Page 2 of Pack End Game

The next moments become a blur of Belle's horror as she realizes the connection I have to Jason. Somehow, Jason seems almost unfazed by the scent-match. Clearly, he has more self-control than I do. I have to hold the edges of my stool with all of my strength to keep from trying to immediately claim my best friend's boyfriend for myself.

Everyone seems able to speak except me. I don't even register what either of them is saying, except for something about a borrowed coat. I sit quietly with my eyes squeezed shut–out of sight, out of mind doesn't work nearly as well as I hope–until Jason speaks to me directly for the first time.

"I'm Jason. You must be Mia."

I force my eyes open and say, "Hi," in a high-pitched squeak.

He's holding his hand out to me, but I don't dare take it. If our hands touch, I fear I won't be able to control my omega urges any longer. I want to be respectful to my friend, but this is killing me. My scent-match is right here; I can't do anything. Even worse, Jason genuinely seems unbothered. How can he be so chill at a time like this?

Jason drops his arm when he realizes I'm not planning to shake his hand.

Belle abruptly gets up from her seat and faces the two of us. "Well, I wouldn't want to stand in the way of a scent-match," she says, her voice thick with emotion. She looks at me with anguish in her eyes, and my chest burns knowing I'm the one causing her that pain.

"Belle?" Jason takes a step toward her, which makes me bristle. Why is he moving closer to her and further away from me?

"I have to get out of here," she blurts out.

"Belle, no." I stand and move closer to the two of them, genuinely wanting Belle to wait, but also wanting to close that distance between my scent-match and me.

"I need to think. I can't wrap my mind around this. I need to get some fresh air and just... I need to think."

"Please stay," I plead. "We can talk this out."

"What is there to talk about?" She ends with a bitter laugh, and then she's gone. Fleeing from the bar. Fleeing from us.

"Belle, where are you going?" Jason calls out, still seemingly more concerned about her than about me.

My stomach is in knots as I realize he might be the kind of guy who doesn't care about scent-matches. Usually, the only people who say they don't care about scent-matches are people who haven't found theirs yet, but maybe he's an anomaly. Maybe free will to choose a partner is more important to him than letting fate find his perfect biological match.

I let out a pitiful bleating sound like a sad baby goat. Whatever Jason is thinking, I can't stand the distance between us a moment longer. I throw my arms around him and squeeze close, burying my face close to his neck to inhale...

The worst stank I've ever experienced.

"Licorice?" I blurt out, recoiling in horror. That can't be right. The scent I'm drawn to is a sweet, woodsy smell that I wish I could bathe in. Not licorice, the most horrendous scent I could imagine. The sandalwood is completely overwhelmed by licorice, sending me reeling back several steps to get away.

"What?" Jason stares bewildered at my retreat. "What the hell is going on? What scent-match was Belle talking about? I know I should have texted her that I was running late, but I was so focused on getting here safely in the snow. Did I really mess up that badly?" He grimaces at the possibility.

My jaw drops open. "What scent-match?" I repeat, feeling completely dumbstruck. "Uh... ours."

"Ours?" His eyebrows arch high as he gestures between the two of us before laughing and shaking his head. "No offense, but you're definitely not my scent-match. Florals make me mildly nauseous." He shudders, completely immune to how my world is being rocked.

My heart feels like it's being cracked wide open.

He doesn't feel the scent match at all. Could dating my bestie have disrupted our fate-bound connection? Maybe that could explain that weird licorice quality that seems to be growing stronger the longer we stand here.

I don't fucking know. I feel like I'm drawing ideas out of my ass in an attempt to explain the unexplainable.

Scent-matches are supposed to be guaranteed matches. Otherwise, what's the point? I'm supposed to pine away for this man who's disgusted by my scent and only interested in my best friend?

This is just my luck... except it's not. Most things seem to turn out in my favor. Like successfully flirting with hot bartenders or making viral marketing campaigns during the holiday season that help sales spike at work.

I'm not the kind of omega who's supposed to end up fated to unrequited love.

"You really think I'm your scent-match?" Jason asks, his amusement at the idea giving way to concern. He doesn't do a very good job of hiding his grimace when he tries to take a deep inhale to trial-run my scent.

He really, genuinely doesn't feel anything but disdain.

Ouch.