The Fake Mate

the weekend ends up being a disastrous time at work, and after the night at the bar, I don’t see Noah for three days. I can’t pretend the space isn’t a little welcome after that awkward moment at the party.

I think I’d expected it to be less easy. Being on a date with Noah. A pretend date, I remind myself. I’ve had to remind myself of that a lot this weekend. Maybe it’s because I got so weird after my tipsy moment on the dance floor. It’s just that he really had smelled so good, and with the liquid courage that had been sloshing around in my belly, it was easier than it should have been to forget that it was all fake.

I blame my misstep on my lack of any good real dates lately. That had to be what it is. At least Noah had been gracious about it. Although . . . I can’t pretend some part of me hadn’t been a little miffed over him brushing it off. I blame that on hormones. Maybe if Gran wasn’t always trying to set me up with Mr. Hell No, I might have been able to find someone actually suitable to bring back to my place and bang all this confusion out of me.

Speaking of Gran.

I know it’s her before I even check the caller ID, rolling my eyes as I pull my phone out of my scrub pocket to answer it. This is the eighth phone call from her in three days, and every single one of them has amounted to the same thing, which is:

“So when are you bringing him for dinner?”

I close my eyes as I continue down the hall from the cafeteria, repressing the urge to sigh. “Noah’s schedule is crazier than mine, Gran. It’s not like either of us gets a lot of free nights.”

“Oh, surely you could sneak away for an evening to have dinner with your poor grandmother,” she pouts. “You haven’t been to see me in ages.”

The hallway is blessedly empty right now, and I’m grateful that no one is around to listen in. “I was just there last week.”

“And now you’re dating someone, and you didn’t even tell me.”

“I told you, it’s new. It isn’t my fault that—”

“Besides, it’s important for couples to make time for each other outside of work,” Gran stresses. “You can’t only see each other at the hospital. I know how you are.”

“We do make time outside of work,” I protest. “We went to a bar on Friday.”

“A bar,” Gran huffs. “You can’t have quality time at a bar.”

There is a spark of memory that involves Noah’s body pressed to mine while his scent made me dizzy—and I think to myself I could make a valid argument against that. I keep quiet since it would most likely just have her picking out flower arrangements and venues though. Also, it still makes me feel a little funny when I remember touching Noah as casually as I did.

“I just don’t have a lot of years left, you know?” She sighs. Dramatically, I might add. “I always hoped to see you settled and happy before I kick the bucket.”

“We both know you’re likely to outlive me.”

“Not if my granddaughter keeps breaking my heart.”

“Fine!” I shake my head, watching the floor numbers change from three to two and willing the elevator to move faster. “Okay. I’ll ask him when he’s free.”

“Oh, wonderful. I’ll make my pot roast. Or is chicken better? Maybe I could—”

“I don’t think it matters what you cook,” I assure her, tapping my foot. “You don’t have to do anything special.”

This is going to be a disaster. I had hoped to ease Noah into all that is Moira Carter, but it looks like that’s not an option, since she’s apparently going to hound me right up to the altar. I’m starting to wonder if this is better than all the blind dates.

I have an errant thought about model trains, and that quickly puts the matter to bed.

“Of course I do! This could be my future grandson-in-law—”

“Gran.”

“—and first impressions are incredibly important.”

I round a corner, hardly paying attention to where I’m going now. “I’m sure Noah is going to think you’re perfectly wonderful as long as you don’t insist on acting batshit craz—”

I forget what I was saying as a familiar body comes into view—and I’m thrown by the person standing in the hall outside the ER.

“Noah?”

He looks frazzled, his arms crossed and his mouth taut as he looks up at me from the floor, his brow furrowed.

I can hear Gran’s voice distantly, my body having a weird reaction to seeing him after so many days. It’s like I forgot how to move all of a sudden. Did he smell this nice three days ago, or is it only because it’s been so long since I’ve been this close to him that’s making his scent seem more delectable?

“I have to go, Gran,” I tell her absently. “Lots to do. I’ll let you know soon.”

I’m not even sure she hears me hang up, still muttering about a menu for a dinner that hasn’t been set in stone yet.

I’m still just standing there. “What are you doing down here?”

“I was . . .” He looks me up and down, his eyes darting toward the way I’ve just come. “Were you having lunch?”

“Yeah. Over in the cafeteria.”

“Oh.”

“Were you looking for me?”

“I . . .” He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, almost like he’s uncomfortable. “Yes. I probably should have texted first.”

“No, that’s okay. I mean, I would have saved you the trip if you had and come to you, but it’s totally fine.”

“Right.” He nods down at the floor, still frowning. “Good. Okay.”

The expression on his face is still one of almost worry, and I push away the distraction of his scent as I reach out to press my fingers to his arm in concern. “Are you okay?”

His eyebrow quirks as he looks back up at me. “Okay?”

