“Something to look forward to,” Noah says dryly.
“I’m sure it will be sooner rather than later,” I grumble. “Gran isn’t going to sleep until she’s fed you and confirmed that you’re real.”
“Is it really such a novelty that you would find your own significant other?”
My brow quirks. “Are you trying to make a jab at me?”
“No, no.” He looks genuinely contrite. “I just meant . . .” He rubs at his neck, and there is a wafting of his scent that comes with it that feels stronger than it had been only days ago. I guess his body is clear of any lingering effects from the suppressants. “I just find it surprising that you would even need your grandmother’s help in that department in the first place.”
Oh. Is Noah Taylor actually saying I’m attractive? That wasn’t on my fake mate bingo card.
“It’s just not on my list of priorities,” I tell him honestly. “Men are complicated. Shifter men even more so.”
Noah gives me a commiserating nod, almost like he’s silently apologizing for his gender. I don’t say that he doesn’t know the half of it; my omega status means that dating is a headache even without Gran’s “help.” Seriously. The minute they find out what I am it’s nothing but breeding and baby talk. It’s funny, people tend to avoid alphas like Noah, but seek out people like me due to some nonsense stereotype about us being hypersexual or something. I guess in a way we both have our downsides to what we are. Which, coincidentally, reminds me I have yet to tell Noah about my designation. He hardly seems the type to start howling at the moon on my behalf, so maybe it’s weird to continue to not mention it.
Although, I can’t say I’m not curious now. After seeing Priya at lunch, it’s been hard not to consider the, ah, finer details of Noah’s alpha anatomy. I can’t just ask, right? That’s not cool. I wonder how many days you have to be fake dating before it’s okay to ask about the structure of your pretend boyfriend’s dick? More importantly, why does the thought of said pretend boyfriend’s dick make me feel tingly inside?
“How was your day otherwise?”
His question distracts me, and that’s probably a good thing. “My day?”
“Yes, I . . . I guess I’m asking how you’re doing in general? I would hate to think of you struggling for my sake.”
Now he’s worrying about me. Another unexpected square for my bingo card.
“Oh. Well. Yeah? It was fine. I had to set a broken arm for a woman with a pain tolerance of about a negative seven, so that was fun. Even with anesthetics, she acted like I was killing her. I’m surprised you didn’t hear her wailing from all the way up here.”
The corner of Noah’s mouth tilts, so subtly I might almost miss it. “That sounds like loads of fun.”
“You better be careful,” I tell him seriously. “People catch you smiling like that, it will hurt the whole ‘brooding scowl monster’ vibe you’ve worked so hard on.”
He rolls his eyes. “Duly noted.”
“Anyway. So I was wondering. What’s your schedule like this weekend?”
“This weekend?”
“Yeah . . . See, I was actually coming by to ask you about Betty’s retirement party Friday night.”
He cocks his head. “Betty?”
“One of the nurses in obstetrics,” I tell him. “She’s retiring. She’s been here forever. She delivered Tim Allen.”
“Tim Allen?”
“He was born here.”
“Really?”
“Dude. We have like one famous person. Well, unless you count Dog the Bounty Hunter. Which I do. How did you not know this?”
“I guess Denver trivia isn’t my forte.”
“A resident genius, but doesn’t know about Tim Allen,” I tut. “It’ll be the first story Betty tells you.”
“I’m not sure I’ve actually met Betty.”
“Well, at least we know she’s not one of the nurses who you’ve maimed.”
He rolls his eyes. “Hilarious.”
“I know it’s probably not your thing, but you know, since we’re all ‘mated’ now . . . I thought it might be weird if we didn’t go together.”
“And you’re set on going, I take it.”
“I do tend to make a habit of socializing,” I tell him seriously. “I know. It’s a horrible habit.”