Page 46 of Dreamscape Therapies

He's right; it's actually really good. I'm normally a vodka-or-whiskey kind of guy. Straightforward. No frills. But this?

I could get used to this.

We try all four. Every time he takes a sip, his entire face lights up. Eventually, we stop talking about the drinks. Then we stop talking about the fact that we're supposed to be having lunch. Somewhere along the way, we're just... Talking.

About everything.

Jay tells me about a city he'd love to see someday, and I tell him about a road trip I took years ago that ended with a flat tire and a motel room that definitely had a crime scene in it at some point.

He insists ghosts should have squatter's rights in historical buildings and I tell him that if they're going to haunt private property, they should at least contribute to the property taxes.

He laughs so hard he nearly spills his drink.

I've spent so much time around Jay feeling like I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop.

For the nightmare and panic, that sitting with him doesn’t feel normal anymore. It feels special, like a once in a life time occasion I should be savoring.

Which is probably the most dangerous thought I've had all day.

I'm explaining the crucial difference between Diet Coke and Coke Zero when Jay suddenly interrupts me.

"You smell nice."

"What?"

He blinks slowly. "Your cologne."

"I don't wear cologne."

He smiles. "Yes, you do."

"No. I really don’t," I argue, confused.

"I noticed it earlier,” he says, leaning close enough to make my heart skip. "At first I thought maybe it was your soap, but it’s not. It’s woodsy and sweet." He inhales deep, and his eyes flutter closed on a soft moan. “I really like it.”

When he opens his eyes, his pupils are blown wide, and I realize what’s happening. My instincts wake up, my skin prickling and heart hammering.

"Jay."

"Hmm?"

“I don’t use scented body wash, and I don’t wear cologne. As a beta, you shouldn’t be able to scent me at all.”

The scent he's describing isn't soap; it’s me.

My natural scent.

My pheromones.

Everyone knows that Betas can't scent pheromones unless...

"Is something wrong?" He doesn't seem to understand why I've gone quiet.

My mind is racing, trying to find an excuse, any excuse, as to what he’s smelling. Maybe it was the whiskey? Or maybe the drinks were stronger than I thought.

Fated mates aren’t exactly rare, but they are rare enough that some people go their entire lives without meeting theirs.

But every alpha knows the stories.