The Fake Mate

it takes me a moment upon waking to remember where I am.

The sheets are brighter than mine—soft, lavender linens beneath a plush, plum comforter. I don’t immediately open my eyes; the events of last night and every moment of what Mackenzie and I have done plays in full HD behind my eyelids, and every worry and cause for hesitation that I’d thrown out the window when she’d kissed me comes rushing back with the clarity that morning brings. Despite the admittedly incredible night I had, I can’t help but worry about how complicated things will be now.

I open my eyes slowly, warily, reaching to my left until my hands meet cold sheets. I blink up at the ceiling in surprise for a moment before lifting my head to find the bed empty. I sit up slowly to glance around Mackenzie’s tiny studio, seeing no trace of her in the living room or the kitchen and realizing I’m alone.

What the hell?

Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, my feet hit the wood floor briefly as I bend to snatch up my pants and fish out my forgotten phone from the pocket. I still have an hour until my shift starts, which is plenty of time, really, but it’s unlike me to sleep in this much. Honestly, I can’t think of a single time in my life when I slept as well as I did last night, and I can’t pretend that my restful night isn’t one hundred percent because of the brazen omega whose mouth I can still taste and whose body I can almost feel still pressed against me.

My entire adult life I have given little thought to the more explicit bits of my biological makeup—I mean, it’s hard to miss the idea of knotting when it can only be done with some near-mythical counterpart. One I have near zero chances of meeting, anyway. I assumed it was all just some hormonal nonsense that was made to sound much better than it actually was, probably.

That is . . . until Mackenzie Carter fell into my lap. Literally. Fuck. I can still feel her when I close my eyes, still hear the soft sounds she’d made when I’d buried myself inside her. I can honestly say that there is nothing in my life that can compare to it.

And I think it’s exactly that fact that has me so concerned.

There’s no chance that we can carry on our simple agreement after a night like that. It seems impossible to me that we could spend time together ever again without feeling some urge to succumb to our baser selves now that we’ve both had a taste for it, and won’t that make everything we’re trying to accomplish that much harder? I can barely even think right now without flashes of a soft, naked Mackenzie panting beneath me, her scent haunting me even now.

Surely she must be in a similar predicament. That has to be why she’s made herself scarce before I could even wake up. She must be out of her mind worrying that I’ll get caught up in some primal alpha ridiculousness, that I’ll start stalking her in hallways asking her to take my last name or something. Christ. She’s probably going to call the whole thing off. She’s going to delete my number and pretend we never met. She’s going to—

“Morning,” the omega in question calls brightly from the other side of her bedroom, stepping out of a door I hadn’t noticed before with a towel wrapped around her hair. “Thought you were going to sleep all day. I was wondering how many heart attacks you would cause and then have to fix when you showed up late for the first time ever.”

“I—” I can feel my mouth opening and closing like a goldfish. “Morning.” I’m distracted all over again by the sight of her in nothing but a bra and her scrub pants, her skin pink and fresh from a shower and her smile bright as she closes the distance from what I assume is her bathroom to plop down on the other side of the bed. “Did you . . . sleep okay?”

“Like a log,” she laughs. “You’re kind of cushiony under all the muscle. What about you? I was surprised you’re not a snorer. I had you pegged as one.”

I can feel myself gaping a little still, her completely normal attitude taking me by surprise. Hadn’t I been worried about everything going to shit only a minute ago? But here she is, acting like nothing even happened.

“I slept fine,” I tell her, watching her as she casually undoes the towel from her head and begins to comb through the wet strands that fall tantalizingly over her breasts, which I can almost still feel against my hands and tongue. “Very good, actually.”

“Told you so.” She stops what she’s doing to crawl over the bed, pushing up to press her mouth to mine. “Sex addenda are great.”

I don’t know what surprises me more, her casual demeanor, or the way that I melt into her kiss even after all my worrying only moments ago. Her fingers slide across my jaw to hold me close, a smile at her lips when she breaks away to linger near my mouth.

“Yes,” I murmur. “Great.”

She gives me another quick peck before pulling away entirely. “You’d better get in the shower. I think someone really will pass out from shock if you’re late.”

She saunters from the bed to grab her top from where it’s draped over a nearby chair by the window, pulling it on unceremoniously before giving me a wink.

“At least you won’t have to scent me anytime soon,” she teases.

I watch her disappear into the bathroom again before a hairdryer sounds only seconds later, feeling exponentially more confused than I had when I woke up. It seems that I had been worried for nothing.

And why is that even more concerning?

my confusion ends up coloring the rest of my day, as I find myself out of sorts from the moment Mackenzie and I part ways at her apartment. I’ve tried my best to go about business as usual, but besides the confounded state of my brain in regard to Mackenzie and what we did and what it means—there is also the all-too-vivid memory of the actual act that is doing its best to ensure I can’t focus today.

