outside, I am the picture of calm, an iceberg in a tumultuous sea.
New Book: Veiled Desires of the Alpha King Novel
Dayson was the alpha of the largest pack in North America. Powerful figures from other packs sought to offer gorgeous girls as potential mates for Dayson. He steadfastly rejected these advances, he was not a pawn to be manipulated. But eventually there came a mysterious girl he could hardly say No. Who was she?