“Yeah, I mean . . . You don’t usually come down to my floor. Plus, you look super stressed. Did something happen? Because I can—”

“No, Mackenzie,” he interjects. He scrubs a hand down his face, his eyes darting down the hall. “It isn’t anything that—”

“Shit.” I follow his gaze, noticing an RN who’s turning the corner while perusing a clipboard. “Right. We shouldn’t talk about it here.”

“Mackenzie, I don’t think—”

I’m already scoping the area for a place we can talk since, unfortunately, I am not yet high enough on the ladder to have my own office. “Let me just—” I spot a utility closet down the hall, grabbing his arm a little tighter and dragging him with me. “Come here.”

He’s still half protesting as I pull him the extra ten feet and shove him inside the cramped space, reaching to flick on the light and peeking back down the hall to make sure no one noticed us before I shut the door.

“Okay,” I say, turning to regard him. “My bad. You probably didn’t want to be overheard.”

“No . . . There’s nothing really to—Shit.” He blows out a breath, looking more stressed than he did even a minute ago. “I really should have texted you.”

“What’s wrong? Just tell me.”

“Nothing’s . . . wrong,” he manages, not really looking at me now. “I just . . .” He sighs, seeming almost embarrassed. “I just haven’t seen you in a few days.”

I tilt my head, not quite understanding. “Okay?”

“I just . . .” I swear, if this weren’t Noah Taylor I was talking to, I might think he was blushing. “I haven’t scented you in three days.” He says the words very quietly, like it’s difficult. “I was starting to worry people might notice.”

“Oh.”

At first, there’s a tiny part of me that preens at this information. Some faraway omega hormone that does a little somersault as it parades through my bloodstream. Then I remember what we are, and I feel silly.

“That makes sense,” I say almost too quickly. “I’m sorry. It’s been so busy. I didn’t even think about people getting suspicious.”

“Suspicious,” he echoes woodenly, eyes fixed on my face now. “Right. Don’t apologize. It’s been busy upstairs too.”

“Still.” I shuffle my feet, feeling odd about the whole thing. Which doesn’t make any sense. Surely I can’t be disappointed that he only came to find me to do some maintenance work on our charade. That’s the whole reason we’re even talking right now, after all. “Wow,” I laugh. “Probably weird that I pulled you into the closet then.”

“It’s fine,” he assures me. “I suppose . . .” He looks around at the cluttered shelves on either side of us. “I suppose this is as good a place as any.”

My heart rate picks up a couple more beats. Have I started anticipating this? That’s normal, right? Given the situation?

Fucking hormones.

“I haven’t been in a closet with a guy since freshman year of undergrad,” I say with a nervous chuckle.

I notice a slight flare to Noah’s nostrils, a flash of hardness in his eyes, but it’s gone as quickly as it comes. “I’ll be quick,” he tells me quietly.

“Okay,” I half whisper back.

I’ve begun to get used to this part, in the sense that I never really get used to it at all—holding my breath as Noah closes the distance between us until my back is pressed against the closet door. His hand comes to rest somewhere near my head, like he’s steadying himself, and then the other settles at my hip to do the same thing, I suppose. I’ve closed my eyes at this point, so I can’t be sure.

“You don’t smell like me at all,” he says with a quiet inhale, his tone almost annoyed.

Is he worrying about what people might say had he not come when he had?

“Sorry,” I breathe again.

I hear another deep inhale. “Don’t be.”

I tense with anticipation as I feel his skin slide against mine, that first press of his cheek somewhere under my jaw making me shiver. It’s hard to explain what it feels like when he does this—it’s like being touched everywhere at once, when his scent blends with mine. There’s definitely a reason you normally do this with someone you’re actually sleeping with.

My fingers reaching out to grip the lapel of his white coat is an instinct; I don’t even realize I’ve done it until the fabric is wadded in my fist. I even tilt my head to allow him better access, sighing quietly when his throat glides against mine. My toes curl in my shoes, and I idly think to myself that these little episodes seem to get more and more dizzying the longer we keep them up.

I’m hardly breathing when he starts to pull away. There is even that same small part of me that is silently protesting, wanting me to pull him closer—but it isn’t until he turns his head ever so slightly, his lips barely brushing a sensitive place on my neck in what I think is an accident, that my knees buckle a little.

Noah catches me, his arms beneath mine to hold me upright, and when his eyes meet mine—there’s a wildness to them that feels unlike him.

“I’m sorry,” he manages raggedly. “I didn’t mean—” He swallows, drawing my eyes to the motion of his throat. It seems a little difficult for him. “I—”

I’m not sure what he’s trying to say, and I’m honestly not even sure if he knows. His eyes have drifted down to my mouth, staring at my lips like they’re a puzzle he’s trying to figure out. I can’t really make sense of what I’m feeling at this moment; do I want Noah to kiss me, or is that, too, the result of some ridiculous hormone-driven causation?

