Page 3 of Faking It with the Omega

“I can fire you whenever I want, you know,” he shouts directly into my ear, and I finally turn the music down to a reasonable level, giggling gleefully. He tries to maintain his flat stare, but the corners of his mouth betray him.

“You wouldn’t dare,” I grin. “No one else would remember your ridiculous coffee order.”

“It’s not ridiculous—” he starts.

“It’s sophisticated,” finishes Kyle, sniggering with me as he hands Max’s coat to him. Max frowns. Kyle is Max’s buddy, and he doesn’t work here, but he may as well do with the amount of time he spends here.

“Enjoy your Thursday night drinks, boys. I’ll be holding down the fort like the fucking exemplary employee I am,” I say, receiving a middle finger from Max as I wave them off into the night.

They both fist bump Aiden as he walks in with his gym bag slung over one well-defined shoulder, his dark curls bouncing slightly with every step. My smile widens.

My nostrils flare instinctively when he gets close, searching for his scent, but they’re met with nothingness. Just the usual alpha-laden scent of the gym—although it’s less than it used to be, after we asked the cleaners to start using neutralizing sprays when Aiden joined. I don’t imagine many omegas want to work out in a place that smells like testosterone and sweaty pheromones.

I caught on to the fact that he wears scent blockers pretty early on, and mentioned as casually as possible that it wasn’t necessary. I also mentioned that if anyone even made a passing fucking joke about him being an omega, to let me, Max, or Marcus know, and we’d deal with them.

He’s taken me up on the second one a couple of times—albeit reluctantly. I’m still not entirely sure he believed me when I told him that it’s because we have a zero tolerance policy on dynamic discrimination, and not because I secretly think he can’t handle himself. God knows he proves that every time he comes in here and unleashes hell in the ring.

But he’s continued wearing the blockers. Which is fine; he obviously feels more comfortable that way, and who can blame him? Who wants a gym full of alphas sniffing your scent whenever you work up a sweat? But that doesn’t stop a small, selfish part of me hoping to catch even the faintest hint of it.

Because Aiden is… attractive. Built. Talented. Quietly hilarious. Fucking hot as balls, honestly. Maybe, maybe, if I was the dating type, I’d have considered asking him out by now, but my relationships with omegas rarely go past the first date. And that’s usually just the way I like it—have a fun evening, hook up with no strings, never see them again. No baggage, no commitment. Exquisite. The best of all worlds.

But that doesn’t quite work when you have to see said omega at work every other day. Not to mention it would be pretty damn unprofessional, even if it’s not explicitly against the rules.

But god, I wonder what he smells like.

Which is exactly why he wears the goddamn neutralizers in the first place, Jed, you fucking perverted neanderthal.

“You’re looking extraordinarily cheerful for a Thursday night,” Aiden deadpans. He’s not a big joker, but I’ve figured out his dry sense of humor over the past few months, and I always get a kick out of being on the receiving end of it.

“I’ve just been having fun pissing off Max,” I say as we walk over to an empty spot and I watch Aiden slip off his jacket and try not to stare. “Ready for me to piss you off, too? I was thinking we could do some cardio drills; I know how much you love those.”

This time, he doesn’t bite back with any of his usual dry wit. He runs a hand over his face instead, and I notice that he looks tired. “Sure. Whatever.”

I lean against a concrete pillar, cocking my head. “Or not. We can do something else if you’re not feeling cardio.”

Aiden looks back up at me, his mouth twitching like he wants to say something. “Actually, can we spar? Or do bags or something? I kind of just want to hit things today.”

I bark a laugh, clapping him on the back. “Oh my god, hitting things is my favorite thing—how did you know? Get your gloves on, my man.”

We start with some light drills, but I can tell Aiden’s missing his usual fire, his arms falling limply to his sides after every combination. Ten minutes in and I can practically see the thunderclouds gathering above his head, and I decide to change tack.

“Okay, let’s do something different,” I say, raising the practice pads to chest height. “It doesn’t take a genius to see that something, or someone, has majorly pissed you off today. Whoever it is, I want you to picture them right here.” I wiggle the pads in his face. “Let’s smash out that rage.”

Aiden drops smoothly into his stance. “Never heard that one before,” he says wryly, but his eyes sharpen as he narrows his focus on the pads.

“It’s a cliché for a reason,” I say, feeling a flash of excitement. He’s got so much hidden fire in him, and I love watching it come out. “Now keep your breathing steady, exhale on impact. Distribute your weight like I told you. That’s it.”

He lays into the pads, taking my cues, adjusting his stance, and using his breath to channel his power. The difference in his technique is immediate, the fire I know and admire slowly but surely showing back up. His face is a mask of concentrate, his strong jaw flexing with every jab. I can’t take my eyes off him.

I take him through a series of increasingly complex combinations, watching him push through the burn until his shoulders are trembling and his skin is glistening with sweat. When I finally drop the pads and collapse onto the mats, we’re both panting. I’ve got a breathless smile breaking open my face, and Aiden looks slightly less like he wants to burn the entire world to the ground, which I’m going to take as a win.

Aiden pushes his gloves off, letting them drop heavily to the floor, and sinks down onto the mat right beside me. His arm is slung over his face, his chest heaving hard.

I reach over and slap his stomach with a breathless laugh, not letting the contact linger for too long, even though part of me wants to. “You’re a fucking natural, kid,” I tell him. “And I’m not just saying that because I like you.”

Beside me, I catch him glance over at me, the first hint of an actual smile just threatening to break through.

“Thanks,” he mutters.