The Fake Mate -
: Chapter 6
i won’t say that I have been stressing about tonight, but I definitely haven’t been anything remotely close to excited for it. Mackenzie has informed me since coming to my office earlier this week that this get-together we’re going to is at a bar, something I haven’t stepped foot inside since my twenties. I might not have been so willing to tag along had I known.
I check my watch as I glance toward the double doors that lead out of the main lobby of the hospital; Mackenzie texted me ten minutes ago that she was changing and that she would be right down after—and like some sort of massive idiot, I’m currently leaning against my car in the parking lot waiting for her like we’re about to go to prom or something. I know that if I told her this was my first actual date in almost a year, she would probably have all sorts of teasing things to say.
Not that this is a date, I mentally correct.
Although, I can’t pretend that the idea of a date with Mackenzie, fake or not, has definitely had a small part to play in my nerves this week. Especially after that strange moment in my office the last time I saw her.
I don’t know what possessed me to assert the need to scent her again; I remember her talking as if she’d been about to leave, but the entire time her lips had been moving, all I could seem to focus on was the sweetness of her scent and how little of mine had been left to mingle with it. For a brief moment, the idea of sending her back out into the world without marking her again had made me deeply uncomfortable. Which in turn makes me deeply uncomfortable for a myriad of other reasons.
It’s been many years since I have gone without suppressants, so long that the strange urges and emotions that come with the lack of them feel alien. It’s only been a handful of days since I stopped taking them, and that fact alone is enough to make me worried as to how much worse these behavioral side effects might affect me as more time passes without my daily dose. Something about touching Mackenzie had only brought about the urge to touch her more, and I have racked my brain since then for a single time in my adult life when I had wanted to touch a woman so much, even if the urge had been fleeting. It’s probably best that we’ve both been too busy this week to talk outside of texting—even if there has been a part of me that has been slightly antsy about the distance. I assume this is some strange alpha instinct I’ve never had to deal with before.
One thing is for certain, I am going to have to get a better handle on things if we are to continue this arrangement.
I pull my jacket tighter as a gust of cold air whips by, checking the time on my phone again. What is she changing into, anyway? Could it actually be a prom dress? I should have just waited in the car like a normal person. It’s probably stupid to think this is somehow more chivalrous.
I’m just about to say fuck it when I notice the glass doors sliding open from across the parking lot, spotting a familiar tousle of sandy blond hair as Mackenzie pushes up on her toes to look for my car. She doesn’t immediately notice me even though I am fairly close by, and this means that I have a good thirty seconds or so to grapple with the odd pause she gives me with what she has changed into.
Her skintight black jeans hug every part of her down to the leather boots that stop just below her knees, and her equally fitted red sweater under her black peacoat clings to her in a similar fashion, one that makes it very difficult for a person to look anywhere but her. Or at least, that’s exactly the effect it’s having on me right now.
She smiles when she finally catches sight of me, waving her hand as she starts my way. The closer she gets, the more I am able to assess the exact depth of the vee in her sweater—as well as the dangling black chain fastened around her neck that disappears down between her breasts, where I refuse to let my eyes go.
“Hey,” she says as she approaches, looking me up and down. She oohs over my dark jeans and my blue button-down under my jacket, even reaching out to pick at the lapel, looking impressed. “Look at you! You clean up nice, Dr. Taylor.”
I have a tight noose around my thoughts, forcing my gaze to remain safely on her face as I clear my throat. “So do you.”
“Why, thank you,” she says with a playful bat of her eyelashes. “Are you ready to go?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” I mumble back, turning to open the door for her.
I don’t close it until she’s safely tucked inside, circling the car to climb into the driver’s seat. She’s just finished buckling herself in as I start to do the same, and when I’m finished I notice the gleeful smile on her face, raising my eyebrow at her in question.
“So, on a scale of one to ten,” she says, “how much are you going to hate this party?”
I hmph under my breath as I start the car, shaking my head as I put it into reverse so that I can back out of the parking lot. “Solid eleven,” I grunt.
Her giggling doesn’t end until we’ve pulled out onto the street.
“Mack! Over here!”
She turns to me before moving on, squeezing my hand in encouragement. “Hopelessly in love, right?”
“Right,” I answer, hyperfocused on the warmth of her fingers. “Deliriously happy.”
Mackenzie grins before she pulls me through the crowd of bar- goers toward the group near the back, and the same woman, who I assume must be a friend of hers, immediately makes a space for us at the round booth where she and a few others have taken up residence.
