"Yeah, it's pretty much like thinking you're one thing your whole life, and then you get hit by a freight train full of dicks." Itake a long pull of my wine, smiling a little as she chokes on hers in response. The alcohol is doing little to ease the tightness in my chest. "But the freight train is also you."
She winces in sympathy. "I can't even imagine what that must be like."
"It's been an adjustment." Understatement of the fucking century. "Learning to live in a body that suddenly has different rules."
"And your pack?" she asks carefully. "How are they handling it?"
I rake a hand through my hair again, knowing I'm probably turning it into a disaster zone. "Not great."
Her brow furrows with genuine concern. "They're not supportive?"
"Oh no, they are," I correct quickly. "A little too supportive, actually. But trying to prove myself as a beta in a pack full of alphas was hard enough. Some people think only alphas should even be allowed to play because they're naturally so much stronger and faster."
I don't mention that I built my entire identity around being the beta who could outwork, outhit, and outperform most alphas on the ice. That I took a perverse pride in being tougher than nature intended.
"Now it's like being back to square one, but worse," I continue. "They all walk on eggshells around me, like I'm suddenly made of glass. In practice, they pull punches. During games, they hover like I can't take a hit anymore." The frustration I've been bottling up spills into my voice. "Even our rookie goalie lets shots in when I'm shooting that he used to stop easily. It's like they can't separate me from what I've become."
I catch myself, suddenly aware that I've been rambling. This gorgeous woman did not sign up for my identity crisis on a first date. "Sorry, I don't think you want to hear all this."
"No," she says softly, reaching across the table to touch my hand briefly. The contact sends a jolt through me that has nothing to do with my new biology. "I get it. More than you probably think."
I hesitate, studying her face. There's a shadow of old hurt, maybe, that makes me believe her. "How so?"
"Well, not the whole biological transformation part," she admits with a small smile. "But being seen as one thing when you feel like another? Having people project their expectations onto you? I've been there."
The way she says it makes me think there's a deeper story. Probably about those four failed relationships she mentioned. But I don't push. We're already weaving through enough emotional landmines for one dinner and I'm just trying not to scare her off.
Instead, I take a breath and decide to lay my cards on the table. "Look, I'm sorry there was a mixup with the app. I know we're not exactly what you're looking for."
The "we" feels strange on my tongue. Like I'm speaking for a unit that I'm still not sure includes me in the way it used to.
"But I'd be lying if I said I didn't feel a connection here." I meet her eyes directly, letting her see the truth of it. "I don't know if it goes both ways, but..."
"It does," she says quickly, then looks almost surprised at her own admission. She tucks a strand of reddish-brown hair behind her ear, a gesture I already find endearing. "Even if I'm still... hesitant."
My chest warms up a little. Hope, maybe. A feeling I've been short on lately.
"I just don't know how to handle this sort of thing," she adds, her honesty disarming me.
I can't help the smile that tugs at my lips. "What, your blind date turning out to be a giant omega who thought he was a beta until a month ago? That happens to you often?"
The laugh that bursts out of her is bright and unexpected, a sound so genuine and warm that it catches me off guard. It's easily the best sound I've heard in months. Ever, maybe.
And I know, with absolute certainty, that if the rest of the pack hears that laugh, they'll understand immediately what I already do. Lexie is something special. Even Zayn, that perpetual asshole, couldn't find fault with her.
Though knowing him, he probably has a thing for other assholes. I don't really know what kind of women he usually takes home, but I assume they're a personality match.
"I've had some weird dates," she admits, still smiling, "but you're definitely a first in that category."
"I aim to be memorable." I find myself leaning toward her slightly, drawn by that smile, by the way her eyes crinkle at the corners when she laughs. "So... would you be willing to give us—me and the pack—another chance? If I wrangle the alphas and promise they'll all be there next time with flowers and an apology?"
She pauses, and I can practically see her weighing the decision. The caution in her eyes wars with interest, curiosity, maybe even the same pull I'm feeling.
Finally, she smiles. "Why not? If it goes bad, I can just climb out the bathroom window like I did on my last date."
I stare at her blankly, momentarily distracted from the fact that she actually said yes. "Wait, you're going to have to tell me that story. In full detail."
She gives me a coy smile that does ridiculous things to my heartbeat. "Next time. Something to look forward to."
