Page 22 of Fake It ’Til You Mate It

Roxy snickers.

My teeth are sharp. If I go for the carotid⁠—

No. We’re friends now. Kind of. Besides, while her tone is teasing, the fierce look in her deep yellow eyes is still locked on the sheriff. Alpha or not, there’s a warning in her glare as she shifts her position, putting her long, lean body in between the wolf and me.

“That’s right. And you’re a specific type of opossum, ain’tcha, Hon? What was it again?”

“A Virgin⁠—”

She winces, and I want to slap myself upside the head for setting her up so perfectly as she says, “Still? Aren’t you, like, pushing thirty? Shouldn’t you have a mate by now?”

Little pieces. Tiny pieces. Scattered in as many dumpsters as I can find so that my currently least favorite trash panda can find eternal rest in her favorite place. “A Virginia opossum.” My cheeks heat up. “And my mating is my business. What about you? Where’s yours?”

She flashes her fangs at me, and I swear it’s the first honest grin she’s worn since the sheriff walked in the door. “My prince charming is going to work for me. When I’m ready, I’ll find him. Right, Max?”

Max.

She gets to call him Max?

I glance at Sheriff Lobo, taking a step back when I notice that’s watching me. Not Roxy. During the whole strange exchange, he’s been looking at me.

I cross my arms over my chest. “Yes?”

The sheriff gives me another look, even stranger this time. Stranger, and a whole lot more calculating. “You don’t have a mate?”

Danger. Danger.

Shit.

CHAPTER 7

ROXY AND MAX

Mother has abandoned gus.

Jail for Mother. Jail for a thousand years!

— gus

Where did that come from? Because while Roxy might’ve picked up on something twanging between me and the wolf, I have my scent-dampener potion on. He won’t be able to recognize me… right?

I can’t lie, either. I won’t lie. Improving the truth… keeping it from him… faking it… that’s one thing. But flat-out lying to my fated mate? My inner opossum won’t let me even if I didn’t have to worry about an Alpha being a truth detector.

I shake my head. “Not yet.”

Emphasis on the yet.

“But what about—” He shakes his head. “Never mind. I’m here to⁠—”

Hang on. “You thought the opossum I brought with me to the station was a shifter.”

Sheriff Lobo has the good grace to look embarrassed. “It’s a logical conclusion. If I was walking around Moonburrow with a wolf, you’d think he was one of mine.”

“Yeah, because loose wolves don’t go for a stroll down Sycamore Street. Gus is a wild opossum that I rescued as a young pup.” My eyes widen. “You thought I mated him.”

His expression turns defensive. “You’re an opossum… he’s an opossum…”

Ugh. “What are you, a speciesist?” My hands drop to my hips. For a moment, I completely forget that we have an audience. “What’s next, Sheriff? Prey and predators shouldn’t mix?”