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The Fake Mate(55)

Author:Lana Ferguson

He leaves me stunned and fuming, torn between wanting to throw a chair or a punch—I can’t decide. It takes me a good minute to collect myself, unable to really calm myself back down until his footsteps have faded away, and when I’m alone again I can’t help but wonder what the hell is wrong with me.

I don’t do this. I don’t let dumb fucks like Dennis get under my skin like this. And despite the stories about making nurses cry, I can’t remember a time when I’ve ever berated a coworker openly like I just did. It seems that with every passing day sans suppressants—I am becoming less and less like myself. It has me wondering if this charade I’m clinging to so tightly is worth the insanity it’s driving me to.

Guess you really are an alpha after all, huh?

I push Dennis’s snide voice from my mind, taking a deep breath to collect myself as I remember I still have a job to do. This mess is something I can handle later, I think.

Hopefully.

* * *

The encounter with Dennis follows me for the next few hours while I see two more consults, and even now at lunchtime, there’s a sense of unease on my skin that feels almost like an itch I can’t reach. Granted, Dennis and I have never been and most likely will never be anything remotely close to friends, but at least until today I’ve been able to successfully remain professional with him despite all his thinly veiled barbs. Everything about the confrontation has me slightly worried that at this rate, I am going to get myself fired for the exact sort of behavior I am trying to prove isn’t actually something to worry about.

I’m telling myself that it’s a perfectly normal thing, me going down to her floor. We’re supposed to be mates, after all, right? Surely it can only bolster our facade, me checking in on her. Not that any of these justifications offer any enlightenment as to what reason I will give Mackenzie in regard to me coming down to the ER floor—a place I’ve visited more in the last two weeks than I have in two months. I have no good reason to be here, but with each passing hour since this morning, I find myself plagued with an increasingly pressing urge just to see her. Something I’ve been trying to justify in my head as a polite checkin on her state of being after everything that happened last night.

I’ve noticed at least three nurses and two physicians turning their heads to watch me pass as I move through the hallways down here, each of them staring at the side of my head like I’m some sort of alien visitor they can’t make heads or tails of. It’s making me wonder if there was actually something to all that “Boogeyman of Denver General” ridiculousness everyone has been talking about.

I’ve been wandering around for five minutes after stepping off the elevator, but I finally hear a familiar laugh down the hall and around the corner, and just the sound of it has some tension in my shoulders unwinding, which I hadn’t even fully realized had been there until this very moment. I notice my step quickening as my body seems to attempt to close the space between us more quickly, as if my body has a mind of its own, and it is only seconds later that I see a soft, sandy ponytail tilted back with her laughter as she reaches to push at someone’s shoulder, almost like she’s just been told a joke.

I also notice that the shoulder is very male.

This does strange things to me as well, for entirely different reasons.

I stop walking almost twenty feet from her, watching her continue to chat with a good-looking shifter who is only a few inches shorter than I am. His scent makes my skin prickle, mostly because of its vicinity to Mackenzie, and his handsome face with its charming dimple only makes his smile seem all the more bright. But what’s worse is that even from here, I pick up on the soft way he’s looking at my mate.

My fake mate, I mentally correct.

The distinction does nothing for the sticky heat I feel suddenly dripping into my chest.

Mackenzie notices me after another second, her laughter dying as confusion bleeds into her features. “Noah?”

“I . . .” My eyes dart from the man next to her, who looks less happy than he did a second ago, back again to Mackenzie, who is still looking at me with an obvious curiosity as to what I’m doing down here. “I just came to see how your day was going.”

“My day,” she echoes in a faraway voice. I can almost feel myself melting into the floor, but she recovers quickly, flashing me a smile. “It’s been okay. Kind of a slow morning, actually. Haven’t seen a single broken bone.”

“That’s surprising,” I note. “Given that it’s ski season.”

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