Page 32 of Fake It ’Til You Mate It

His eyes narrow, not in warning this time, but in open disbelief. “You’re serious.”

I don’t understand why he seems so surprised. At the community center, he made it seem like he knew I was doing some sleuthing on the side. Of course I want to help him. I shrug. “Yeah. I’m serious.”

Suddenly, the air in the bakery changes. It’s quiet, but it grows thicker. I nearly choke on the weight of the expectant look that fills his predatory gaze. His eyes… they’re on me, roving over my face, taking in every detail of the opossum shift daring to look back at the wolf.

There’s something in that expression of his. Max looks down at me like he’s not sure what he’s seeing anymore: a nuisance or a helping hand. I’m not challenging him with eye contact; not like if I was anyone but me. I’m just there, and there is exactly where Max wants me.

His hand drops down, landing on my hip. I didn’t even realize how close we were until I feel the heat of his paw through my shirt. He tugs on me, pulling me closer. At the same time, he bends his head slowly, so slow, I could duck out of his path. I could refuse him. I could get away.

I don’t.

His other hand finds my jaw, rough thumb brushing the corner of my mouth. “You drive me insane, killer,” he mutters.

“Good,” I whisper back, breath coming quickly. I’ll regret this in the morning. I know I will. But if I even try to escape my mate, my opossum will kill me. “Means we’re even, Max.”

He groans to hear me say his name. Maybe if I hadn’t… maybe if I’d called him ‘Sheriff’ or ‘Alpha’, reminding him who he is… maybe then I could’ve stopped this. Only I didn’t want to stop this.

I wanted him to kiss me—and that’s exactly what Max does.

The second his mouth leaves mine, I’m glitching. Like my brain just short-circuited, which makes total sense. The potion might keep Max from realizing I’m his fated mate, but I’ve known who he was since the day I crossed into Moonburrow. This is all my opossum wanted, some sign that our mate might possibly choose us. For a second, I think I got it, and then I dare another peek up at his face.

His expression is so tortured, my stomach drops all the way to his shoes.

No.

No.

He didn’t want his. Or he did, but he realizes it was a mistake.

I’m a mistake.

Ignoring my opossum’s screech of heartache and pain, I duck out of his loose hold.

Max takes one step back, then another, until there’s enough space between us that the temptation vanishes.

The temptation vanishes.

The tension lingers.

“Right,” he says. His voice is lower, rougher. “That shouldn’t have happened.”

Fuck. That look on his face… I’d expected a reaction. Doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.

I nod so hard I nearly pull my neck. “Of course. It was an accident. Totally random lipsmacking. Happens all the time in bakeries.”

One dark brow lifts. “Does it now?”

“Constant hazard. Occupational risk. And I didn’t even charm you.”

The way his brow furrows says: didn’t you?

He exhales through his nose, somewhere between a laugh and a growl, then rubs the back of his neck. “We forget it, then.”

“Perfect. Forgotten. Never happened.” I back toward the counter, desperate to put it between us. “You’re still the sheriff, I’m still the—uh—mildly suspected baker.”

And not his mate. How can I tell him I’m his fated mate in the middle of this mess? Especially since, if he still doesn’t know, he’s not looking too closely at me like a female. Not like he did that fleeting moment after Roxy mentioned I’m a Virginia opossum.

Oh, no. I was just the prey shifter who possibly poisoned one of his packmates… but if that’s so, why did he kiss me?