“Go on,” the woman urges the others sitting around the table. “Scooch over.” She gives her attention back to Mackenzie as we slide into the booth seating. “Thank God you came. Conner is here.”
Mackenzie wrinkles her nose. “Ew. Is he still trying to get your number?”
“Literally every time he calls me up to Orthopedics. Do you know how many elderly patients there are in Denver who need hip replacements? Because I fucking do.”
“Yikes.” Mackenzie’s nose is still wrinkled in distaste. It is only at this very second that I realize I am still watching her do it. Thankfully, she seems to remember me then, snapping me out of it. “Oh. Sorry. Priya, this—”
“Oh, I know who he is,” the woman, or Priya, says. “We’ve worked together a lot.”
I feel panic setting in. “We have?”
“Priya Mehta,” she laughs. “I’m the on-call anesthesiologist. I’m always the one knocking out your patients.”
“Oh.” The panic turns to slight embarrassment. “Sorry, sometimes I—”
Priya waves me off. “Honestly, it would shatter my entire illusion of you if you had recognized me.”
I have no idea what to make of that, but she’s smiling, so that has to be a good sign.
Priya points to the rest of the table, introducing them one by one. “This is Matías Hernandez”—she gestures to the broad man with tawny skin to her left—“an endocrinologist. And that’s his wife, Jamie”—the petite woman with auburn hair and freckles next to Matías gives me a small smile with a matching wave—“one of my radiology techs. Oh, and that old man over there is—”
“Paul?”
“Noah,” Paul says, his graying mustache tilting with his smile. “Never thought I’d see you at one of these things.”
“I’m . . .” I feel Mackenzie’s arm loop through mine suddenly, and when I look down at her, she gives me an encouraging smile. I remind myself the touching is necessary, just part of the ruse. “Well.” I paste on a smile of my own, remembering myself. “There have been, ah, a few developments since you left.”
Paul chuckles. “You’re telling me. Whole table has been chittering about it ever since I sat down.”
I glance at the other members of the table, finding them all looking elsewhere all of a sudden. Pretty much confirming what Paul has just said.
Mackenzie leans to nudge Priya with her shoulder. “Rude.”
“Well!” Priya throws up her hands. “You guys dropped, like, the biggest bomb the hospital has ever heard. Our Mackenzie? With Cardiology’s version of a Nosferatu?”
“Thank you,” I deadpan.
Priya looks apologetic at least. “Sorry.”
“She’s had a few already,” Jamie, the one she mentioned was her tech, chimes in. “You’ll have to forgive her.”
“Think I’m gonna need a few more,” her husband, Matías, snorts.
“I don’t think we, ah . . . thought it would make this many waves,” I offer.
“I guess we didn’t account for how nosy”—Mackenzie gives Priya a look of what I think is faux irritation—“our coworkers were.”
“She hasn’t even told me how you guys got together,” Priya pouts. “Isn’t that mean, Noah? We’re supposed to be friends.”
“You’re the one who ran out on me at lunch,” Mackenzie argues.
“And I told you I wanted that story next time I saw you,” Priya accuses. “Come on! Tell us. Noah? Was it love at first sight?”
“I—” I look to Mackenzie for help, and I can see by her expression that she can tell I’m struggling. We had agreed to keep it simple, but all of a sudden I find myself terrified I’m going to fuck things up. “Well, I—”
“We met at work,” Mackenzie blurts out, saving me. “Obviously.”
“Right,” I add, nodding in agreement as I collect myself. “Mackenzie had . . . come by my office to consult on a patient having an acute MI.”
Jamie’s eyebrows furrow. “MI?”
“Myocardial infarction,” everyone else at the table says at once.
Jamie rolls her eyes, muttering something like, “Doctors.”
“So anyway,” Mackenzie presses on, helping me out, “I had heard all the stories about Noah Taylor, as you can imagine.”
This isn’t something we discussed. “What stories?”
“Oh my God. You name it.” She points at Priya. “What was the one about Noah ordering everyone out of an elevator because he wanted to ride it alone?”
“It had been having mechanical issues,” I huff. “I just urged them to take the stairs.”
Priya clicks her tongue. “But you rode it?”
“Wait,” Mackenzie laughs. “I’m willing to bet he was trying to be punctual for something.”
I make a face. “I had a ten o’clock meeting.”
