The Fake Mate -
: Chapter 8
a week ago, dinner with Mackenzie’s grandmother had been little more than a potential headache. Just something I assumed I would have to get through.
Now the idea of it is fucking terrifying.
I’ve been trying to pick apart what happened in that supply closet for the last forty-eight hours, something that hasn’t gotten any clearer in the time leading up to me picking Mackenzie up for dinner. I am not certain of much about the incident, but of one thing I am absolutely sure.
I almost kissed Mackenzie.
It’s unreasonable, and definitely ill-advised, but for one singular moment, there had been no other thoughts in my head outside of the glaring need to feel her mouth on mine. Something about her scent affects me like a drug; not only do I crave more and more of it after each exposure, but I seem to lose all reason when I breathe her in.
I had thought that the distance we’ve had between the strange moment in my office and now would be enough time to collect myself, but being trapped like this in such a small space with her sweet aroma clouding around me brings back the same foreign urges that had struck me when I’d scented her the day before.
Is it really just because I’ve forgone suppressants? I mean, since I am altogether not as mated as we’ve led the hospital to believe, it would make sense for me to be distracted by many clashing scents in the hospital, given that there are a good number of female shifters working on my floor, not to mention the building as a whole.
So why is it only Mackenzie who seems to bother me like this?
“—are you even listening to me?”
I blink, remembering where I am, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter and flicking my eyes to the passenger seat, where Mackenzie is looking at me strangely. She’s wearing her hair down, the thick mass falling against one shoulder as she cocks her head at me. She’s wearing a long-sleeved dress that is slightly formfitting but blessedly nowhere near as much as her yoga clothes—not that it’s stopped me from wanting to look. I have definitely tried to make sure to keep my eyes on only the road since she got into the car.
“Sorry,” I mutter. “Just nervous.”
“Seriously, you don’t have to be,” she laughs. “I can’t even begin to explain to you what a jackpot you are in the eyes of Moira Carter. You actually could belong to some secret underground alpha biker gang, and she would tell you she thinks it’s absolutely delightful.”
“It seems like your grandmother is more concerned with you settling down in general rather than having any real preferences as to who you might do it with.”
Mackenzie is still smiling despite my concern. “It’s not like that, exactly. I think she worries about leaving me on my own. I was kind of a mess when I came to them—I mean, just your average preteen hormonal depression that made me into a bit of a mute for a few months, but . . . I don’t know. Even now that I’m an adult, she never stops worrying about me.”
“She wants to make sure you’re taken care of,” I muse.
“Mhm.” Mackenzie makes an amused sound. “Hasn’t quite come around to the novel idea that I can take care of myself.”
“If anyone could,” I murmur to no one.
I don’t see her smile, but I can feel it, I think.
“Good thing I’m bringing home a nice alpha to make sure my den is good and protected so that I can give him pretty babies while he gathers food.”
“Your gran’s ideal ending, I presume.”
“Yeah. Whatever. I know she means well.”
“I’ll be sure to convince her that you will have a very nice den. Only the finest chicken carcasses for my mate.”
Mackenzie barks out a laugh. “Oh my God. You made a joke! Was that your first one? Are you hurt in any way?”
“Always a delight, you are.”
“Sorry, sorry. It’s just kind of fun.”
I perk up as I make the next turn. “What is?”
“Seeing this side of Dr. Taylor.”
“Oh.” There’s an odd prickling in my chest, but that could just be her scent, which is still threatening to suffocate me. “Well. I’ve been practicing how not to be so, um . . .”
“Tense? Scary?”
“Sure,” I concur with a roll of my eyes. “For your grandmother.”
Mackenzie sits up in her seat, peering out the window as she gestures to the next house. “Well, let’s hope it paid off. That’s the place.”
I slow the car so I don’t miss the driveway, taking in the perfectly normal-looking ranch-style house in red brick. It probably shouldn’t be as formidable as it feels.
“Oh shit,” Mackenzie says.
