Page 25 of Faking It with the Omega

“What’s going on?” Marcus grunts. “What are you two planning?”

“World domination,” Alex says, at the same time that I say, “A military coup.”

Marcus frowns. “Jesus Christ. I go to the bathroom for five minutes.”

Alex intertwines his hand with Marcus’ on the table, and there it is again. That sick, twisted feeling right in my gut. Marcus is looking at Alex like he’s hung all the stars in the sky.

“You don’t have to listen to me, but I think you should talk to him,” Alex says. “I can’t tell you if he feels the same way you do, but you’re never going to find out by hiding yourself away and working off assumptions. It sounds like he’s worth taking the risk for.”

I nod soberly, because I know he’s right. “Yeah, he is.”

“And no jokes allowed.”

Marcus snorts. “Jed? No jokes? Not possible.”

“Yes it is, Marcus,” Alex hisses, swatting him on his bicep. Marcus doesn’t flinch, but he gives me a confused look. “Jed’s a changed man.”

“Did I miss something? Are we doing serious talks?” Marcus says, his eyes widening. He clears his throat. “Because Jed, you know we love you, man, and if there’s anything I can—”

“Fucking hell, Marcus.” I hold out my hand to stop him, holding back a snort of laughter even though fondness is swelling in my chest where jealousy was a moment ago. “Shut the fuck up. I appreciate it, but Alex has it covered. No heart to hearts necessary, I can’t take it from two of you.” Marcus frowns at me sceptically. “I’m good, I swear. I’m going to talk to Aiden. Properly. Like a fucking adult.”

Alex beams, and Marcus sags against him in relief. “Ok, phew. I didn’t have anything planned past the first sentence, if I’m being honest.”

There’s a beat of silence where we're all awkwardly glancing at each other, and I sigh heavily, slapping the table. “Okay, enough of this sincere bullshit. Who wants another drink? My beer went flat like, half an hour ago, and I’m gonna need another if I’m going to convince Kyle that I think the blue Power Ranger is the most fuckable.”

“Oh my god,” Alex sighs.

“You’re just saying that to fuck with him, right?” Marcus says suspiciously,

“Oh no, I’m deadly serious,” I say. “Now let’s go inside before I die of secondhand smoke inhalation.”

—

I find myself in Duke’s again two days later, staring into a half-consumed coffee like it holds the answers to all my problems. It feels strange being here alone. For weeks, this booth had been where I learned everything about Aiden—the things he loved, the things that pissed him off, the tiny details nobody else knew. It was where I fell in love with him without even realizing it.

It took a sleepless night and nearly 24 full hours for me to figure out what I wanted to say to Aiden, and another twelve after that to actually work up the courage to send a text, and I’m still not convinced he’s going to show.

So when the door to the bar swings open and Aiden walks in, my chest seizes in relief and nausea all at once.

He pulls an earbud out, scanning the dimly lit booths of our regular bar before his eyes lock onto mine. His face is stony and unreadable, exactly like it was the first day he walked into The Foundry. All the walls I didn’t even realize I was stripping down over all those weeks and months are suddenly back in full force, and I hate it.

He slides into the opposite side of our usual booth, keeping his expression neutral.

“Thanks for coming,” I say quietly.

“Why wouldn’t I?” he replies, his voice flat.

I twist my bottom lip between my teeth. “I know you’ve been avoiding me. Which is totally fair, by the way.” I pause, realizing I’m saying everything out of order. “I just wanted to talk, properly. To, um, explain myself, I guess.”

Aiden looks around the quiet bar. “I don’t know that there’s much to talk about.”

“Maybe not for you, but I’ve got some things I need you to know,” I say, leaning forward across the scratched wooden table and not hiding the raw edge of pain in my voice for once. “I fucked up. I didn’t know how to be honest, and I’m really fucking sorry.”

Aiden’s jaw tightens, his dark eyes tracking my movements like he expects me to throw out another bad joke and run for the hills. He drops the earbud into his palm, his shoulders rigid under his shirt.

“I don't think you fucked up,” he says, his tone razor-thin, trying so hard to sound detached. “You made it clear back at the hotel. The job was done, fake boyfriend duties were over. We had a fun couple of nights, and I read too much into it. I get it, Jed. You don’t owe me a debrief. I know I’m not exactly dateable omega material.”

I flinch. “Wait—what?”