“I knew it.” Mackenzie laughs harder, and I notice the arm still looped through mine tightens its hold. I can’t say I dislike it. “Only you would risk plummeting to your death to make a meeting on time.”
“I’m not even sure I want to know about the other yarns that have been spun about me,” I grumble.
“There’s always that nurse you made cry,” Jamie says.
I sigh. “That was—”
“—grossly overexaggerated,” Mackenzie finishes with a chuckle.
I feel my lips twitch at her glee even when I’m trying my best to look stern, shaking my head at her.
“Wow,” Matías chuffs. “I was thinking you guys being a couple seemed a little sus, but you two are definitely in love.”
Mackenzie’s laugh falters for only a second, and I tense against her when I scent a burst of her honeysuckle-like fragrance tickling my nostrils. I swallow thickly when she seems to collect herself moments later, her scent dissipating as she leans her head on my shoulder.
“Hopelessly in love,” she half sings.
I’m still looking at her as I mutter, “Deliriously happy.”
“Okay,” Priya groans, sticking her tongue out. “Never mind. I’ve decided I am too single and definitely still too sober to be assaulted by you two and your bliss. I’ll just assume you immediately fell in love and lived happily ever after post–myocardial infarction.”
“As one does,” Mackenzie says seriously. She nudges Priya again. “There’s always Conner.”
Priya points at her with narrowed eyes. “That’s it. You’re on refill duty. Let’s go.”
“Fine, fine,” Mackenzie laughs. “I need a drink, anyway.”
I scoot out of the booth to let them out, lingering when Matías and Jamie follow after them.
“I’m making him dance with me,” Jamie explains as they pass.
Mackenzie hangs back while the others head toward the bar, her hand grabbing mine as she looks up at me with concern. “You okay to hang by yourself for a little bit?”
“I’m fine,” I assure her. I can tell that she’s still worried about leaving me on my own, so I add, “Go have fun.”
She flashes me a smile, giving my fingers a squeeze as a similar sensation ensues in my chest. I watch her for longer than is necessary, for some reason wanting to make sure she makes it through the crowd okay, only able to relax when I catch sight of her and Priya laughing about something at the large wooden counter while they try to flag down a bartender.
“So,” Paul says as I settle back into the booth. “Mated, huh?”
I reach to rub at the back of my neck. “Yeah, it’s . . . been interesting.”
“Funny how you never mentioned it to me,” he says with a hint of amusement in his voice, creases forming in the warm brown skin around his eyes. “Considering I am probably the only person from work you keep regular contact with.”
“Sorry,” I offer. “We didn’t . . . It’s complicated.”
“It wouldn’t have anything to do with your alpha status being outed, would it?”
“That’s . . .” I struggle for anything remotely close to a good excuse, coming up short. “Is it obvious?”
“Not to the average bystander,” Paul chuckles. “But I know you.”
“It’s been a fucking mess, Paul,” I sigh.
“I imagine,” he offers. “So what is Dr. Carter’s role in all this?”
“She’s . . .” I turn my head, my lips pressing together as I watch her head tilt back with mirth at something Priya has just said. “She’s helping me out.”
“From what Priya tells me,” Paul notes, “Dr. Carter is something of a saint.”
“She is,” I mutter back, still looking at my pretend mate as she laughs.
Paul reaches for the glass in front of him, and when I finally tear my attention away from Mackenzie, I notice he’s smiling into it as he takes a drink, his dark eyes glittering. “You two are very convincing. Watching you two together, no one would suspect that you aren’t an item.”
“Oh, we’re just . . .” I frown down at the table. “Honestly, I’m surprised she even agreed. It makes no sense from anyone’s point of view why she would.”
That part is definitely true, and something that is constantly on my mind. Even with her reasoning that I’m keeping her from another string of bad dates—it’s a lot to take on, this thing we’re doing, and it feels as if I have much more to benefit from it.
“Well, you did say she’s a saint,” Paul says.
I nod. “I did.”
I notice he’s smiling again, almost like he has a secret, and with a subtle shake of his head, he gives his attention back to his glass. “I look forward to seeing how this plays out.”
“Hopefully in something other than disaster,” I huff.
“Just be careful,” Paul warns again. “You’re too bright to let this ruin you. It would be a waste all around.”
“I will,” I tell him. “If nothing else . . . I wouldn’t want to jeopardize Mackenzie’s career. I couldn’t live with myself if I dragged her down with me.” I catch Paul looking at me with that strange smile again, and raise an eyebrow at him. “What?”
