The Fake Mate(8)

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.”