I took a screenshot of the part where Dax said, “I’m not into her,” and texted it to myself, so I wouldn’t get lost in the moment or pack shit and forget.
I’d wanted a mate for the fire. The passion. The dedication.
Having a soulmate who hadn’t wanted me until his wolf picked me was… well, not fiery or passionate in the slightest.
Honestly, it was a bit sad.
I knew I wasn’t the most gorgeous woman in town—the place was full of werewolves, and their genes made them fit and sexy and shit. On top of that, I hated exercising, and ate whatever the hell I wanted. My love handles were poppin’, my belly was squishy, and my thighs pressed together even when I wasn’t sitting.
Besides that shit, I wore glasses and put my hair up in a ponytail or bun most of the time so I didn’t have to deal with the waves. Trying to wave the straight pieces or straighten the wavy pieces was hell.
So… I was a nerd.
An ugly nerd, according to some of the werewolves. A hot nerd, according to others.
Logically I knew I probably fell right smack in the middle of the “average” portion of the scale, as far as looks went. But all the insults I’d read about myself had me feeling like an actual pile of shit.
After deleting the screenshot from Dax’s phone, I deleted the message he’d sent me with it too, wiping the trail of my insult-finding.