The Fake Mate

“why don’t you explain this to me like I’m five,” Parker says, dumbfounded.

I pause from unwrapping my candy bar, unsure of how I can elaborate any more than I already have. “What part aren’t you getting?”

My best friend of sixteen years sits in his little cubicle in the IT room down in the basement level, looking at me as if I’m barking at him rather than speaking. It’s actually funny, since he’s seen me shift dozens of times over the course of our friendship. Not that Parker is laughing. In fact, his usual pale cheeks are colored with a tinge of scarlet that I’m well aware comes from anxiety. It makes his freckles stand out more, which I am also well aware annoys him.

“I don’t know,” he says exasperatedly, running his fingers through his bright red hair. “Maybe the part where you told the hospital board that Noah fucking Taylor is your secret mate?”

Ah, right. That part.

I mean, to be fair, I’m still having a hard time believing I actually went through with it. When Noah explained his predicament to me, it sounded like the plot of a K-drama or something. I’m pretty sure I read this entire scenario in a synopsis while scrolling through Netflix a few weeks ago. If I weren’t almost one hundred percent sure that Noah has never told a joke in his entire life, I might have even bet that the entire thing was a prank. And yet, here I am, unwrapping a Twix while perched on Parker’s desk, having gained myself one very surly mate, at least as far as the hospital administration is concerned.

“Keep your voice down,” I hiss. “Someone could walk by.”

“Oh, and then I’d be an accomplice, would I?”

I roll my eyes. “Don’t be so dramatic.”

“How exactly did you manage to convince the board that this whole thing isn’t total bullshit? Which it is, by the way. You know that, right?”

I’m still having trouble with that part myself. I was only about thirty percent confident that Noah would be able to pull this little stunt off, half agreeing just so I could get a good seat for the show . . . but damn. The guy knows how to command a room. Must be an alpha thing.

I pull one of the chocolate bars from the wrapper, shrugging. “Turns out, when Noah talks, people listen. Who knew.”

“Are we playing some sort of game I’m unaware of where you give me as little details as humanly possible until I spontaneously combust?”

I reach out and boop his nose. “Are you pouting? You’re so cute when you’re flustered.”

“I’m gonna need more details, Mack. You’re killing me.”

I wave him off. “He had this whole spiel about how we’d been keeping our relationship a secret so I could bolster my reputation based on my own merit or something. Honestly, it was pretty convincing. He even had them apologizing for invading our privacy by the end of it. It was honestly amazing.”

“And they actually bought that?”

Another shrug. “I guess so, since we signed a disclosure.”

“Jesus, Mack. Have you even thought about what your—can you please stop?”

I pull the candy bar from my mouth. “What?”

“Stop scraping the toppings off with your teeth.” He grimaces. “It’s disgusting.”

“But the cookie is my favorite part. You know that.”

“It doesn’t make it any more of a pretty process to watch. Plus, I don’t want your icky chocolate fingers all over my desk.”

“Did you just say ‘icky’?”

“I swear to all that’s holy, I will boot you out of my cube.”

“Yeah, yeah.” I return to what I was doing. “They should sell the cookies by themselves then.”

“Whatever. What about Moira? You think your gran is going to buy that you’re suddenly mated?”

“Just dating,” I clarify.

“What?”

“We’re mated here, but dating with Gran.”

It’s a subtle distinction, but an important one.

Parker snorts. “Oh, so now you’ve got multifaceted deceptions going on? Whipping ourselves up a tomfoolery tiramisu, are we?”

“You’re ridiculous. It’s going to be fine,” I assure him. “Just think. A nice long stretch of not having to pretend to give a damn about some guy’s fantasy football league.”

“I would say that’s a victory—except now you have to spend time with Noah fucking Taylor.”

“I don’t think that’s his actual middle name.”

“Are you sure?” Parker throws up his hands. “How would you know? You lumped yourself in with his little conspiracy plot without knowing a thing about him!”

“I didn’t have a lot of options.”

“Why didn’t you ask me?”

“Because we’ve been friends since middle school?”

“Haven’t you ever read friends to lovers?”

“Have you read friends to lovers?”

“I am not going to justify my literature choices to you.”

“Literotica, you mean.”

“It’s romance, you jock. It’s nice.”

“Why are you reading romance? Things with Hot Yoga Guy not working out?”

“Hot Yoga Guy is just fine, thank you very much. We’re having dinner this weekend.”

“Mm. I wonder what he looks like out of spandex.”

Parker huffs. “Stop changing the subject.”

“Technically, it’s very relevant to the subject. I don’t think Gran would suddenly believe you’re into women. I mean, she did catch you making out with Trey at prom.”

He looks offended that I would bring it up. “I still can’t believe you let her chaperone.”

“I didn’t exactly have a lot of say in the matter.”