Her mouth turns down into a frown, and there’s an uneasiness to her now as she regards me carefully. I catch her pressing her nose to her shoulder, and then her eyes meet mine with concern. “It’s faded.”
I can’t even pretend not to immediately catch her meaning. I noticed when she first climbed into the car, after all. I swallow heavily. “I know.”
I can tell she’s remembering the last time I scented her; her lips roll together and her lashes flutter, and even this is enough to make breathing a little harder.
“You should probably do the thing,” she says airily.
“The thing,” I parrot.
“You know . . .” Her nose wrinkles as she reaches to unbuckle her seat belt. “The thing.”
Something flushes under my collar, some prickling heat creeping into my chest as my throat tightens. It’s becoming a familiar sensation, this odd warmth that plagues me whenever I scent her—becoming more and more of a problem the longer I’m off suppressants. I can’t remember a single time in my life when it was this uncomfortable to be around a woman of my species.
“Right,” I manage tightly. “The thing.” I swallow, eyes glancing to the driveway. “Should I just . . . ?”
“I can—” She moves awkwardly in the passenger seat, bringing her legs up and under her so she can lean over the console. “Like this?”
Like this only brings her closer, my tongue feeling too thick with the way the sweet fragrance of her invades my senses. “Right. That should—” I reach to unbuckle myself. “Just . . . be still.”
I’m not sure if I’m telling her this for her benefit or mine, honestly.
I cup my hand around the back of her neck, noting again how soft her hair is. It slides over my knuckles silkily as my palm settles just below her hairline, pulling her closer. I have to close my eyes for this part, silently chanting a mantra about how this is just a means to an end—none of it actually helping the way my skin tingles when I tuck my face against her neck.
It’s a necessary thing—my cheek pressing against the soft skin of her throat—but her answering shudder has me squeezing my eyes tighter, clenching my jaw a little more. I turn my face to graze her throat with mine, mingling our scents into a burgeoning aroma that clouds the small space of the car. I can hear her breath quicken and feel her body stiffen everywhere she’s touching me, and for the briefest of moments there is a bizarre urge to pull her to me as tightly as I can and bury myself in the smell and taste of her.
Which is utterly insane, and it is this realization that has me hastily pulling away from her.
“That should—” Can she hear how loud my heart is beating? “That should do it, I think.”
Her cheeks are flushed as she nods slowly, turning away from me to breathe in against her shoulder again. There is a part of me that protests when she pulls away to settle back into her side of the car, and I shove it down as she nods more confidently.
“That will definitely work,” she says, her voice huskier than it was a moment ago.
“Remind me . . .” Honestly, I just need to get my mind somewhere else. “Remind me what the parameters are.”
Her eyes are heavy-lidded, almost like she’s sated. It shouldn’t be enticing. “Parameters?”
“What does your grandmother know about us?”
“Oh.” She nods dazedly. “Right. Yeah. Our star-crossed romance?”
“Yes,” I answer. “That.”
“We’ve only been dating for a month,” she tells me, sobering a little. “You asked me out for coffee in the break room, because you were captivated by my beauty and feminine charms.” She notices my eyebrow quirking. “I have an assload of feminine charm, thank you very much.”
“Clearly,” I answer with only a hint of amusement.
Humor is good. Humor makes me feel less like I want to kiss her.
“We’ve been on a few dates a week since then,” she goes on, ignoring me. “I haven’t met your parents yet, but you think I am the bee’s knees.”
“Excuse me?”
“The tits?”
I frown at her, and she laughs, diffusing the tension even more, thankfully.
“You think I’m great,” she clarifies. “I hung the moon. We are deliriously happy. You’ve never seen a model train in your life.”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
She shakes her head. “Never mind. Are you ready for this?”
“I . . .” I take another glance at the very innocent-looking home we’re parked in front of. Nothing about it suggests that I have anything to worry about when going inside. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”
“Good.” She gives me an encouraging nod. “Just remember—whatever you do . . . You absolutely do not want to see the wedding book.”
“The what?”
“Just trust me on this.”
