CHAPTER 9
WINDY
Butterflies riot inside my stomach. I sit in my car, fingers clenching around the steering wheel.
When I glance up, Ludwig’s Italian Bistro glows like a jewel in the night on the outskirts of town.
This place is flashy, polished. It’s the kind of place that makes you sit up straighter—like your spine is made of steel—just thinking about walking inside.
It used to be a cozy hideaway for Cedar Hill residents.
Now it’s all five-star shine, gourmet swagger, and caters to the rich and richer clientele.
Somehow—someway—this is where my potential mates want to meet me for the very first time.
The butterflies flapping around my stomach become more vicious.
If their screen name matches their personalities, I don’t know what I’ll do.
I won’t back down, that’s for sure. I don’t quit anything I set my mind to.
I set my mind to this working out by any means necessary.
But it would still suck if I got matched with a bunch of pretentious snobs.
I’d be fighting for a pack that I don’t really want, all because I can’t accept defeat.
Ever since I left home when I was eighteen, I have failed at nothing I put my mind to, and I’m not going to start now. Period.
I’ll take what Select-A-Mate paired with me and run with it. That’s the only thing I can think of doing.
Because I will not become what my family said I would.
A failure.
I may not be living up to their expectations anymore, but that doesn’t mean I don’t still force myself to achieve a certain level of success. I may not live in luxury and grandeur like I used to, but I’m doing very well for myself. Being an escort to the rich ensured that.
My dress clings a little from the warmth building under my skin.
I can feel a bead of sweat sliding down my spine, tickling me.
My scent hangs around me like a cloud, thicker than I want, like it’s seeping out with every anxious breath.
The stress since I signed up for this app has caused my heat to come on more quickly than I anticipated.
I’m still not fully in heat, but I’m getting rather close.
I swallow hard, staring at the entrance of Ludwig’s.
I try to convince myself I’m ready to open this door and make my way inside, even though I’m nowhere close to being ready.
But the show must go on if I want a chance at my happily-ever-after.
This could be it.
If I can look past their horrible name, then maybe I can find some beautiful souls underneath it.
I take a fortifying breath as I ease the car door open, like any sudden movement might shatter my fraying nerves.
The night air slips around me first, cooling against my heated skin.
I swing my legs out due to the state of dress I’m in.
I move slowly like I’m afraid the entire world is watching me right now, and they’re going to grade me on my entrance.
I stand but keep one hand locked on the door handle.
My grip is tight enough that my knuckles ache, but I don’t really notice until I let go and feel the blood running back into my fingers.
Ludwig’s glitters in my peripheral vision, all polished glass and gold trim.
I can’t bring myself to look at it. Not again.
I grip the door handle again and close my eyes tightly.
My chest rises; I pull in a long, steady breath.
I try to gather all the scattered pieces of myself.
I’m having a hard time locating them. I’m scared.
Terrified. I’m not usually one to become afraid, but I am this time.
What if Select-A-Mate is wrong?
My scent perfumes the air, mixing with the faint scent of cooling asphalt under the night sky.
The familiar smell grounds me, and I focus on the sensation just enough to exhale without shaking.
For a moment, I stand there holding the door handle, eyes closed, steadying my nerves and centering myself before I even think about taking a step toward my potential future.
I have to.
This is the future I’ve worked so hard toward ever since I could remember.
When I was little, I would think about my future pack, wondering just how my life would look with them.
I often dreamed of them loving me without constraints and giving me a full life.
Many times, I wondered what my future children would look like.
If they would have my dark red hair and light eyes, or if they’d have their fathers’ features.
If I would have a girl, a boy, or even both.
Just thinking about all the possibilities made my childhood bearable.
That is... until my parents tried to decide my future. The moment I learned of their plan, I knew I couldn't stay and let them dictate my life. I wanted love and fulfillment with my scent match mates.
Yes, I know finding a scent match is extremely rare. But with the way life works, I hope fate will be on my side. Mating with a pack of my family’s choosing is not something I ever wanted to be forced to do. Yet that is exactly what would have happened had I stayed with my family.
I still have high hopes that the pack I’m meeting tonight is my scent match mates. I know it’s far-fetched with all things considered, but I need to have faith that Select-A-Mate knows what they’re doing and has matched me with a pack that I can spend the rest of my life with.
I don’t want to be an escort for the rest of my life. I don’t want to have to keep lying to those around me, pretending to be something I’m not. I want to be me. I want to be able to breathe easier, knowing that I don’t have that restriction on who I am as a person.
A sense of calm settles over me. I open my eyes, and as I do, it’s as if the world exhales right along with me.
Not going inside will leave me wondering forever if they could be mine, and the thought feels worse than any awkward moment or misstep that awaits on the other side of Ludwig’s doors.
At least if I go in there, I can say I tried.
I did my part. Deep down, beneath the nerves and fluttering in my stomach, I have this feeling about tonight.
It’s a warm, steady certainty that this may be the beginning of something that lasts a long time.
Releasing the door handle, my fingers uncurl slowly.
I draw in one deeper breath, filling my lungs and trying to steady my pulse.