“Nothing, nothing,” he laughs. “Like I said, I look forward to seeing how this plays out.”
I’m not really sure what he means by that, and decide that asking will most likely just get me more sly glances.
“Noah!”
My head whips to the side at the sound of Mackenzie’s voice, catching her pushing through the crowd again. I notice her cheeks are slightly more flushed than they were when she left. She offers a quiet apology to Paul before she leans in to whisper in my ear, and there is an imperceptible (or at least, I hope it is) shiver that passes over me when I feel her breath wash against the shell.
“Dennis is here,” she whispers. “He was asking somebody at the bar if they’d seen us.” I can smell the fruity drink she must have downed before she came back. “Just follow my lead.” Before I even have time to be confused, she reaches for my hand, tugging me from where I’m sitting. “Come dance with me!” I must make a face, because Mackenzie barks out a laugh. “Oh, come on. Dance with me, sourpuss.”
I’m momentarily distracted by the warmth of her palm, even more so by the inviting quality of her smile. Like she really wants to dance with me. It makes it hard to say anything other than “Okay.” I slide the rest of the way out of the booth, casting Paul an apologetic glance. “Sorry.”
“Go, go,” he urges. “Dance with your mate.”
His smile is as sly as it’s been for the last five minutes, but I don’t have time to be uneasy about it with Mackenzie pulling me across the floor like she is. She pulls me closer when we’re encased in the swarm of people there, taking my hands and placing them on her hips before she hooks hers behind my head.
“I figured he wouldn’t bother you if you were dancing with me,” she explains.
“Oh.” I nod, turning to scan the crowd to see if I can catch sight of him. “Good call.”
“Two birds,” she hums.
I arch an eyebrow. “What is the other bird?”
“When will I ever get to say again that I danced with Noah fucking Taylor?”
“That’s an interesting takeaway,” I chortle.
“My friend Parker calls you that,” she admits. “Noah fucking Taylor. You really are a weird kind of celebrity at work.”
“I never meant to be,” I tell her.
Strangely, her smile widens. “I’m starting to get that. Just part of your charm.”
There it is again. I still can’t get used to anything in relation to me being referred to as charm.
“How much did you have to drink?”
She wrinkles her nose. I have definitely decided it’s endearing. “Just a cosmo.” She notices my hesitance to believe her, rolling her eyes. “And a couple of shots.”
“We should make sure you pace yourself for the rest of the night,” I laugh. “Don’t want you to get sick.”
She winks at me. “It’s fine. I have my alpha here, right?”
That same shiver slides along my spine. It’s just a sentence, a simple one at that . . . So why do I feel so tense all of a sudden? It doesn’t help at all that her scent is a little thicker now; I’m assuming we can blame the alcohol for that.
“Right,” I murmur back, trying to keep my expression even.
We continue to sway to the slow song that’s playing over the speakers, and at some point, her head lolls a bit so that her cheek presses against my chest. “You smell good,” she sighs. “Did you know?”
Dangerous, I think. I should probably end this dance.
“I can’t say that I did,” I manage.
She presses her nose to my shirt again, breathing in. “Well, you do.”
“Thank you,” I answer, my voice tighter than it was a moment ago. “Um . . . So do you.”
She tilts up her chin to give me a dreamy sort of smile. “I do?”
I swallow thickly. This feels very dangerous. Especially given the fact that I am suddenly getting strong and outrageous ideas about what her mouth might feel like. I can’t even pinpoint where the thoughts are coming from. Then again, I can’t really process much outside of her smile right now. It feels impossible, how much she increasingly affects me. More than anyone ever has. That’s for sure. Is it really just because I haven’t ever gone off my suppressants for so long?
“Yes,” I grind out, forcing my gaze up and over her head just so I can clear my thoughts. “Where did you see Dennis?”
“Oh.” She turns her head, craning her neck. “He was over there with Betty.”
“I still don’t know who Betty is.”
Mackenzie giggles. “It’s so funny how everyone knows you, but you don’t know anyone.”
“I . . . don’t make it a habit to make friends.”
“Clearly,” she teases. “But . . . we’re friends. Right?”
“I . . .” I can’t help it. I peek back down at her, and from this angle I have a clear view of the plunging vee of her sweater where the soft swells of her breasts rise and fall with every breath. I have to will myself not to look, feeling like some sort of teenage animal. “Yes. We’re friends.”
