I pull it out, eyeing the deep blue fabric. Itisa knockout dress, with a neckline that showcases my collar bones and a hemline that stops mid-thigh. "Fine. I'll wear the blue dress."
Jessica makes a triumphant sound. "Send me a picture when you're done."
"Will you let me get ready if I say yes?"
"Absolutely. And I want all the details later. Preferably tomorrow morning," she adds with loaded meaning.
"You're impossible," I say, hanging up before she can respond.
I toss the phone onto my bed and stare at the blue dress. I haven't even met these men yet, and already this date feels like it's spinning out of my control.
Andrew, thedoctoras Jess reminded me, seemed nice enough in his profile. Tall, with salt-and-pepper hair and a wry smile that suggested he didn't take himself too seriously despite his impressive credentials. Brandon, the insurance salesman, was a few years younger, with a boyish charm and enthusiasm that came through even in text messages. Both betas, both seemingly normal, well-adjusted men.
No alphas, no packs—just two men looking for connection outside the traditional dynamics. Exactly what I claimed to want.
So why does my stomach feel like I've swallowed a fistful of pebbles?
I slip into the blue dress, readjusting straps and smoothing fabric. The fabric makes my curves look deadly. Jessica was right, it's a good choice.
To be honest, I wouldn't really mind getting some action tonight. My needs haven't magically disappeared just because I've sworn off relationships. The magic wand in my bedside drawer does its job, but it doesn't laugh at my jokes or run its fingers through my hair or press its lips against the sensitive spot where my neck meets my shoulder.
I may not be an omega who goes into heat, but I still have needs. Needs that aren't going away anytime soon unless I actually leave my front door.
I yank my thoughts away from that dangerous path. This is just a first date. It's two first dates, technically. A getting-to-know-you dinner with two strangers who might become friends or more or nothing at all.
No expectations. No pressure.
I repeat this mantra as I finish my makeup, opting for smoky eyes and nude lips. After a moment's hesitation, I leave my hair down, the reddish-brown waves falling past my shoulders in a way that makes me look softer, more approachable.
My reflection stares back at me, transformed from funeral attendee to someone who might actually be looking forward to a night out. I look good. Desirable, even.
Not that it matters. History suggests that nothing will come of this except another story for Jessica's entertainment. But maybe the universe owes me one decent night out with normal people who want normal things, even if they're not my happily ever after.
I grab my purse, check that I have everything I need, and head for the door. As I pass the stack of merchandise, I pat the pumpkin sweater affectionately.
"Next time, buddy."
Martin's glowswith understated elegance. The place has soft lighting, crisp white tablecloths, and waiters who move like they're floating on air. I give my name to the host, who checks his tablet and nods like they've been expecting me.
"Your party is already seated, Ms. Goodwin. Right this way."
I follow him through the dining room, aware of eyes tracking my progress. I didn't overdo it with the dress, but I'm definitely not underdressed either. Score for me.
I spot them before we reach the table. Andrew's silver-streaked hair catches the light as he gestures to emphasizewhatever point he's making. Brandon leans forward, nodding, his back to me as I approach. They look like they're already deep in conversation, comfortable with each other in a way that suggests they get along well. I guess their careers are compatible enough.
Andrew notices me first, his face brightening as he stands. "Lexie! Wonderful to meet you in person."
Brandon turns, rising as well, his smile wide and genuine. "Wow. You look amazing."
They're both taller than I expected, both even better looking in person than in their photos. Andrew has the distinguished appeal of a man who's matured like a fine wine, with laugh lines around keen gray eyes. Brandon is more youthfully handsome, with perfect teeth and the kind of jawline that belongs in commercials.
"Sorry I'm a few minutes late," I say, accepting the seat that Brandon pulls out for me. "Traffic was worse than I expected."
"Worth the wait," Andrew says, his voice warm as he retakes his seat.
The waiter materializes with water and wine menus. We make small talk about the restaurant while considering our options. Andrew suggests a bottle of pinot noir that Brandon enthusiastically endorses.
"So," Brandon says once our wine has been poured and our orders taken, "we were just saying how refreshing your profile was."
