Page 6 of Faking It with the Omega

“Okay, we probably need some kind of game plan,” I say, starting to pace back and forth across my living room rug. My fingers fiddle with the hem of my jacket.

Jed watches me with amusement. “Sure—you go in through the front and distract the guards; I’ll abseil in from the roof and steal the gold,” he says.

I stop pacing and give him an unimpressed look. “Such a funny guy,” I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm.

He slaps his forehead. “Sorry, that’s my bank robbery game plan! Let me think, what’s my pretending-to-be-someone’s-boyfriend-to-piss-off-their-asshole-dad game plan… oh yeah, fucking wing it, Aid. I don’t think we need a game plan. It’ll be fine.”

I wonder what it would be like to exist with Jed’s level of chill. “What if someone asks how we met?”

He shrugs. “Tell them whatever you like. I think I could pull off being a stock-broker. Doctor or lawyer might be a stretch—I don’t want anyone asking me to check out their weird rashes or anything. Or we could imply I’m in organized crime if you think that’d freak them out—”

“Jed,” I stop him with a hard stare. “I don’t need to lie to make you more impressive. You’re impressive enough as it is.”

“Well, I’m flattered,” he says, raising his eyebrows, a mischievous smile spreading across his face. “But I could be so much more impressive.”

I shake my head, scanning him up and down. With his broad frame, ink peeking past his collar, and the slight, rogue edge to the way he carries himself, he looks nothing like the squeaky-clean corporate types my dad would have me dating if it were up to him. “Honestly? The fact that you're not some straightlaced lawyer type is a positive. For one thing, it would be suspiciously out of character for me to turn up with someone like that.”

Jed smirks. “Is this where I find out you like bad boys, Aid? Shit, I knew I should have brought my motorcycle.”

I flip him off, ignoring the shiver of heat that licks up my spine at the mental image of Jed on the back of a bike. “Secondly, it’ll piss him off, which is always a win in my book. But you’re physically intimidating enough that he won’t dare challenge you on it.”

“Always happy to be a public nuisance,” Jed says, blue eyes sparkling. “So the story goes: I was your trainer, you were my client, there were sparks from the very first punch.” He flutters his fingers in the air for dramatic effect and I try not to think too hard about how uncomfortably close to home that feels.

I nod slowly. “Sounds believable.”

My phone buzzes in my pocket, making me jump. “I set an alarm so we wouldn’t be late,” I say, silencing my phone and straightening my hair unnecessarily, just to give my hands something to do. “Lucie’s a stickler for punctuality.”

“Must run in the family,” Jed snorts, following me as I head for the door. “I don’t think you’ve ever been even five minutes late for one of our sessions.”

That’s because it’s the highlight of my week, I think, while my fingers fumble clumsily with the lock on the door.

“Hey, hang on for one second,” Jed says softly, tugging my wrist away from the door gently and spinning me to face him. “Let me scent you before we go.”

“What?!” I say bluntly, but Jed just barks a laugh, looking as unfazed as ever.

“It’ll look a bit suspicious if you turn up with your ‘boyfriend,’ but you smell nothing like him,” he grins easily. And sure, he has a point, but that doesn’t stop the cold sweat that’s suddenly threatening to break out across my forehead. “And don’t bite my head off for saying this, but it might help calm you down. You look like you’re preparing to fling yourself off a fucking cliff.”

“I do not,” I huff petulantly.

Jed raises his eyebrows as if to say, who do you think you’re kidding, and I rub my temples. “Okay,” I say. “Alright. Just to keep up appearances. No other reason.”

Jed takes a step closer to me in the small entryway, looking far too smug for his own good. “Sure, Aid. No other reason.”

“Fuck off,” I grunt, but all the fight leaves my voice as he gets so close my back bumps against the wall, his cheek sliding close to mine so our scent glands are aligned. I just expected him to rub his wrist over my neck or something, but this feels… intimate. It’s what he’d do if he were really my boyfriend.

I exhale automatically as his pheromones thicken in the air around us, seeping into my skin and making my skin prickle with awareness, the hairs on my arms standing on end. Jed lets out a soft sigh too, breathing in deeply as my scent flares in response. I tell myself that both our reactions are just biology. Just a simple chemical reaction, like crying when you cut onions or sneezing when you look into the sun.

And maybe I haven’t been scented by an alpha like this in such a long time, let alone touched by one, that I’m hypersensitive to every press of his fingertips. Maybe that’s why my body is reacting to his scent the way it is; too fast, too needy, too much.

His cheek, rough with stubble, slides against mine, and my head tips back against the wall. The tension oozes out of my muscles like I’m slipping into a warm bath, and I’d hate to admit that he was right about being able to ease my nerves, but I can’t bring myself to care when he’s standing this close, and his scent is so warm and heavy and fucking intoxicating.

Jed hums as my hand curls around his waist, bringing our chests together, and I’m not sure whether it’s intentional or not, but his thigh slips between my legs. And I can’t help it. My scent fucking blooms around us as his firm thigh nudges against my rapidly filling cock, and there’s no way he can’t smell my arousal in the air, no way he can’t feel my erection practically straining to get out of these stupid fucking pants—

But when I breathe in, I can smell his scent deepening too, the familiar bourbon and cherry richer and headier than before. His breathing is ragged in my ear as he presses against me, the touch somehow feather light and cautious, but still managing to give just the right amount of friction to have my breath catching in my throat.

I should pull away. One of us should definitely pull away.

Jed’s hand drops to my hip, and the movement is subtle, but he definitely tugs me closer. And again. His hand is guiding my hips, encouraging me to rut against him, each grind of our hips sending a delicious, rough pulse of pleasure along my length until our foreheads are knocking together and my breathing is nothing more than a warm stutter against his cheek.