To be fair, his mouth does look . . . incredibly soft right now.

I think I’m about to do something very stupid, and I am pretty damned certain that Noah is about to let me, given the way he’s started to lean in a little, and the entire room smells like him, and it’s hard to think, and I just—

We jolt apart when the door suddenly opens behind us, and I can’t imagine what sort of sight we must make to the elderly janitor who frequents the halls here. The bright light of the fluorescents floods the closet as the door opens all the way, and both Noah and I seem to be struggling to come up with a good reason as to why we are shut away in a utility closet that probably smells like we were sucking face in it—if not worse.

“Kevin,” I sputter, doing my best to straighten my body even though my knees are a little shaky still. “This isn’t what it looks like.”

Kevin’s wrinkled cheeks dimple further with his sly smile, raising his hands and looking away. “I didn’t see nothing.”

“No, wait,” I try again. “We’re not—”

Kevin closes the door to leave us where he found us, and I feel my cheeks heat with embarrassment like I’m some horny teenager who’s just been caught at school. I groan as I lean back against one of the shelves, throwing an arm over my face.

“It had to be Kevin,” I huff. “He’s a gossipy old bastard.”

Noah still looks stunned when I sneak a peek at him, his mouth parted in shock as he struggles to make words. “I’m so sorry,” he tries. “I never meant—”

I wave him off. “It’s fine, it’s fine.” I ignore the way my heart is still racing. “I mean, rumors only strengthen our story, I guess.”

Noah is quiet for a second, blinking at me like he’s still processing.

“Right,” he finally agrees. “Sure.”

“I’ll bring him doughnuts tomorrow,” I say with a sigh. “That should buy a little of his discretion.”

“Okay,” Noah says in that same wooden tone.

He looks concerned. Is he thinking about how we almost overstepped just now? Is he regretting it?

Hell. Am I?

I try to laugh it off. “This whole scent thing is a real doozy, isn’t it?”

“Increasingly so,” he says matter-of-factly, still staring at me a little too intensely for comfort.

“At least I smell like you again,” I offer.

He surprises me when he steps closer, my body stiffening as he leans in to inhale against my throat. “Yes,” he murmurs. “You do now.”

“You’d better—” I swallow thickly, my throat feeling suddenly dry. “You’d better go out first,” I tell him. “Make sure the coast is clear.”

“Okay,” he answers softly. “I’ll see you later?”

I nod, my lips pressed together as I resist the urge to breathe him in again for fear of what it might do to me. “Yeah. I’ll see you.”

I don’t move as he carefully leaves me alone in the closet, never daring to take a breath until I hear the door quietly latch behind him. The thick aroma of his scent clings to the air, and even a full minute after he’s gone, it still makes my knees do the cursed wobbly thing.

It takes me at least three minutes to collect myself and leave the closet, and five more for me to remember that I didn’t even ask him about dinner with Gran. However, it only takes me one to decide that I will absolutely not be going to find him again. That feels dangerous to my health right now.

I’ll settle for texting him later.

getting through the rest of my shift proves difficult. Not only because I had to pop an elderly woman’s hip back in place after she tripped over her cat (I have never heard a woman curse a feline as much as I did this afternoon), but also because ever since Noah and I left that closet—I can’t seem to calm down. My skin is perpetually tingly, and my head feels almost cloudy, like it would rather be somewhere else. It’s made it incredibly hard to stay focused. By the last hour of my shift, while I’m carefully tying sutures for the sleeping man who apparently faints at the sight of blood, it is made painfully aware to me that my erratic behavior this afternoon hasn’t gone unnoticed.

Liam has been staring at me for the last fifteen minutes while he has assisted me; Liam Avery is something of a friend to me in the ER—having been a big help during my first few months here. I’d been a mess of nerves, having been right out of my residency and in a new place, and he’d always been there to help me get the swing of things. We’ve always sort of clicked since then. It helps that he’s one of the most competent RNs I work with.

“You seem weird,” he says finally as he hands me a bit of gauze.

I try to look aloof, but even the feel of the expression on my face feels pained. “I do?”

“Yeah.” He adjusts the overhead light so I can see better. “Ever since you came back from lunch.”

“Probably just ate something weird,” I mutter as I avert my eyes. “Felt a little off.”

“Oh.”

He’s quiet for a moment, and when I peek back up at him, I notice his dark brow is wrinkled in thought, like he’s wrestling with something.

I tie off the suture, sighing. “Just spit it out, Li. I can tell you want to say something.”

“It’s just . . .” He looks sheepish now, running a hand through his dark blond hair. “You came back smelling like Noah.”

This takes me by surprise. “What?”

“I mean, I assume that’s who it is. I don’t actually see Noah enough to know for sure—but it’s definitely strong enough to be an alpha.”