Because in every quiet moment there is the echo of Mackenzie’s gasps, her soft moans, and in each instance that I find myself alone there is the expression on her face when I pushed inside her waiting to throw off my day, the way she’d felt around me threatening to make me hard all over again in the most inappropriate of circumstances.

It’s almost unfair, how easy she seems to be handling it. Especially since it was me who’d made such a fuss about complicating things to begin with.

I’m packing these tangled thoughts away for what must be the dozenth time since I got into work this morning, forcing myself not to scan the halls again for a familiar figure, knowing that she has no reason to visit this floor in the first place.

I focus instead on my clipboard, which contains the chart of the pre-op consult I’m going to meet, frowning when I notice it’s one of Dennis’s patients. I’m not exactly pleased to have another reason for him to come visit my office. Still. I guess that’s just the job.

The door is already ajar when I locate the correct room number, and I give it a light knock before stepping inside and pasting on my best attempt at a smile.

“Hi. Mrs. Pereira?”

The small woman gives me a nervous smile, peeking at me from over the red frames of her glasses. “That’s me.”

“Perfect.” I tuck the chart under my arm and extend a hand to shake hers. “So, we have some blockage going on, is that right?”

She nods, pulling her shawl tighter as her lips purse. “That’s what they tell me.”

I pull the clipboard back out, flipping through her notes. “It says your EKG came back abnormal.” I go for reassurance. “Nothing too out of the ordinary. I can definitely get you fixed up.”

She adjusts her glasses, looking me up and down. “You don’t look any older than my son.”

“Ah.” My smile is tighter now. This part I’m used to, mostly. “I get that a lot. I promise, I’ve done this a thousand times. You have nothing to worry about.”

“What exactly are we looking to do here?”

“Well,” I start, “we’re going to take you to do a heart cath and inject a dye to take a look at what’s going on. Almost like an X-ray, but for your vessels. It will give me a better idea of the severity of the blockage so I can assess if we need to place some stents to help with the blood flow to your heart.”

“I’ll be knocked out for this, won’t I?”

“Of course,” I assure her. “You won’t feel a thing. If the blockage is severe enough, we’ll place stents to open the vessels back up so we can flush it out and get the blood flowing normally again. Just think of it like a mechanic doing an oil change.”

She laughs at that. “That sounds a little less nerve-racking.”

“You’re going to be fine,” I promise. “You’re in good hands.”

“That’s what they tell me,” she says again.

I check her notes again. “So, if you have any questions, I’d be happy to answer them. For today, I’m going to send you to the lab first for some blood tests, and pending those we’ll schedule an angiogram—that’s a scan that’s going to give us a better look at the blockage—and then when that’s all done we can go ahead and schedule your—”

I hear a light knock behind me, interrupting my spiel, and I try not to show my irritation when I turn to see who’s decided to barge in.

Dennis’s gray hair appears around the doorframe, his sanguine smile only worsening my impatience.

“Hey, there, Mrs. P,” he calls sweetly as he steps into the room. “I happened to be passing by and thought I’d check on you.”

Mrs. Pereira looks brighter than she did a moment ago. “Dr. Martin! It’s good to see you.”

“I hope Dr. Taylor is treating you well,” Dennis says with a teasing edge to his voice that grates my nerves. “He can be a bit of a grouch sometimes.”

“Oh no, no,” she laughs. “He’s treating me just fine.”

“We were just discussing scheduling, Dr. Martin,” I tell him flatly. “So . . .”

“Always straight to business, this one,” Dennis laughs, clapping me on the shoulder. For some reason I feel like breaking his hand. “He doesn’t like to chitchat like us old folks.”

“I couldn’t believe how young he is,” Mrs. Pereira admits. “When you told me I’d be seeing the head of the department, I imagined someone our age!”

“Well.” Dennis shrugs, shoving his hands in the pockets of his white coat. “We try not to hold his years against him. He does just fine for a young pup.”

I have to grind my teeth to keep from saying something I’ll regret. Our mutual patient might not realize Dennis is being condescending, but I sure as hell do. It’s something I’m more than used to—but for some reason, I’m finding it a lot harder to let it roll off my back today.

“Dr. Martin,” I say tightly, gesturing toward the door. “I actually had a question for you, do you mind?”

“Of course, of course,” Dennis says with that same infuriating grin. “It was good to see you, Mrs. Pereira. Don’t let Dr. Taylor here give you a hard time.”

Mrs. Pereira laughs. “He’ll do all right.”

I’m already stepping into the hall to leave them behind me, feeling my blood pulsing in my ears. I clench my fists at my sides while I wait for Dennis to join me, making sure he’s closed the door behind him before I address him.

