Page 10 of Faking It with the Omega

“Oh no, that’s real,” I say, letting Aiden steer us towards the bar. “I wasn’t going to mention it until we’d ironed out the finer details, but yeah, we’ve got serious plans. I brought it up to Marcus the day you came in for your induction. He and Max are totally on board.”

Aiden stops, gawping at me. “The day I came in for my induction?”

“Yep,”I say breezily, although I’m slightly thrown off by the breathlessness in Aiden’s voice, and the way it makes satisfaction bloom in my stomach. It must be the lingering effects of his dad’s scent, making me feel extra territorial. I clear my throat. “What are fake boyfriends for, eh?”

Aiden shakes his head. “Ordering their fake omegas drinks?”

“Go fuck yourself,” I chuckle, although I’m already flagging down the bartender.

I squeeze my way to the far end of the bar as Aiden goes to find us somewhere to sit. It takes a few minutes to catch the bartender’s eye through the crowd of party-goers, but as soon as the glasses are in my hands, I turn back to scan the room for Aid.

My gaze locks onto him near the far edge of the room, perched against a high table—and my grip on the glasses instantly tightens until my knuckles turn white.

Some slick, over-confident alpha who’s wearing fucking cufflinks has set up camp next to him. The guy is leaning in far too close, a smug smirk on his face, his eyes shamelessly dragging down Aiden’s body. But it’s the hand resting against the small of Aiden’s lower back that triggers something in the primal part of my brain, a violent, territorial rage.

Aiden looks uncomfortable, his shoulders stiff, his body angled away as he tries to politely laugh off whatever the guy is saying.

Before my brain can register what I’m doing, I’m moving. My inner alpha is snarling, demanding I put a stop to it right fucking now.

I cut through the crowd in a few broad strides, setting the drinks down on the table with a sharp, heavy clink that makes both of them jump.

Without breaking stride, I step straight into the guy’s space, sliding my arm securely around Aiden’s waist and knocking the other alpha’s hand away from him in the process.

“Is there a problem here?” I ask, keeping my voice light, but letting my cherry scent flare out just enough to send a message without pissing off every other alpha within a five meter radius.

The alpha blinks, startled by the sudden wall of muscle blocking his path. His eyes flick from my tattooed arm clamped over Aiden’s hip up to my face.

“No problem, man,” the guy stammers, raising his hands in a fake-easy gesture as he takes a hasty step back. “Just making conversation with the omega.”

“He’s got a fucking name,” I growl. The words fly out of my mouth before I even think to filter them, pure instinct taking the wheel. “And he’s taken.”

The guy swallows hard, taking the cue, and quickly melts back into the crowd toward the dance floor.

Aiden shifts against my side, looking up at me through his dark lashes. His cheeks are flushed, his orange blossom scent warm and thick as it wraps around my senses, soothing the sharp edge of my rage.

“Jed,” Aiden murmurs softly. He looks part-shocked and part-amused, and maybe something else that I can’t quite read. “I had it under control.”

His voice snaps me right out of it.

Fuck. The sudden realization hits me like a bucket of ice water: we’re faking it. He isn’t mine. I don’t have any right to lose my mind over some guy hitting on him at a bar. He might have liked it for all I know.

Why does the thought of that make me feel queasy?

My throat goes dry, but instead of letting my arm drop like I know I should, I force a nonchalant grin and squeeze his hip one last time before loosening my grip.

“I don’t doubt it,” I say breezily, picking up his drink and handing it to him, trying like hell to ignore the way my heart is still beating unnecessarily fast. “Just keeping up the act, Aid. Can’t have another alpha stealing my date before I’ve even had my free beer, right?”

Aiden takes the glass, his fingers brushing against mine. He looks at me for a long moment, then takes a long draw of his drink.

“Of course,” he says quietly. He puts his drink down heavily, slapping the corner of the table with his palm. “Okay. Ready to mingle?”

The rest of the party passes in a blur of polite, exhausting small talk, where we fumble through various details of our fake relationship and somehow manage to bluff our way through every mistake. Aiden takes full advantage of the open bar to survive the subtle, passive aggressive digs his dad and other backwards family members keep throwing his way every time we cross paths, getting progressively more tipsy with every passing hour.

He loosens up as the alcohol softens his edges, all his sarcastic humor coming out in a way that I find hilarious, but his various family friends seem to find vaguely offensive, which only makes us both laugh harder. I’ve never been in a real relationship before—never walked around a party with my omega by my side, sharing in secret jokes and hidden touches—and I briefly wonder if this is what I’ve been missing out on all this time. Because I’ve always run away at the first mention of a second date, but as Aiden’s sweet orange blossom scent wraps around me and he leans warmly into my side, I’m struggling to remember exactly what I thought would be so bad.

Lucie corners me as I’m fetching our jackets, her eyes sparkling and her cheeks flushed from the excitement of the evening. This close, it’s even more striking how much she looks like Aiden. They’ve got the same quiet smile, the same unusual, feline ring of orange around the edges of their irises.

“Thank you for coming, Jed,” she says, pulling me into a warm hug. “I know this is a pretty intense way to meet the family.”