“But he must not be so bad,” Priya points out, dragging my mind out of the gutter. “Not if you mated him. Right?”
I consider that, if for no other reason than to save myself from the train of thought that’s working me up. I definitely don’t need to be getting horny in a hospital cafeteria over a man I’m pretending to date. A week ago, her question would have been easy to answer, but now that I’ve spent a little time with Noah, I’m not so sure. I’d built up a perception of him in my head, just like everyone else who’s ever come across him, I’m sure, but now I’m wondering if a lot of the things I’ve heard about Noah have been grossly overexaggerated, as he would say.
“He’s not as bad as he wants you to think he is,” I tell her, believing it, weirdly. “He’s just intense.”
“Understatement of the year,” Priya scoffs. “I’m dying to know how you guys met.”
Uh-oh. That’s not something we went over. Why is that not something we went over? It’s the first thing people ask. We really are terrible at this dating thing.
“Ah. Well. It’s a funny story actually.” It could be a hilarious story, given that I’m not even sure what I’m about to say. “What happened was—You see—”
Priya’s cell phone begins to ring, and she gives me an apologetic look. “Hold that thought.”
I listen to her tone go from expectant to urgent, telling someone on the other line that she will “be right there” after less than a minute of speaking. My whirring brain says a silent prayer of thanks.
“Sorry,” she groans. “They need me on the third floor.” She pauses before leaving, looking at me expectantly. “You two are coming to Betty’s retirement party this weekend, right?”
“Two?”
“You and Noah!”
“Oh.” I can already envision Noah’s look of distaste. “Actually, I haven’t run it by him. Totally slipped my mind.”
“Well, hurry and go ask him. You have to bring your scowly hubby. I have a bet with my tech that he turns into a bat at night.”
I roll my eyes. “I’ll be sure to check his schedule.”
“Perfect,” she says. She points at me with narrowed eyes as another thought seems to cross her mind. “But I still want that story next time I see you.”
“Sure,” I tell her. “You got it.”
She blows a kiss in my direction. “See you later!”
I stream a puff of air between my lips when she’s gone, grateful for the bullet I just dodged. How in the hell did Noah and I fail to come up with a “how we met” story? It’s practically the foundation of every relationship.
Then again, I’m trying to imagine a scenario where Noah and I would have met organically outside of work and then also fell in love organically to the point where I would let him bite me and spend the rest of my life with him—and I’m drawing a blank. So it makes sense that we forgot that little detail.
Although, thanks to Priya, I’m definitely not having too hard of a time imagining how we might have met outside of work and fallen into bed together. Again, not a safe line of thought.
I shake my head as I’m finally able to give my soup （broccoli and cheddar this time） proper attention, making a mental note to add a “meet cute” to the list of things Noah and I need to fabricate.
If that’s even possible.
* * *
?Near the end of my shift, after enduring a few more hours of whispers and stares and direct interrogations from people I’ve hardly even talked to before today, I decide to seek out my coconspirator and see how his day has fared. I need to know how dark his mood is before I hit him with a party invite this soon in the game.
I haven’t been to Noah’s office since the very first time I met him, doing my best to avoid it before all this, but it’s easy enough to find on his floor. His nameplate outside the door is shiny and neat and professional-looking, reminding me of the man himself. I raise my fist to knock lightly against the wood, hearing his low voice beckon me inside as I turn the knob to push the door open.
Noah is sitting at his desk when I open the door, leaning back in his chair with a frown on his face and his fingers laced across his stomach. He seems surprised to see me, his expression changing minutely when I enter, giving him an awkward smile as I start to open the door fully and step inside.
“Hey. It’s me, you’re so-called—”
I close my mouth as the door swings wider to reveal that Noah is not alone, an older male shifter who I recognize but whose name I can’t recall standing on the other side of his desk. I know he works on this floor with Noah, at least. His hair has already begun to gray around his ears, giving me the impression he must be at least a decade older than me and maybe even Noah, his skin an unnatural tan shade that someone like him could only get by spending a lot of his spare time in a tanning bed, given where we live. It makes him look . . . leathery, to be honest. I guess I’ve never noticed since this is the first time I’ve seen him up close. I mentally curse myself for nearly blowing our cover.