Dennis looks innocent when he steps outside, leaning against the wall by the door. “What’s up, Noah?”

“What the hell are you trying to pull in there?”

He cocks his head, feigning confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t give me that shit,” I huff. “Some people might not be able to see through your slimy condescension, but I do.”

“Wow. Someone’s in a mood today.” He looks at me like I’m being ridiculous. “I was just saying hi to a patient. No need to get all worked up.”

“Just keep your fake nice to yourself,” I warn him. “I’ve had about as much as I can take.”

To my surprise, Dennis smiles. It’s almost . . . gleeful. Like I’ve just given him good news. It makes me absolutely livid.

“I guess this is that famous temper we hear about.” His smile widens, and he stuffs his hands back into his pockets, pushing off the wall as he looks me up and down. “Guess you really are an alpha after all, huh?”

He leaves me stunned and fuming, torn between wanting to throw a chair or a punch—I can’t decide. It takes me a good minute to collect myself, unable to really calm myself back down until his footsteps have faded away, and when I’m alone again I can’t help but wonder what the hell is wrong with me.

I don’t do this. I don’t let dumb fucks like Dennis get under my skin like this. And despite the stories about making nurses cry, I can’t remember a time when I’ve ever berated a coworker openly like I just did. It seems that with every passing day sans suppressants—I am becoming less and less like myself. It has me wondering if this charade I’m clinging to so tightly is worth the insanity it’s driving me to.

Guess you really are an alpha after all, huh?

I push Dennis’s snide voice from my mind, taking a deep breath to collect myself as I remember I still have a job to do. This mess is something I can handle later, I think.

Hopefully.

the encounter with Dennis follows me for the next few hours while I see two more consults, and even now at lunchtime, there’s a sense of unease on my skin that feels almost like an itch I can’t reach. Granted, Dennis and I have never been and most likely will never be anything remotely close to friends, but at least until today I’ve been able to successfully remain professional with him despite all his thinly veiled barbs. Everything about the confrontation has me slightly worried that at this rate, I am going to get myself fired for the exact sort of behavior I am trying to prove isn’t actually something to worry about.

I’m telling myself that it’s a perfectly normal thing, me going down to her floor. We’re supposed to be mates, after all, right? Surely it can only bolster our facade, me checking in on her. Not that any of these justifications offer any enlightenment as to what reason I will give Mackenzie in regard to me coming down to the ER floor—a place I’ve visited more in the last two weeks than I have in two months. I have no good reason to be here, but with each passing hour since this morning, I find myself plagued with an increasingly pressing urge just to see her. Something I’ve been trying to justify in my head as a polite check-in on her state of being after everything that happened last night.

I’ve noticed at least three nurses and two physicians turning their heads to watch me pass as I move through the hallways down here, each of them staring at the side of my head like I’m some sort of alien visitor they can’t make heads or tails of. It’s making me wonder if there was actually something to all that “Boogeyman of Denver General” ridiculousness everyone has been talking about.

I’ve been wandering around for five minutes after stepping off the elevator, but I finally hear a familiar laugh down the hall and around the corner, and just the sound of it has some tension in my shoulders unwinding, which I hadn’t even fully realized had been there until this very moment. I notice my step quickening as my body seems to attempt to close the space between us more quickly, as if my body has a mind of its own, and it is only seconds later that I see a soft, sandy ponytail tilted back with her laughter as she reaches to push at someone’s shoulder, almost like she’s just been told a joke.

I also notice that the shoulder is very male.

This does strange things to me as well, for entirely different reasons.

I stop walking almost twenty feet from her, watching her continue to chat with a good-looking shifter who is only a few inches shorter than I am. His scent makes my skin prickle, mostly because of its vicinity to Mackenzie, and his handsome face with its charming dimple only makes his smile seem all the more bright. But what’s worse is that even from here, I pick up on the soft way he’s looking at my mate.

My fake mate, I mentally correct.

The distinction does nothing for the sticky heat I feel suddenly dripping into my chest.

Mackenzie notices me after another second, her laughter dying as confusion bleeds into her features. “Noah?”

“I . . .” My eyes dart from the man next to her, who looks less happy than he did a second ago, back again to Mackenzie, who is still looking at me with an obvious curiosity as to what I’m doing down here. “I just came to see how your day was going.”

“My day,” she echoes in a faraway voice. I can almost feel myself melting into the floor, but she recovers quickly, flashing me a smile. “It’s been okay. Kind of a slow morning, actually. Haven’t seen a single broken bone.”

“That’s surprising,” I note. “Given that it’s ski season.”

“That’s what I said,” she laughs. She seems to remember there’s another person here then, giving the man beside her an apologetic look. “Sorry. Noah, this is Liam. He works with me in the ER.”