“Ugh.” He rubs at his temples. “This is making my brain hurt. You know this ends badly, right? There’s no way this ends pretty.”

I lick away the caramel from my teeth as I study the bare cookie that’s left, considering. He’s probably right, honestly. I have no idea how we’re going to pull off this charade in the long run, but it also feels like Noah has a lot more to lose than I do, so maybe that’s why I’m feeling so calm about the entire thing.

“I’m thinking of it like kismet.”

Parker slinks down in his office chair, running his hands over his face. “Have you even thought about how difficult this is going to be? I mean, he’s not your average shifter. He’s an alpha, Mackenzie. Have you not heard the stories? Plus, you’re an omega! What if he tries to lay some wolfy claim on you?”

“Oh jeez,” I snort. “Hardly. I’ve worked with him for a year, and he hasn’t fallen in weird, cosmic love with me yet. We’re fine.”

“But he’s been on suppressants, right? I know I’m just a regular ole human, but I would think that would make a difference. Plus, it’s not like you’ve been hanging out with the guy on a regular basis. I don’t think passing each other in the hall counts as interaction. Does he even know what you are?”

“Huh,” I say bemusedly. “You know, I didn’t even mention it. I completely forgot. I don’t think it matters. I think the whole alpha/omega thing is just some old wives’ tale. It’s not like there’s many of us around to be making accurate assumptions of how we affect each other. It’s fine.”

“So, are you going to tell him?”

I tilt my head back and forth, considering. While I’m pretty sure that the chances of Noah suddenly wanting to sink his teeth into my mating gland if I tell him what I am are slim—I suppose there is always a possibility. Still. I can always just cut ties if that happens. Getting an actual mate is not something on my to-do list. Maybe not ever, really.

I wave Parker off. “And risk him going all Jacob Black on me?”

“What?”

“When you see her, suddenly it’s not the earth holding you here anymore. She does.”

“Is this a Twilight reference?”

“Eclipse, actually, and don’t look so judgy. I’m not going to justify my obsession with the series to you again.”

“Jesus.” He rubs his eyes. “And if you . . . you know.”

I arch an eyebrow. “Know what?”

“You know,” he stresses, looking uncomfortable. “What if you go into—Well, you know.”

I might laugh at him if I weren’t one hundred percent sure it would make him more annoyed. “Are you asking me about my heat cycle?”

“Have you even considered it?”

“Of course I have.” Sort of. Briefly. For like a second. “I’m not due for another one for months. So no worries there. Relax, Parker. No one is carrying me back to their den anytime soon.”

“I just know that’s how your mom and dad ended up—”

I cut him a look. “Don’t.”

“Sorry.” He winces. “I know you don’t like talking about them. But that is what happened.”

“I’m not them,” I mumble. “I’m not falling in love with Noah at first sight and begging him to actually mate me the first time my hormones go out of whack.”

“Fine,” Parker concedes with a sigh. “So this is really about your gran’s little black book of horrors?”

“Model trains, Parker,” I stress. “Do you know who owned the first model train set?”

Parker lifts one eyebrow. “No?”

“Well, that makes one of us. One of Napoleon’s great-nephews, apparently.”

“Do you think it was because he was short too?”

I snap my fingers. “That’s what I said! It went over well with my date.”

“I’m sure.” Parker gives me a look, the same one he is always giving me when he wants to tell me I’m being stupid. “So why did you agree to this?”

“I told you. I’m tired of Gran always—”

“Try again.”

I narrow my eyes, taking a bite of my naked Twix cookie (it really is the best part, and it is my life’s mission to find this cookie out in the wild with no toppings) and chewing it slowly. “I don’t know,” I admit finally. “I did sort of step in this myself. After all, I’m the one who approached him first, remember? The whole scenting bit sounds like a necessary evil too. I mean, apparently, one little cuddle with Noah, and all the other shifters will steer clear!”

Parker rolls his eyes. “Because that’s not going to be awkward.”

“Whatever. It’s no big deal. And I don’t know. If I’m being completely honest? The guy seemed pretty desperate. He might be an asshole, but he’s a good doctor. It’s bullshit that they would try to take his job when he’s never given them a real reason to.”

“Aren’t we the white knight? Since when do we care about helping out Noah Taylor? He’s not just an asshole, Mack. He might be a demon. Did you hear about the time he tripped that CNA and broke her nose?”

“I haven’t actually heard that version, but I’m told that the whole thing was ‘grossly overexaggerated.’ ”

“That’s what he wants us to think,” Parker mutters.

“It’s going to be fine.” I take another bite, nodding to the air. “Totally fine.”

Parker scoffs. “I’ll take Famous Last Words for two hundred, Alex.”