She’s already getting out of the car before I can press for more details on that strange warning, and I realize when her door closes that she’s expecting me to follow.
It’s just a normal house with normal people, I remind myself. There’s nothing to worry about.
Even with all my assurances, for some reason I still find myself terrified to go inside.
She’s loud, opinionated, caring, funny, and most of all, she is completely obsessed with Mackenzie’s well-being. Not that I can label this a flaw, by any means. I doubt anyone would argue that caring too much is a point against a person. I’ve survived a fierce hug and a warm welcome from this small, graying woman who laughs too loud and talks too much, everything about her the exact opposite of the family gatherings I’m used to. I can’t really decide what to make of it, honestly, but I wouldn’t say I dislike it.
“So,” Moira is saying from across the table as she hands me a bowl of peas. “How long did you have your eye on my Mackenzie?”
I busy myself with scooping more peas than I’ve ever eaten in one sitting onto my plate, if only to give myself a moment to think. “Oh, I . . . Well. You know. Mackenzie is . . . hard to ignore.”
Moira smiles. “Because she’s so beautiful, right?”
“Gran,” Mackenzie chides. “Can you not?”
“Shush,” Moira clucks. “Do you know how long it’s been since you brought someone home to meet us?” She pats her husband on the arm, looking put out. “What’s it been, Phil? A year? Maybe more?”
Moira’s quieter counterpart and Mackenzie’s grandfather—an average-sized man in his midseventies who seems content to let his wife do most of the talking—nods absently as he tucks a bite of pot roast into his mouth.
“Been a while,” Phil answers gruffly.
“See?” Moira tuts. “You can’t just bring someone like Noah home and not expect me to gush. I mean, my goodness. I’ve never even met an alpha. Have you, Phil?”
Phil shrugs, pushing his mashed potatoes around. “Knew a guy at the auto shop once. Big fella. Could take a tire off in twenty seconds. It was the damnedest thing.”
“But Noah is a doctor,” Moira gushes. “What a match you two make!”
I can almost feel myself blushing, Moira having been praising me for just being . . . me since we sat down for dinner.
“Oh, well . . .” I push my fork through my peas distractedly. “It’s . . . very nice being with someone so familiar with the field.”
From the corner of my eye, I notice Mackenzie smiling. Something tells me that part of her is enjoying my discomfort. I can sense an entire heap of teasing building up in her that she’ll be subjecting me to later.
“Not to mention how fortunate it is for you two to find each other,” Moira goes on, cutting her roast. “I mean, what are the chances?”
My brow furrows, pausing midbite. “What do you mean?”
“Oh!” Mackenzie’s outburst is sudden. “By the way, Gran. I forgot to tell you—Parker is seeing someone new.”
“That boy,” Moira huffs. “He never tells me anything. Someone from work?”
“No, no,” Mackenzie says. “Someone he met at hot yoga.”
Moira looks taken aback. “What in the world is that?”
“It’s just . . . yoga, but hot. They crank up the heat so you sweat more.”
“Is that what you’re doing?”
Mackenzie nods, taking a large bite of potatoes. “Mhm.” She works down the massive bite. “You sweat like a whore in church, but it’s a good workout.”
“Language, Mackenzie,” Moira chides.
Weirdly, I barely even notice her words, too deep in a train of thought that involves a contorted, sweating Mackenzie on a yoga mat.
What on earth is wrong with me?
“Well, either way,” Moira barrels on. “Good for him. He’s such a good boy, Parker.”
“Gran, he’s creeping up on thirty. I don’t know if you can keep referring to him as a ‘good boy.’ ”
“Oh, hush.”
I shake away any lingering thought of Mackenzie in her too-tight yoga clothes sweating in a studio somewhere, chalking it up to proximity and the invasive urge that’s possessed me lately to kiss her every time she’s within three feet of me.
“So Mackenzie tells me the hospital has been making a fuss about your designation?”