That same smile that makes my chest feel tight. “What an honor.”
The song fades away then, and its absence seems to knock some sense into me. I clear my throat as I let go of her waist (even as my fingers feel like they might scream with protest), making a show of peering out over the crowd as a more upbeat tune starts to play. “Do you want another drink? I’ll definitely need one or five to dance to this kind of music.”
“I’ll wait a bit,” she says. “That last shot got to me, I think.”
“Probably a good idea,” I muse. “I’ll meet you back at the table.”
She looks at me curiously then, studying my expression with a discerning one of her own—but for the life of me, I have no clue what she’s thinking. She gives her head a little shake as if to clear her own thoughts away, pasting on a smile that feels more practiced than the one she’d given me during our dance. “Sure. If Dennis bothers you, just holler. I’ll be sure to beat him up.”
“Perfect,” I laugh. “I feel much safer now.”
She tosses me a wave over her shoulder as she meanders back in the direction of our table, and I take a deep breath of air that is less clouded with her scent after her retreat. It makes it a little easier to think.
I really do need a drink.
I do get that drink, and polishing it off does wonders for my nerves and the tension that comes from being in such a crowded place. At some point, Priya loudly announces that she has decided I am good enough for Mackenzie—something that makes the entire table burst into laughter. I meet Betty, and she does tell me that she delivered Tim Allen. She also tells me I’d better not break Mackenzie’s heart, and for a seventy-something-year-old woman, she comes off as pretty intimidating. Paul says good night and heads home after giving me another sly smile and knowing look, and I can’t pretend I’m not a little jealous of his departure. Although, I have to admit—I’ve had a relatively good time tonight. Mackenzie has made sure of that.
My faux mate in question has been considerably less touchy-feely than she’d been on the dance floor, and I can only assume this is due to her sobering up a little bit more after her round of shots. She’s still touching me familiarly, her arm still looped with mine whenever she isn’t using it to sip her drink or expressively tell a story—but I haven’t seen that sweet smile or that dreamy look since that song ended. She definitely hasn’t sunk into my embrace again. Which I suppose a more rational me would be relieved over. Drink or no, it’s not a good idea for us to be too familiar with each other outside of what’s expected of us.
Even if every inhale brings on more of her sweet scent that threatens to drive me crazy.
Tonight is the closest thing I’ve had to a date in I can’t remember how long, and even if it’s completely false and only for show, it’s honestly sort of . . . nice. Spending time with other people. I’ve spent so long sequestering myself off from others to keep my secret that I had forgotten how pleasant an experience socializing can be when given the proper chance.
But it could very well be the company I’m keeping.
“You doing okay?”
I glance down at Mackenzie, who is leaning into me conspiratorially, her voice low so that only I can hear it while Priya tells a terrible joke to an ophthalmologist she brought back to the table.
“I’m fine,” I tell her. “I’m having a fairly decent time.”
“Wow,” Mackenzie laughs softly. “Noah Taylor having a fairly decent time. Someone alert the media.”
“Cute.” I press my lips together. “I suppose socializing isn’t as horrible as I first pegged it to be.”
She lets out a mock gasp. “Oh my God. Next week I’m going to have to drag you out of a rave or something.”
“I wouldn’t bet on that,” I say, cringing.
She smiles up at me, not the inviting one from earlier that had made my stomach twist, but still a soft and sweet number that says she’s genuinely happy to hear this. “I’m glad you’re having a good time. It’s not good for someone to keep all cooped up to themselves like you do.”
“Is that your professional diagnosis?”
Her face splits into a full-on grin, flashing me her teeth. The stomach knots are back. “It is. No need to seek a second opinion.”
“You guys are grossing me out,” Priya groans from across the table, breaking apart our quiet conversation. “I liked you better when you were grumpy,” she adds, pointing at me in accusation. “At least then I wasn’t so jealous.”
I chuckle under my breath. “Trust me. No need to be jealous. Well.” I peek over at Mackenzie. “Not of Mackenzie, at least. Maybe of me.”
Mackenzie’s lips part at the compliment, but Priya makes an ack sound. “Couples.”
But of course, because nothing about this situation has been easy—the night simply can’t end on a good note. I notice him approaching out of the corner of my eye, my body immediately tensing as my smile dissipates. I’ve never really fully scented Dennis before; blessedly, I have had the good fortune of missing out on it while being dosed on suppressants, but catching a whiff of it now makes my nose wrinkle, assaulted by the smell of what feels like cheap cologne.