“Oh, I—” It hadn’t even occurred to me how others might be affected by my and Noah’s increasingly frequent nuzzlefests. Is it that strong for all the other shifters too? “Yeah, I saw him before I came back from lunch.”

“I just worried maybe you had a fight.”

I wrinkle my nose. “Why would you think that?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugs aimlessly. “I mean, we’ve all heard the stories about Dr. Taylor. It was kind of a shock to find out you two were, you know . . . mated.”

I can’t pinpoint why, but the obvious incredulity on Liam’s face pricks something inside me. It’s not full-on annoyance, but it’s something incredibly close to it. “We didn’t fight,” I say tersely. “Pretty much the opposite of that, actually.”

I notice Liam’s eyebrows shoot up. “Oh. Shit. I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to be a dick. I just . . .” He scratches at the back of his neck. “It’s still weird. Getting used to it.”

I guess that’s fair. As far as my friends here are concerned, the story is that I lied to them for a year. I guess it’s reasonable to think they would be having a hard time coming to terms with that. Although, Priya hasn’t been too weird about it. Then again, I do talk to Liam nearly every day, so maybe that’s why he’s seemed off this week. Maybe he’s feeling awkward that I kept it from him for so long.

“Yeah, about that . . .” I stop what I’m doing, crossing my arms. “I’m sorry I never said anything. I know it’s gotta be super weird finding out like everyone did.”

“I get it,” he offers. “I guess it’s just . . . It’s hard to picture you with Noah.”

I cock my head. “It is?”

“He’s just so . . . serious.”

Noah’s barely-there smile and his quiet laugh crop up then, and despite everything, I find my lips curling slightly. “He’s actually not as serious as he likes to pretend. People just aren’t his forte.”

“So, you’re, like, really mated?”

I laugh at that. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know.” He throws up his hands. “Jessica from Radiology was telling us in the break room the other day that you might be in some sort of hostage situation.”

Fucking Jessica.

I roll my eyes. “I am not in a hostage situation. It’s all perfectly consensual, I promise.”

I can’t be sure, but something about the expression on Liam’s face looks almost wistful. Is he truly that worried about me?

“I promise,” I add, wanting to assure him. “I’m really okay. Great, even. Living the dream, and all that, you know.”

“Right,” he says with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Well, I’m glad to hear that, at least.”

“Seriously, don’t worry about me,” I say, playfully shoving his arm. “I can take care of myself.”

“Yeah.” He nods at me, looking a little more himself now. “Yeah, you’re right. Sorry. Just worried, you know.”

“It’s fine.” I wave him off, wiping the lingering bit of blood from my now-neat line of stitches. “You can pay me back by taking Mrs. Kowalski’s vitals. She’s in room 408.”

He groans. “She’s not here again.”

“Absolutely again,” I laugh. “She has a ‘cough’ she’s worried about.”

“We need to prescribe that woman a friend so she can treat her hypochondria.”

“You know,” I say seriously, “I think she keeps coming back because she likes you.”

“You might be evil incarnate,” he huffs.

I make a fist save for my pinkie, bringing the fingernail there to the corner of my mouth and arching my brow. “Dr. Evil.”

“Nerd,” Liam chuffs. “Fine, fine. I’ll take care of it.”

My smile falters as he gathers up the used gauze to throw away on his way out, chewing at the inside of my lip as I consider the conversation we just had. I surreptitiously press my nose to my shoulder, and sure enough, there is a wave of Noah mixed up with me that washes over my senses, making me dizzy all over again.

“Hey, Li,” I call after him.

He turns, eyeing me curiously. “Yeah?”

“Is it really that noticeable? That I was with Noah?”

He frowns. “Pretty sure any shifter would be able to smell you from a mile away.”

I’m still thinking about it long after he’s left me; I was obviously aware that it would be noticeable, what we’ve been doing—I mean, that’s the whole point, after all—I just don’t think I had actually given it proper thought before now. I feel my cheeks heat as it occurs to me that everyone I work with has probably been discussing my supposed sex life with Noah Taylor, and I honestly can’t decide what is making me blush harder: the idea of people discussing it or just the actual idea of it.

This train of thought can’t be good for my health; just the brief fantasy of what Noah might sound like in my bed has me feeling too warm—and I actually reach to give both my cheeks a light slap to snap myself out of it. That’s definitely a dangerous line of thought. One to be tucked away, I think. I sigh as I get back to work, willing my thoughts to stay in relatively safe territory.

I’m still completely aware I have to ask Noah to dinner. Dinner with my gran. Dinner with my gran who will be smelling Noah all over me and most likely coming to the same conclusions as all my coworkers. Conclusions that involve me spending a considerable amount of time underneath the big, hunky alpha who is probably the hottest person I’ve ever dated—fake or no.

Fuck.