Liam offers me his hand, but I notice his smile doesn’t meet his eyes. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Dr. Taylor,” he says politely.

“Noah is fine,” I correct. His smile is starting to bother me, for reasons I can’t pin down. “Sorry. Mackenzie has never mentioned you.”

My tone must come off tighter than I intended, because Mackenzie’s nose wrinkles just as Liam’s expression falters slightly.

“I didn’t?” Mackenzie’s laugh is off, coming across slightly awkward. “My bad. We’re usually too busy talking about open chest cavities and what to have for dinner.”

“It’s no big deal,” Liam assures us. “Mackenzie is usually too busy to look up half the time. Never met a more focused physician.”

“She is amazing,” I say matter-of-factly, my eyes moving down her face as she blinks with surprise. “I’m lucky to have her.”

“Of course,” Liam laughs with only a slight hint of uneasiness. He reaches to gently squeeze Mackenzie’s shoulder, and that same sticky sensation threatens to fill up my entire chest. “I was just telling Mackenzie that I was going to throw the entire ER a pizza party if we can make it to the end of the week without setting another broken bone.”

“And I said that is absolutely not going to happen,” she laughs.

“It’s very doubtful,” I muse flatly. I notice his hand is still on her shoulder, and despite my best judgment my body seems to move on its own, pulling her against me gently so that I can hug her to my side, effectively ensuring Liam’s hand slips away from her. “I suppose that’s why it’s so fortunate that Mackenzie is so capable.”

There’s an awkward sort of silence then, and it isn’t until Liam clears his throat that I realize we’re just standing in a circle and that I haven’t given a good reason for being down here.

“Anyway,” I say in my best attempt at a casual tone, looking down at her. “I just finished with my appointments for the morning and wondered if you wanted to grab lunch.”

“Oh.” Her eyes widen a little, genuine surprise covering her face. “Oh! Well . . .” Her eyes flick to Liam for a moment before finding mine again apologetically. “I just thought you said that you’d . . . you know. That you’d be busy most of the day. So I told Parker I’d grab lunch with him.”

“Oh.” I nod more emphatically than necessary. “Of course. I probably should have texted first.”

“No, it’s fine!” She reaches to touch my arm, and even this gentle press of her fingers through my sleeve seems to ease the odd feeling inside. “You can totally come with us. If you want?”

“No, no,” I insist. “That’s okay. Honestly, now that I think about it, I need to sign off on some charts, anyway. I should probably get a jump on that. I’ll just . . . see you later.”

“Okay,” she says, still touching my arm. “I’ll see you at home?”

It’s a lie, and I know that, so why does it make me feel better that she’s said it?

I think it takes her by surprise, when I close the distance between us, and the closeness pulls her even further from Liam as I lean to pull her mouth to mine. I know it sure as hell takes me by surprise, given that I don’t think I even made a conscious decision to kiss her. It just sort of happens.

It’s quick, almost chaste, even, but still I linger a second longer than I need to, reveling in the tiny victory that is Mackenzie immediately yielding to my kiss. I hear Liam make an awkward sound under his breath beside us, and something in me half purrs with contentment at having made it fully known that Mackenzie is entirely off-limits.

Even in my head that sounds insane.

I pull away from her, doing my best to look like I’m not a mess of conflict and uncertainty, echoing: See you at home against her mouth before I step away from her and make for the opposite end of the hall. There’s nothing appropriate about what just occurred, and I know if I allow myself to dissect all that I just did, I will be even more concerned than I already am.

I don’t slow my pace until I’m safely back on my own floor and locked inside my office—sinking into my desk chair and sighing as I ponder the mess that the morning has been. Maybe I’m coming unraveled.

My phone vibrates in my pocket about the time I’m considering banging my head on the desk, and I fish it out quickly to notice Mackenzie’s name flashing across the screen.

MACKENZIE: Did something happen? You seemed kind of weird.

If she only knew the half of it.

ME: Just some shit with Dennis. Figured it would be good to be seen together.

MACKENZIE: Oh. Good call. Nice touch with the kiss. I think you gave Liam a heart attack. Everyone on my floor is pretty sure you’re a serial killer in your spare time.

I take a few seconds more than I need to as I contemplate how to answer that, chewing on the inside of my lip as I try to reason out myself why in the hell I kissed her. I heave out a sigh as I resignedly tap out a lie.

ME: Just playing the part.

I drop my phone on the desk without waiting for her reply, finally giving in to that urge to let my head hit the wood as I groan into it. Of all the tumultuous emotions I have experienced today, none of them can compare to the frightening realization that I might be in over my head here.

I really don’t think it’s a good idea, I’d told her. It could make things very complicated, I’d said. And I’d meant it, at the time. I truly had.

I just never imagined that it might potentially be me making things complicated.