I press my lips together, not entirely comfortable with too many people knowing this particular fact, but I suppose I can’t fault Mackenzie for sharing it with someone so close to her. She is, after all, saving my ass, as she would say.
“Just a bit,” I tell her, downplaying it. “I’m hoping it will be resolved soon.”
“Bunch of nonsense, if you ask me,” Moira huffs. “I mean, my goodness. For us to be judging people based on their identity in this day and age! It isn’t as if you can help the way you’re born. I mean, it’s never been a problem for Mackenzie. You don’t see them breathing down her neck about being an omega.”
I go still, nearly dropping my fork. Something about the word that seems to ring in the air long after Moira has said it makes every muscle in my body go rigid. I turn my head to meet Mackenzie’s gaze, finding an apology in her eyes. I realize this is most likely something I should have already known—so I quickly mask my surprise even with the chant of omega omega omega ringing in my hindbrain like some sort of caveman shout that is as irritating as it is unavoidable.
“Of course,” I manage tightly, hoping I sound calmer than I feel. “Less stigmas, I guess. You’ve never heard horror stories about omegas mauling hikers.”
But there are plenty of other stories, some carnal part of my brain whispers, a voice that I know doesn’t belong to reason but instead to the more basic part of me.
“It’s almost like fate that you stumbled across each other,” Moira says gleefully. “No other way to explain something so rare!”
“Right,” I say with a wooden smile. “Fate.”
I feel the brush of Mackenzie’s fingers at my knee beneath the table, and can see the concern in her eyes when they meet mine, almost like she’s afraid I’m angry. Which I’m not, oddly. Sure, it would have been nice to know before sitting across from my fake girlfriend’s grandmother that said fake girlfriend is the biological counterpart to all that I am; maybe I might have switched to a less potent suppressant rather than staving off them entirely if I’d known that being around Mackenzie unsuppressed might slowly drive me crazy. At least the strange things I’ve been experiencing have a valid explanation, at the very least.
Mostly, I’m finding it hard to be angry about any of this when the alpha in me is already weaving daydreams about impossible, crude things that would most likely have Mackenzie throwing a punch. Hell, I’m considering throwing myself one just to knock some sense back into me.
I keep my expression even for the remainder of dinner—smiling when needed and answering as calmly as I can—all the while feeling a simmering something building in my belly that begs to be addressed.
Strangely, Mackenzie’s fingers remain lightly against my knee for the remainder of dinner.
Mackenzie groans as she leads my still-tense figure from the kitchen to the living room and out the patio doors that open to a wooden deck connecting to the backyard—dragging me into the dark space that is only lit by the moonlight that spills over the grass and down the steps leading away from the deck.
“Listen,” she starts. “Don’t be mad.”
“Mad,” I echo.
“I know I should have said something before,” she says in a rush. “It’s not like I was hiding it from you, exactly, it’s just . . .”
I’m genuinely curious as to her reasoning for keeping something so important from me, so I only continue to look at her expectantly in lieu of answering.
Mackenzie sighs. “Look, I know all the dumb stories about alphas and omegas and fated pairs and all that bullshit—and I just didn’t want you to go all crazy on me if you found out. We have a good thing going here. I don’t want to change that.”
“You realize that by not telling me, you were putting us both at risk for some sort of misstep we can’t take back.”
“Don’t tell me you believe in all that garbage about us affecting each other more,” she scoffs. “It’s all a bunch of nonsense.”
“Is it?” I swallow thickly. “It’s been quite a while since I was off my suppressants, but I can never remember being this . . . affected by someone’s nearness.”
This takes her by surprise. Almost as much as it does me for saying it. “You’re . . . affected by me?”
“I only mean that it’s . . . difficult. Scenting you. More than it was before. Knowing what I do now, I have to assume it will only get worse as time goes on.”
“Oh.”
“You really haven’t noticed?”
Her nose wrinkles. I’ve decided it isn’t annoying.
“I mean . . .” She reaches to rub at her neck. It makes her scent bloom in the air. It’s extremely distracting. “I thought it was . . . I don’t know. You’re already a lot, Noah. I guess I just assumed that was all you.”