It works just a little bit, not too much, but enough for me to center myself.
Then, I step away from my car and make my way toward Ludwig’s front doors.
Each football is deliberate; my dress brushes softly against my legs as I move.
The silkiness of the fabric wisps around my body as the bodice squeezes me into place.
The entrance glows under soft golden lamp posts. The ma?tre d’ stands poised behind a polished podium with an appointment book lying in front of him. I give a small, shaky smile as I approach.
“I’m meeting three individuals here tonight at eight,” I say, leaning in just a touch to whisper, “The reservation is under Diablos.”
A flicker of recognition crosses his face. He looks me over, a brief frown tightening his features before he quickly replaces it with a knowing smile. But it’s too late—I caught his initial reaction. He disapproves of me.
Well, it’s a good thing it doesn’t fucking matter if he approves or not. I’m not here to get his approval.
He gestures for me to follow him. “This way, ma’am.”
As we step inside, the restaurant opens like something from my dreams. High ceilings are draped with a massive crystal chandelier that scatters soft, warm light across the entire room.
Tables are dressed in crisp white cloths, each one set with gleaming silverware and delicate stemware that catches the glow.
Soft music, created by a five-person assembly, hums beneath the gentle murmur of conversation.
The air carries the faint, comforting aroma of fresh herbs, spices, and simmering sauces.
My stomach growls on cue. I was too nervous to eat before dinner, and now I’m feeling it.
As I walk deeper into the restaurant, the ma?tre d’ guides me between the tables, past flickering candles. The atmosphere wraps around me like a soft blanket. It’s elegant, inviting, and full of so much possibility.
At the very back of the room, a private booth awaits.
There is a wisp of a translucent curtain that’s pulled back just enough to reveal the table behind it.
It’s a soft gray and will give a sense of privacy for those at the table.
I’m glad they got a table in public, but also a table that can remain private.
It eases the tension a little inside me.
Seeing them, I nearly stumble. My jaw threatens to drop as I spot three men in crisp shirts, sitting with easy confidence. Their presence tightens my belly—not heat, exactly, but a breath-stealing recognition. They’re so striking it feels the world tilts for a moment.
A rush of euphoria, nervousness, and excitement floods inside me all at once. My pulse flutters. My breath catches. It feels like I’m standing at the edge of something huge, something I’ve been walking toward without fully realizing it.
One of the men has short, sandy-blond hair, cropped short, neat, and sharp.
It draws attention to the strong lines of his jaw.
Ink climbs up his neck. His ears are pierced and slightly stretched, adding that subtle hint of rebelliousness that seems to fit his persona perfectly.
My god, he’s striking, handsome in a way that’s bold rather than pretty.
There’s a magnetism about him that makes people look twice and sometimes a third time.
His shoulders are broad and muscular, stretching his dress shirt perfectly.
My eyes drift down to his hands resting on top of the table.
I see a peek of ink on his hands. I wonder if the rest of him is as inked as what I’m seeing now.
My eyes drift over to the man in the middle.
My mouth salivates at the sight of him. His black-brown hair is clean cut in a tapered fade, the top just long enough to show texture while the sides sharpen the angles of his face.
It gives him this hard, powerful look, like he’s a man who takes care of himself and knows exactly what he does to the ladies.
His physique is thick and muscular. Not gym strong, but functional.
Broad shoulders, heavy arms, and a chest that strains his shirt beautifully.
His chocolate brown eyes snap toward me, causing everything else to fall away.
From here, I can see his nostrils flare as he inhales, and then his eyes narrow sexily as they roam over my entire body. My body heats under his perusal.
Reluctantly, I pull my gaze from his and look at the third man sitting at the table.
I actually do stop walking when his eyes meet mine.
His chestnut brown hair is a little longer on top, just enough to fall forward when he tilts his head.
The sides fade neatly down to the skin, giving him that put-together, effortless look.
He looks relaxed, effortless there. His build is lean rather than bulky, the kind of muscle that comes from movement, not posing.
His shirt doesn’t cling to him like a second skin, but I can tell, beneath it, that he’s a toned man who enjoys his body.
His eyes are a pale greenish-blue, the kind that shifts with the light.
Remembering myself, I start walking once more, coming to a stop right beside the table. The moment I do, their scents hit me all at once, blending perfectly with one another.
But it’s one scent that stands out above the rest.
“Cinnamon candy,” I barely withstand moaning in excitement. My eyes drift between all of them, then finally settle on the man with the tattoos. “It’s you.” I giggle, absolutely thrilled. “I found you.”
“Excuse me?” His voice is as deep as his amazing caramel-colored eyes. They’re so light they almost don’t appear to be brown at all. They’re more of a golden color that makes me think of gold.
“Luscious,” I say, giddy. “It’s you.”
“It’s ... me?” he replies in confusion and then glances around the table at the other men.
The moment he takes a full breath, he stops short. His eyes zero in on me, nostrils flaring gorgeously. He looks like he’s barely able to stay in his seat, his hands clenching the side of the table so hard his knuckles turn white. “No ... it’s ... you.”