“Noah!” His voice is loud, carrying over the chatter of the people around us, and everyone at the table turns to look at him as he approaches. “I can’t believe you actually came. I didn’t think this was your kind of thing.”
“Yeah, well.” I keep my expression passive. “Now that our secret is out, it didn’t feel right to let my mate go alone.”
“Of course,” Dennis says with a smile that feels disingenuous. “Mackenzie. Good to see you again.” He eyes her up and down. “You look fantastic.”
My fists clench under the table as he eyes her, and it is only a moment before I feel the gentle slide of Mackenzie’s hand over mine, calming me. “Thanks,” she says blandly.
“It really is so nice to see you guys out together,” he gushes. “I know everyone was worried when the rumor started flying about Noah. It’s lucky that he had you up his sleeve, isn’t it?”
I can’t say why I am on the verge of vibrating with anger—something about Dennis has always gotten under my skin—but without the safety net of my suppressants, I can feel the urge to deck him a lot more strongly than I have in the past. Thankfully, Mackenzie’s hand gives mine a squeeze, and something about her touch keeps me from tipping over the edge.
“We’re both really lucky,” she says, keeping her eyes locked with his. “It seemed silly to worry about what people might think of me when my mate’s job was on the line.”
“Right,” Dennis says, still smiling with that same slimy smile. “So fortunate. We would have hated to lose our best cardiologist.”
The table is silent then, the rest of our party looking uncomfortable as I quietly seethe, and it isn’t until Mackenzie clears her throat that any of us move.
“Yeah, well.” Mackenzie never lets go of my hand. “We should probably get going. Right, Noah? You have an early shift tomorrow.”
I briefly wonder how she knows that, but am too distracted with not wiping that smile off Dennis’s face to dwell on it.
“Right,” I agree tightly. “Early shift.”
“Oh, of course,” Dennis says. “Don’t want to keep you. I know how important work is to you.” Another gross smile. “You guys have a good night.”
No one speaks until Dennis is out of earshot, and then there is a loud burst of air as Priya blows out a breath. “Wow. That guy is a dick.”
Mackenzie whips her head around. “You caught that?”
“Oh yeah,” she answers. “He does not like Noah.”
“We probably should get out of here,” Mackenzie tells me. “Before you break something.”
I unclench my fists, unaware that I was even doing it, blinking a few times as I come back to my senses. “Sorry, I—” I press my lips together. “I just . . . He gets under my skin.”
“Jessica from Radiology told me he offered her a ride home from work once and that he made a point to let her know what kind of car he drives,” Priya says.
“Fucking Jessica,” Mackenzie mutters before giving me her attention again. “Seriously. We can go, if you want.”
I shrug. “If you’re sure you’re ready to go.”
“Yeah, I’m good.” She turns to Priya as she starts to gently push me out of the booth. “Don’t let Conner take you home. I am not going to be in that wedding party.”
“No problems there,” Priya assures her.
Even when we’re standing, I notice Mackenzie hasn’t let go of my hand. In fact, she keeps a grip on it as she says her good-byes, while Priya gives me one last friendly threat in regard to Mackenzie’s well-being, and even the entire time she pulls me through the crowd toward the bar exit. I reason that she’s still worried about my earlier edginess. Hell, she can probably scent it on me, I’d wager, and I could tell her I’m okay now, that she doesn’t have to continue clinging to me.
I let her hold my hand all the way out to the parking lot instead.
“So . . . all in all, I’d say that wasn’t the worst fake date I’ve ever had.”
This draws a quiet laugh out of me, easing some of the tension inside. “You’ve had more than one?”
“Oh, loads,” she says seriously. “I told you I was a pro.”
My lips are still curled. “How could I forget?”
“Are you feeling okay? I could tell Dennis was really getting to you.”
I shake my head. “I don’t know what it is about that guy. It never used to bother me as much as it has been lately. Probably a side effect of going off my suppressants.”
“Yeah. It’s weird. It’s like I could scent it on you the moment he walked up. Almost like I could tell your mood changed. It was sharper somehow. I’ve never really been able to pick up on things like that as much as I could tonight.”
“That’s . . . interesting,” I note, meaning it. “I wonder why that is.”
She’s quiet for a second before tossing me a flippant “Must be an alpha thing.”
“Must be.”
It’s quiet again, and with it comes that same uneasiness. It’s completely unlike me; normally I am happy to be left to the quiet. Right now, though . . . I really hate it.