“I’m a lot,” I repeat dumbly, not quite sure of her meaning.
“I just mean . . . you already smelled good before you stopped your suppressants. I just thought you were . . . a lot.”
She says the phrase again like it makes total sense, but I’m still not sure it does.
“So what do we do about this?”
She is quiet for a long moment, her eyes calculating as she considers. It’s reminiscent of that look she gave me on the dance floor at the bar—like she’s trying to figure out some puzzle in her head. I can see when she comes to a decision, throwing me for a loop when she actually smiles.
“Why do we have to do anything about it?”
“What?” I make an exasperated sound. “Mackenzie. I can’t continue to be close to you without being on some form of suppressants.”
“Why not?”
“You know why,” I huff. “Eventually, being around each other is going to drive us crazy. We won’t be able to interact at all without feeling the need to—” I catch the way her eyes widen, and I clear my throat. “It’s a terrible idea.” I reach to pinch the bridge of my nose, sighing. “Maybe this entire thing was.”
“What?” Her tone turns desperate. “It’s seriously not as big of a deal as you’re making it, Noah.”
“You’re being reckless,” I accuse. “I’m thinking of you here. I wouldn’t ever want to put you in a position that you might regret.”
“I’m a big girl, Noah,” she grumbles, crossing her arms as she looks at the ground. “I know what I can handle.”
I feel my frustration building, her flippancy only making it worse. “I don’t think I can handle it, Mackenzie.”
She peeks up at me with a confused expression, moonlight painting one side of her face and making the amber in her eyes seem to glow. “What?”
“It’s getting . . . very difficult,” I admit quietly. “To scent you. To not be affected by it.”
Her mouth parts, then slowly closes again. “Oh.”
“Which is why I don’t think it’s a good idea to—”
“Mackenzie? Noah?” Moira’s voice rings out from inside the house, startling us both. “I got the book out. I’d love to show Noah some of my ideas.”
“Oh my God,” Mackenzie groans. “Not the fucking wedding book.”
“What is it about this book?”
“She’s coming outside,” Mackenzie says with a panicked voice. “Jesus. She’s got this damned book where she’s planned out my entire wedding, Noah.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Mackenzie?” Moira’s voice is getting nearer. I can tell through the slight crack in the patio door that she’s entered the living room. “Are you out there?”
“You have to kiss me,” Mackenzie says suddenly.
This throws me off. “What?”
“Kiss me,” she repeats. “Right now. It’ll make her leave us alone.”
“I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to—”
“If you don’t kiss me, she’s going to have us combing through that book all night.”
My eyes dart to the patio door, where a very Moira-like shadow is nearing the glass. “I don’t want you to have to—”
“Just shut up and kiss me.”
I feel her hands at my collar just before she tugs me down to her mouth—her lips colliding with mine only moments before I hear the creaking sound of the glass door sliding in the track behind me. I hear a distant oh followed by a soft chuckle, but even when the door quietly slides closed it feels like a faraway thing, because suddenly . . . all I can seem to focus on is Mackenzie’s mouth.
I’m fully aware of the biological happenings that come with being so intimate with a female shifter—but Mackenzie’s lips on mine feel much less textbook than I’d believed it could be up until this point. The soft shape of them melds against me as her fingers fist the collar of my shirt, and beyond all reason, I can feel the barely-there slide of her tongue over my lower lip, which makes me groan in a way that feels far from pretend.
I can’t fathom what drives me to open my mouth any more than I can guess at why her tongue tangles with mine, but as her flavor explodes there, making me dizzy, I can’t really contemplate anything more than the way my hand fits against her spine when it finds a place to rest there. Does she even realize what she’s doing?
Fuck, do I?
Something in the back of my head tells me I should put a stop to this, that I should pull away from her before things get complicated—but that voice is viscerally silenced by the soft sound that emits from Mackenzie’s throat, one that I all but swallow down as my fingers find their way into her hair. I am a mess of scent and touch and sensation as her body presses closer to mine, and I am fully aware of the way I’m getting hard against her stomach—I just can’t seem to do anything about it.