I lick my fingers, still nodding idly as I begin to pick at the second candy bar, assuring myself that this will be fine. I mean, it’s just a few lies and a fake relationship. Nothing bad ever came from that.

another thing that I can count on one hand is the number of times I have naturally run into Noah Taylor at work—this afternoon’s meeting of our new supersecret power-couple duo included—so I am surprised to see him twice in a day, especially at the end of a twelve-hour shift when people are beginning to get out for the morning. He looks surprised, pausing from blowing warmth into his hands under the awning as I step through the automatic glass doors while still shrugging into my coat. The wind ruffles his dark hair so that it whips around his face, and the lamplight casting down on him from the doors makes his eyes seem darker than they are as they regard me. I notice again how big Noah is. Has he always been this tall? Have I simply not noticed because I always avert my eyes when I pass him in the hall? He has to be at least eight inches taller than me, and I’m not exactly short at five foot seven.

“Dr. Carter?”

I stop gawking at him, my mouth quirking. “Is that any way to address your mate?”

“Oh.” He makes a face. “Right. Good call . . . Mackenzie.”

I laugh as I start to wind my scarf around my neck. “You’re going to have a real tough time with this, aren’t you?”

“I am admittedly not used to having to be so . . . aware of another person.”

“Wow.” I know he isn’t trying to be funny, the concept of all this is surely alien to him, but damn if he isn’t striking me as amusing with how utterly sincere he seems to be. “This is going to be a disaster.”

“It’ll be fine,” he says stoically. “Although, we should set a meeting soon. If we’re going to pull this off, we’re going to have to learn to be more familiar with each other.”

I pretend to be aghast. “You could at least buy me dinner first before you jump right into: learning to be familiar with each other.”

Noah sighs, his breath coming out in a cloud in the cold September air as he shakes his head, looking exhausted. “I am happy that you are finding this so amusing, but right now I need a shower and a bed, and then I need to forget this day. We can regroup tomorrow. I can make lunch reservations, if you’re free?”

“Let me think.” I pinch the bridge of my nose, mentally going over my schedule. “I have work through Friday. What about Saturday? I have yoga at eleven, but we can catch a late lunch?”

“Yoga?”

“Yes. It’s a great stress reliever. Maybe you should try it sometime. I hear it’s hard to perform open-heart surgery on yourself.”

“I’ll pass,” he answers. “Saturday is fine. I have surgery that afternoon, but it isn’t until four, so I’m free before that.” He checks his watch. “So, I suppose we should exchange numbers, and then we can . . . go from there?”

“I do hear that the first test you have to pass is ‘What number would you call in a crisis?’ on The Newlywed Game.”

I didn’t intend to tease him this much, but he makes it so easy. He’s like a garden statue, only more . . . rigid. Taller too. “Anyway, here’s my number,” he tells me, fishing out his wallet to pull an actual business card from it. I would laugh if I weren’t so sure that Noah is most likely nearing a pulmonary embolism after the day he’s had, taking the card graciously to read the neat typeset there. “Cool,” I note. “Maybe I should get business cards.”

“I can recommend an excellent print shop, if you’re in the market.”

I don’t even have the heart to tell him I’m joking at this point. “Oh yeah. Sure. So, I guess . . . I’ll text you later?”

“Yes, we can check in after some sleep.” He lingers there for a moment, fidgeting as if he’s chewing on something he can’t quite get out—looking from me to the ground to me again with a pinched expression. “I suppose I should . . . thank you. For today. You saved me back there.”

“I take my Hippocratic oath very seriously,” I deadpan. “Saving lives, and all that.”

“Right.” His mouth does something strange, quirking a bit like it wants to smile but has forgotten how to. “Oh, and . . . I suppose I should . . .” He looks around at the nearly empty parking lot, his brow furrowing as he presses up on his toes to make sure there is no one around before he suddenly walks toward me, corralling me toward the large row of bushes that are planted on either side of the rear entrance. “I guess . . . I should . . .” His expression looks pained. “There’s no polite way to do this, so I’ll just . . . ?”

Now, I’m very tired—a twelve-hour shift will do that to you on its own even without all the plotting and the life-altering decisions—so maybe that’s why I am slow on the uptake to whatever Noah is having so much trouble with. His hands make my upper arms feel like little twigs when his thick fingers close around them, poking his head up once more to make sure no one is watching.

“Noah, what are you . . . ?”

I admit it has been . . . a while since I’ve been at all intimate in any form or fashion with a man—be they human or not—so I’m sure that’s another reason that contributes to my cluelessness when Noah begins to crowd me.

“Sorry,” he says quietly, still looking pained. “It won’t be very potent right now, not until I stop suppressants”—he already looks annoyed at the thought of having to stop taking them, but I assume the question will arise as to why he would still need them now that we’re public—“but for now, it will have to do.”

