Page 5 of Faking It with the Omega

“Shut up, Jed,” he says, but that whisper of a smile is back, and growing more real by the second.

“And wouldn’t you just love to wipe the self-important smile off your dad’s face?” I continue, the thought of it making my insides twist in excitement, because yeah, free food and booze is fun, but getting the opportunity to seriously piss off the guy that’s clearly made Aiden feel like he’s not an absolute fucking catch for most of his life sounds a hell of a lot better.

He sighs wistfully. “Yeah. I really would.”

“So,” I say, stretching my arms above my head and cracking my neck obnoxiously. “It’s a date.”

Aiden pauses. He looks up at the ceiling, grimacing, then looks back at me. “I can’t believe I’m actually considering agreeing to this. You’re a master manipulator.”

“I wear many hats,” I say, spreading my hands with a grin, and for some reason my heart is beating unnecessarily fast. “Therapist. Protein shake mixologist. High-class escort.”

“Oh god, please don’t call it that,” he grimaces.

“What about ‘paramour’? Does that work in this context? Or fake-boyfriend? Foyfriend? Foybriend?”

“Jesus Christ, Jed, I’m leaving,” he says, shaking his head, pushing himself onto his feet weakly.

“Wait!” I hop up after him, suddenly full of energy again. I jog, around to block his path and hold out my hand. “Phone, please.”

He sighs heavily, but hands me his phone. I put in my number, under Fake Boyfriend.

“Send me the details,” I say when I’ve finished punching it in.

Aiden takes his phone back, his lips pressing into a thin, uncertain line. “Are you sure about this? It’s kind of fucking weird.”

“I’m kind of fucking weird,” I shrug, and thank god, that gets a smile out of him. And I might be a total scumbag, because I think I might just be doing this to get the opportunity to see more of those. Well, and to piss off his dad. “I’m fucking sure, Aid. It’ll be fun.”

He shakes his head again, but the color has returned to his cheeks, and he looks a little more alive than he did when he walked in here. “If you say so.”

Aiden

Jed wasn’t joking about looking good in a button-down.

When I open my apartment door and see him standing there a week after we decide on this fucking insane plan, I nearly close the door in his face. Because he’s dressed in black jeans and a gray shirt that skims the broad planes of his chest and tapered waist just right, the sleeves rolled up to reveal his thick, inked-up forearms, and no one in their right mind would believe that the alpha standing in front of me would date an omega like me.

But then his face lights up with one of his easy, lopsided smiles, and I stand aside to let him in and try not to look like I’m burning up from the inside out.

I’ve thought about backing out of this plan every day since we made it: it’s stupid, unnecessary, and it’s very possibly a recipe for disaster. If things go south, at best it’ll be painfully embarrassing, and at worst Jed might decide it’s not worth the awkwardness of training me anymore, and I’ll lose the only trainer who’s treated me like a human being rather than a liability.

But. But.

The thought of walking into my sister’s engagement party alone, subjected to another mind-numbing evening of my dad’s backhanded comments about how I’m “too much” of an omega to ever land a partner, makes my stomach churn. Showing up with a ridiculously handsome, magnetic alpha on my arm feels like the ultimate fuck you, dad.

Besides, if I’m being completely honest with myself, the fact that this plan involves Jed has made backing out almost impossible. Over the last week, my phone has buzzed constantly with his casual, teasing texts as we sorted out the details. I’ve caught myself smiling at my screen like an idiot way too often.

And I’m not under any illusions as to why he’s doing this—Jed is just that guy. He’s easygoing, wildly generous, and would probably throw himself in front of a train if he thought it’d save someone a headache. I see it at the gym all the time. He’s just playing the savior because he hates seeing anyone get knocked down.

But that doesn’t stop me wanting to pretend for one night.

“Nice place,” Jed says, although he barely looks around as he steps inside. His gaze is fixed on me instead, the curious way his eyes quickly dart over my frame making me question my choice of outfit. I notice his nostrils flare, a muscle jumping in his jaw, and it occurs to me that this might be the first time he’s been near me when I’m not wearing blockers. “You’re wearing glasses.”

Oh. My hand comes up to tap the frames resting over my ears, as if I’ve forgotten I was wearing them. Okay, so now I’m doubting my outfit choice, my decision not to wear blockers, and my decision not to wear contacts.

“Uh, yeah,” I mutter, shutting the door and locking it before I lose my nerve completely. “I wear contacts to the gym so I don’t smash these up, but the rest of the time…” I tap the frames. “I’m a regular four-eyes. Should I—I can take them off if you think—”

“No, they’re hot as fuck,” he says easily, openly appraising me with one of the flirty looks he’s given me a hundred times at the gym. The problem is, I’ve seen him give the exact same look, accompanied by many flavors of obscene jokes, to almost everyone else at the gym. Although that doesn’t entirely stop the hum of bashful satisfaction that buzzes in my chest at the compliment. “Deadly in the ring and blind, who knew?”

I huff a laugh, Jed already managing to ease the knot in my stomach, even if only by a tiny, tiny bit.