Page 14 of The Fake Mate

MACKENZIE:I’ll be waiting by the phone, lover.

I shake my head as I let my phone drop to my lap, covering my mouth for absolutely no reason, given that I am alone in my house.

It’s not as if Mackenzie is here to catch me smiling.

?The feeling inmy chest is a new one, that’s for sure. Or at the very least, one I can’t remember the last time I’ve experienced. It’s an odd fluttering, like nerves, but for what I can’t pin down. Am I nervous about the agreement I’ve entered into, what it will mean if we can’t pull it off? Or am I nervous to see Mackenzie again, knowing how much of my career rests in her hands?

Either way, I’m watching the door as I hold a table at the little café. I check the clock again, noticing the time, frowning when I realize it’s five minutes past our agreed meeting time. Has she changed her mind? I know I could text her, but part of me worries she actually has, and then where will I be?

I haven’t seen her again in the days since I scented her outside of the hospital—an experience I’ll not soon forget. In fact, I’ve been mostly uncomfortable since the incident, seeing as I stopped taking my suppressants that very night, feeling antsy in a way I don’t ever remember feeling. I’ve been placating myself with the knowledge that it’s most likely unease that comes from our strange partnership. Her texts have helped, at least. Each one has assured me that she hasn’t changed her mind. At least not yet.

I’m saved from my growing worry when the glass door swings open at the entrance of the café, the little bell dinging above it to signal her arrival as she walks through the front door. Oddly enough, Ismellher before I fully recognize her, her scent still clinging to me as much as I’d meant for mine to cling to her. It hasn’t left me since that morning in the bushes, if I’m being honest, and now that she’s nearby, it’s considerably more potent.

I’m not yet sure if that is a good or bad thing.

She wiggles her fingers in a wave when she notices me sitting at a table in the back corner, and I return it as she moves through the crowd toward me. Her thick tresses are piled on top of her head in a messy bun, her face slightly flushed red as if she’d only just finished her workout. She unwraps herself from her heavy coat before she settles across the table from me, revealing neon fabric that covers her from wrist to neck to ankle but the tightness of it still leaves little to the imagination.

“Sorry,” she tells me as she sits. “Session started late. Instructor got stuck in traffic.” She pushes one honeyed tendril from her forehead, tucking it behind her ear. “I should have texted you to let you know.”

“It’s fine,” I tell her, pointedly not looking at her outfit. It’s very tight. Is this standard yoga wear? “I haven’t been here long.”

It’s a lie, but she doesn’t have to know that.

“So...” She leans on her elbows. “How are you? Still freaking out?”

“I haven’t freaked out.”

Her lips twitch. “Literally all of your texts have felt like you were checking to make sure I hadn’t changed my mind.”

“Well... I can’t say that I haven’t worried that you might.”

She waves me off. “Stop your fretting. I’m not going to ditchyou, promise.” She leans in closer then, looking serious. “So, what’s our plan?”

It takes me a second to register the question, since her leaning in only worsens the potency of her scent, which clouds between us. Why have I never noticed it before all of this?

“Our plan,” I answer distractedly. “Right.”

She smells a bit like me as well,I think idly.But I guess that’s the point.

She presses a hand to her stomach then as she cranes her neck, sniffing the air. “Shit. I’m hungry. Do you mind if I grab something first?”

“Oh, that’s fine. I... let me. I’ll get it.”

She looks at me strangely. “You don’t have to.”

“It’s the least I can do,” I insist. “Since we’re supposed to be on a date.”

Her cheeks flush, but barely, her eyes widening. “Oh yeah. I guess that’s true.” Her expression returns to normal, and she leans back in her seat with a smile. “Never thought I’d be on a lunch date with scary old Noah Taylor. Can’t pass up the opportunity.”

I frown. “Old?”

“It’s an expression. Don’t get all pissy.” Her nose wrinkles. “How old are you, anyway?”

“Thirty-six.”

“Oh, that’s not so bad. I guess that kills my plan of settling down with a drastically older man for money,” she says flippantly.

I shake my head. “Are the jokes part of the deal, or do you intend to let up on them at some point?”

---