It dawns on me then, his intention, and I am suddenly a lot more awake than I was when I came outside. “Oh, you don’t have to—”

I don’t get to finish what I was saying, given that Noah is in total business mode right now, already leaning to pull me to his large frame for a very strange and awkward hug that crushes me to his front. I immediately notice that same sharp tang of his suppressants that clings to his clothes as it creeps into my nostrils, but underneath, from this close . . . I can just make out that faint scent of pine and fresh winter that is crisp and cool and actually pretty pleasant once you single it out. The whole thing throws me so off guard that I don’t even have time to react at first, the wool of Noah’s coat nearly cutting off my air supply as he hugs me like it’s the first time he’s ever done this to anyone. He could sever my spine like this, if he tried harder. I know we had talked about the benefits of his scent in regards to his end of the bargain, but I hadn’t expected him to be so “straight to business” about it. I guess that was my first mistake.

This is Noah Taylor, after all.

I know what scenting is, because I’m almost thirty and have had relationships that lasted more than a few months at a time, but it’s usually something I’ve experienced by accident during sex. Definitely not something I’ve purposely done in the bushes outside of my workplace. Besides the fact that we can literally turn into wolves outside of city limits (they passed that law in 1987 after some guy barreled through a storefront after getting too drunk), being a shifter means that our bodies work a little differently than your average human. Scents affect us, mark us, even drive us sometimes—and therefore they inadvertently take up a big role in our lives. Especially since a shifter has three times as many scent glands as a normal human, each one sensitive to the touch and the largest being right at the base of the throat, just waiting for some shifter partner to come along and meld his open scent with it. It’s practically like making out until you’re dizzy, and you smell like your boyfriend’s cologne, except the cologne doesn’t wash off for days at a time, depending on the potency.

“Noah,” I mumble into his clothes. “This isn’t—”

“Oh. Right. This won’t last long. Let me—”

I actually squeak when he curls his body against me so that he can press his neck to mine, feeling the chill of his bare skin as he nuzzles there gently, the prickle of his five-o’clock shadow, sharp and tingling on my skin as my body tenses in response. My lips part as my breath catches, my knees suddenly taking on the physical property of off-brand Jell-O as Noah stiffens. The gland at my neck feels warm when he touches me, a prickling heat there that creeps deeper inside until it spreads through my limbs. He makes some sound in his throat as if he’s trying to clear it but fails, his breath warm against my neck for one brief moment before he pulls away.

He looks confused, less awkward than before but no less out of sorts, frowning at me with his lips pressed together tightly. I watch his eyes dip from my face to my throat before finally capturing mine, his lips parting only to close as he finally remembers himself.

“That should . . .” He blinks, eyes dipping to my throat again. “That should do it.”

My voice is strangely quiet, but I still manage, “Ten-mile radius, right?”

“Give or take,” he assures me, looking serious.

We’re going to have to work on recognizing a joke at that . . . lunch date. First thing. For sure. After this. Why does he look a fraction more good-looking than he did a minute ago?

“I’ll uh, hold you to that,” I say, feeling awkward myself now when I realize that Noah is still firmly gripping me by the arms. “We should, um, move away from the bushes.”

Noah releases me immediately, and the look on his face tells me he hadn’t realized he was still touching me either, finally managing to actually clear his throat as he steps away. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Dr. Car—I mean, Mackenzie.”

“Sure.” I cross my arms across my chest even if only to steady myself. My damn knees are actually weak. What the hell is up with that? Is it an alpha thing? “See you tomorrow, Noah.”

His gaze lingers for a moment before he shakes his head as if clearing a thought and nods curtly to give me his back. A back that makes it hard not to notice how broad it is. And that’s not something I usually notice. I don’t care how broad a guy is. So why is my subconscious doing a creepy mental eyebrow waggle at Noah’s width?

I keep close to the bushes as I watch him retreat to his shiny black Mercedes in the nearby lot, letting him put ample distance between us before I finally allow myself to take an actual breath. The cold air in my lungs on the inhale clears my head, but it doesn’t clear away Noah’s scent that’s still clinging to me. Even with the medicinal quality of his suppressants, it feels strong now that I’ve experienced it up close, and I don’t even pretend to resist the urge to press my nose to my shoulder to breathe in more of it. Something about it makes my skin feel tight, like it’s too small to hold me—that same sensation of running through the snow on all fours pulsing inside for the briefest of moments. It’s pleasant in a way like it was patented and made solely for my benefit—and just thinking this makes me cringe.

Knock it off, Mackenzie. We don’t believe in that uber-compatibility nonsense.

Still, I press my nose to my shoulder for a deeper draw of Noah’s lingering scent.

Yeah, I think. If I were a male I wouldn’t want to be within ten miles of that either.

I blow out a breath, tapping one foot on the ground and then the other to remind my damn knees who’s boss before I head toward my car.