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The Fake Mate(56)

Author:Lana Ferguson

“That’s what I said,” she laughs. She seems to remember there’s another person here then, giving the man beside her an apologetic look. “Sorry. Noah, this is Liam. He works with me in the ER.”

Liam offers me his hand, but I notice his smile doesn’t meet his eyes. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Dr. Taylor,” he says politely.

“Noah is fine,” I correct. His smile is starting to bother me, for reasons I can’t pin down. “Sorry. Mackenzie has never mentioned you.”

My tone must come off tighter than I intended, because Mackenzie’s nose wrinkles just as Liam’s expression falters slightly.

“I didn’t?” Mackenzie’s laugh is off, coming across slightly awkward. “My bad. We’re usually too busy talking about open chest cavities and what to have for dinner.”

“It’s no big deal,” Liam assures us. “Mackenzie is usually too busy to look up half the time. Never met a more focused physician.”

“She is amazing,” I say matter-of-factly, my eyes moving down her face as she blinks with surprise. “I’m lucky to have her.”

“Of course,” Liam laughs with only a slight hint of uneasiness. He reaches to gently squeeze Mackenzie’s shoulder, and that same sticky sensation threatens to fill up my entire chest. “I was just telling Mackenzie that I was going to throw the entire ER a pizza party if we can make it to the end of the week without setting another broken bone.”

“And I said that is absolutely not going to happen,” she laughs.

“It’s very doubtful,” I muse flatly. I notice his hand is still on her shoulder, and despite my best judgment my body seems to move on its own, pulling her against me gently so that I can hug her to my side, effectively ensuring Liam’s hand slips away from her. “I suppose that’s why it’s so fortunate that Mackenzie is so capable.”

There’s an awkward sort of silence then, and it isn’t until Liam clears his throat that I realize we’re just standing in a circle and that I haven’t given a good reason for being down here.

“Anyway,” I say in my best attempt at a casual tone, looking down at her. “I just finished with my appointments for the morning and wondered if you wanted to grab lunch.”

“Oh.” Her eyes widen a little, genuine surprise covering her face. “Oh! Well . . .” Her eyes flick to Liam for a moment before finding mine again apologetically. “I just thought you said that you’d . . . you know. That you’d be busy most of the day. So I told Parker I’d grab lunch with him.”

“Oh.” I nod more emphatically than necessary. “Of course. I probably should have texted first.”

“No, it’s fine!” She reaches to touch my arm, and even this gentle press of her fingers through my sleeve seems to ease the odd feeling inside. “You can totally come with us. If you want?”

“No, no,” I insist. “That’s okay. Honestly, now that I think about it, I need to sign off on some charts, anyway. I should probably get a jump on that. I’ll just . . . see you later.”

“Okay,” she says, still touching my arm. “I’ll see you at home?”

It’s a lie, and I know that, so why does it make me feel better that she’s said it?

I think it takes her by surprise, when I close the distance between us, and the closeness pulls her even further from Liam as I lean to pull her mouth to mine. I know it sure as hell takes me by surprise, given that I don’t think I even made a conscious decision to kiss her. It just sort of happens.

It’s quick, almost chaste, even, but still I linger a second longer than I need to, reveling in the tiny victory that is Mackenzie immediately yielding to my kiss. I hear Liam make an awkward sound under his breath beside us, and something in me half purrs with contentment at having made it fully known that Mackenzie is entirely off-limits.

Even in my head that sounds insane.

I pull away from her, doing my best to look like I’m not a mess of conflict and uncertainty, echoing: See you at home against her mouth before I step away from her and make for the opposite end of the hall. There’s nothing appropriate about what just occurred, and I know if I allow myself to dissect all that I just did, I will be even more concerned than I already am.

I don’t slow my pace until I’m safely back on my own floor and locked inside my office—sinking into my desk chair and sighing as I ponder the mess that the morning has been. Maybe I’m coming unraveled.

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