Mackenzie saves me again. “Was it super uncomfortable for you? Scenting all those people? I know you aren’t used to it since you’ve been on suppressants for so long.”
“No, I . . .” Her question takes me by surprise, but mostly because of my answer. It’s something that hadn’t occurred to me until she asked. “Honestly, I could only scent . . . you, for the most part.”
She turns her head to look at me, and when I glance to my right I catch surprise on her face. Her mouth parts only to close again, like she’s thinking, and it’s that same contemplative look she’d given me back on the dance floor, like she’s trying to figure something out. “That’s . . . Huh. I wonder why?”
“I’m not sure.” I peek at her again. “Must be another alpha thing.”
“Right.” She nods idly, but I can tell she’s still thinking. “Sure.”
Why is this so awkward? Maybe it was a bad idea to come with her. It feels like I’ve wandered into uncharted territory.
There’s a question that eats at me, a surprising one that would have never done so before all this. I consider not even asking, but ultimately, it seems that my brain refuses to let me do that. “Did you . . . have fun?”
“I did,” she says after a beat. She laughs then. “You make a great fake date, turns out.”
“That’s definitely a surprise.”
“Probably because you’ve gotten so good at the whole ‘scary Dr. Taylor’ thing.”
I consider that. I have done my absolute best to avoid any connection outside of work for as long as I’ve been here. Honestly, Paul is probably the closest thing I have to a friend, and he found out about me completely by accident.
“I’ve been so focused on keeping my secret . . . I don’t know. I can see how I might have come across.”
“Well, maybe it’ll end up being a good thing someone turned you in.”
“What do you mean?”
“I just mean that it must be nice to not have to pretend anymore, right?”
I frown, thinking. “I guess it is a bit of a relief.”
“And when you get to Albuquerque, you can take all the cool things I’m teaching you and use them to make real friends. I think by then we’ll have the scowling down to a minimum, surely.”
The reminder that I’m leaving is sobering, and I can’t really discern why. Nothing has changed since last week, so hearing about the plans that I’ve had from the beginning shouldn’t make me feel so strange.
“Right,” I say airily. “I have absolute faith in your abilities.”
“I’m right up here,” she says, pointing to the building ahead. “Take this next right.”
I slow the car so I can turn in, coming to a stop outside the door to her building and parking the car. She unbuckles slowly, lingering in her seat for a moment.
“About earlier . . .” She fidgets a little. “When we were dancing. I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable. I probably shouldn’t have had that second shot.”
Oh. Oh. Has she been worrying about this the entire time?
“No, no,” I assure her. “You didn’t. It’s fine.”
“I hope you don’t think I was, like, coming on to you. I don’t want you worrying about me crossing a line or something.”
“No, I—” It would probably be a terrible idea to let her know I’ve been struggling myself, right? Obviously, she is uncomfortable by the idea of it all. “It’s really okay. Blame it on the alcohol.”
“The alcohol,” she parrots, nodding. “Right. Yeah. So we’re okay?”
“We’re fine,” I urge. “I’m sure it won’t be the last time things get awkward. It’s a strange arrangement we’re in. There are no real guidelines here.”
“Okay. Whew.” She playfully wipes the back of her hand across her brow, peeking up a little. “Glad that’s settled. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then, yeah?”
“Sure.” That reminds me. “How did you know I work tomorrow?”
“Oh. My friend Parker is the IT guy. I got him to print me a copy of your schedule.” She looks panicked for a second. “Is that weird? I just thought that if someone asked me if you were working or something I should probably know. Now I’m thinking it might be creepy. Shit.”
“No, it’s fine. Really. I was just surprised that you knew. That totally makes sense.” I can tell she still feels weird about it, so I add, “You should probably get me a copy of yours too. Just in case.”
“Okay.” She nods fervently, looking relieved. “Yeah. I will.” She finally gives me another smile, and I’m starting to think that my body is developing some sort of instinctual reaction to it. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Have a good night, okay?”
“You too,” I murmur, watching her open her door to leave.
She gives me a little wave before she steps inside the building, and I don’t leave until she’s out of sight. Her worried expression at the thought of having crossed a line sticks with me—for reasons I can’t explain. It should be a good thing that she’s worrying about it, and it should be a relief that she wanted to make sure I knew it wasn’t her intentionally coming on to me. So why do I feel so shitty right now?
During the entire drive home, I never came up with a good answer.
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