I can’t say how many seconds it takes to break away from her—to untangle myself from her soft body and her softer mouth—but when I’m finally able to, I find her breath as ragged as mine, and her lips as red and as swollen as my own must surely be.
Her lashes flutter dazedly as the tip of her tongue swipes at her lower lip, and I feel a carnal need to pull that same tongue back into my mouth, to kiss her until the sun comes up, maybe. I’m not sure.
I’m very careful, as I peel myself away—trying to steady my breathing even as all of my senses scream at me to get closer to her.
“This is—” I have to clear my throat, my voice sounding all wrong. “This is what I mean,” I warn roughly. “We won’t be able to control things like this. If we keep this up.”
Mackenzie is still looking at me, her eyes moving over my face in a lazy but calculated way, as if she’s considering the pieces of a puzzle. I watch her tongue trace her lip again, and I’m pretty sure if she does it one more time, I will go insane.
“Say something,” I urge. “Help me figure this out. I could get back on my suppressants, or maybe . . . Maybe we should call the whole thing—”
“What if we just . . . do it?”
I freeze, staring at her. Surely she said something different than what I heard. “What?”
“We could just . . . try it out,” she goes on. “See what all the fuss is about.”
“You can’t be serious,” I say incredulously.
“Why not?” Her eyes look less glazed now, sharper, like she’s really thinking about this. “I mean, it’s not like it has to be a big thing,” she reasons. “We’re already pretending to date. Why not enjoy it a little?”
“I can think of a dozen reasons as to why that’s a bad idea.”
“I can think of one reason why it’s a very good idea,” she counters, nodding at my still-tented pants. “I mean, it doesn’t seem like you’re too opposed to it.”
I press my palm against the stiff front of my dark jeans, immediately regretting my actions when it makes my traitorous cock throb. I hiss through my teeth, closing my eyes. “Mackenzie . . .”
“Seriously, what’s the harm? It sounds like neither of us have had much luck in the dating department lately. I mean, if we had, we wouldn’t be in this situation in the first place. Plus, you’re leaving soon! It seems like a win-win to me.”
“It sounds like a very good way to make things complicated.”
“I’m not going to go all dickmatized on you,” she snorts, barreling on before I even have a chance to process that phrase. “It’s just sex. No need to make a big thing of it.”
I stare at her openmouthed, this turn of events nothing like what I could have ever expected when she got into my car a few hours ago. I can honestly say I’ve never been propositioned for sex like some sort of business deal. The entire thing is . . . bizarre.
But not enough to make it easy to turn down.
I meant it when I said there were a dozen reasons why it’s a bad idea—so why in the world have I not definitively said no yet? Why am I standing here considering what she’s saying, trying to make it seem reasonable in my head? Is it just hormones, or is it . . . something else?
“Dessert is ready,” I hear Moira call from the other side of the patio door, making me jolt as I’m realizing I’m still hard on Mackenzie’s grandmother’s deck. I hear another soft giggle. “Whenever you two are done.”
I close my eyes in embarrassment. I don’t think I acted this way even when I was a teenager. I take a deep breath to steady myself, and when I open my eyes again, I’m startled by the sight of Mackenzie right next to me, her hand reaching to gently press at my shoulder as she peers up at me in the half dark.
“We’ll talk about it after,” she says, her voice low and her eyes full of promise. Her fingers slide down my bicep to trace one of the lines in my sleeve, and the sudden burst of her scent threatens to knock me on my ass. “Just . . . think it over. Okay?”
I have to remain outside for several more seconds before I can will the most traitorous part of me to calm down—Mackenzie’s wild proposition bouncing around in my head in tandem with all the reasons why I should turn her down.
And I will. Turn her down. I absolutely will. It’s a terrible idea. Horrible, really. There are a million things that could go wrong. I will turn her down.
At least . . . that’s what I’m telling myself.
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