“Right,” I say with a wooden smile. “Fate.”
I feel the brush of Mackenzie’s fingers at my knee beneath the table, and can see the concern in her eyes when they meet mine, almost like she’s afraid I’m angry. Which I’m not, oddly. Sure, it would have been nice to know before sitting across from my fake girlfriend’s grandmother that said fake girlfriend is the biological counterpart to all that I am; maybe I might have switched to a less potent suppressant rather than staving off them entirely if I’d known that being around Mackenzie unsuppressed might slowly drive me crazy. At least the strange things I’ve been experiencing have a valid explanation, at the very least.
Mostly, I’m finding it hard to be angry about any of this when the alpha in me is already weaving daydreams about impossible, crude things that would most likely have Mackenzie throwing a punch. Hell, I’m considering throwing myself one just to knock some sense back into me.
I keep my expression even for the remainder of dinner—smiling when needed and answering as calmly as I can—all the while feeling a simmering something building in my belly that begs to be addressed.
Strangely, Mackenzie’s fingers remain lightly against my knee for the remainder of dinner.
* * *
?“Now, you two make room for dessert,” Moira calls from the kitchen. “After pie, I can show you my book!”
Mackenzie groans as she leads my still-tense figure from the kitchen to the living room and out the patio doors that open to a wooden deck connecting to the backyard—dragging me into the dark space that is only lit by the moonlight that spills over the grass and down the steps leading away from the deck.
“Listen,” she starts. “Don’t be mad.”
“Mad,” I echo.
“I know I should have said something before,” she says in a rush. “It’s not like I was hiding it from you, exactly, it’s just . . .”
I’m genuinely curious as to her reasoning for keeping something so important from me, so I only continue to look at her expectantly in lieu of answering.
Mackenzie sighs. “Look, I know all the dumb stories about alphas and omegas and fated pairs and all that bullshit—and I just didn’t want you to go all crazy on me if you found out. We have a good thing going here. I don’t want to change that.”
“You realize that by not telling me, you were putting us both at risk for some sort of misstep we can’t take back.”
“Don’t tell me you believe in all that garbage about us affecting each other more,” she scoffs. “It’s all a bunch of nonsense.”
“Is it?” I swallow thickly. “It’s been quite a while since I was off my suppressants, but I can never remember being this . . . affected by someone’s nearness.”
This takes her by surprise. Almost as much as it does me for saying it. “You’re . . . affected by me?”
“I only mean that it’s . . . difficult. Scenting you. More than it was before. Knowing what I do now, I have to assume it will only get worse as time goes on.”
“Oh.”
“You really haven’t noticed?”
Her nose wrinkles. I’ve decided it isn’t annoying.
“I mean . . .” She reaches to rub at her neck. It makes her scent bloom in the air. It’s extremely distracting. “I thought it was . . . I don’t know. You’re already a lot, Noah. I guess I just assumed that was all you.”
“I’m a lot,” I repeat dumbly, not quite sure of her meaning.
“I just mean . . . you already smelled good before you stopped your suppressants. I just thought you were . . . a lot.”
She says the phrase again like it makes total sense, but I’m still not sure it does.
“So what do we do about this?”
She is quiet for a long moment, her eyes calculating as she considers. It’s reminiscent of that look she gave me on the dance floor at the bar—like she’s trying to figure out some puzzle in her head. I can see when she comes to a decision, throwing me for a loop when she actually smiles.
“Why do we have to do anything about it?”
“What?” I make an exasperated sound. “Mackenzie. I can’t continue to be close to you without being on some form of suppressants.”
“Why not?”
“You know why,” I huff. “Eventually, being around each other is going to drive us crazy. We won’t be able to interact at all without feeling the need to—” I catch the way her eyes widen, and I clear my throat. “It’s a terrible idea.” I reach to pinch the bridge of my nose, sighing. “Maybe this entire thing was.”
“What?” Her tone turns desperate. “It’s seriously not as big of a deal as you’re making it, Noah.”
“You’re being reckless,” I accuse. “I’m thinking of you here. I wouldn’t ever want to put you in a position that you might regret.”
“I’m a big girl, Noah,” she grumbles, crossing her arms as she looks at the ground. “I know what I can handle.”
I feel my frustration building, her flippancy only making it worse. “I don’t think I can handle it, Mackenzie.”
She peeks up at me with a confused expression, moonlight painting one side of her face and making the amber in her eyes seem to glow. “What?”
“It’s getting . . . very difficult,” I admit quietly. “To scent you. To not be affected by it.”
Her mouth parts, then slowly closes again. “Oh.”
“Which is why I don’t think it’s a good idea to—”
“Mackenzie? Noah?” Moira’s voice rings out from inside the house, startling us both. “I got the book out. I’d love to show Noah some of my ideas.”
“Oh my God,” Mackenzie groans. “Not the fucking wedding book.”
“What is it about this book?”
“She’s coming outside,” Mackenzie says with a panicked voice. “Jesus. She’s got this damned book where she’s planned out my entire wedding, Noah.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Mackenzie?” Moira’s voice is getting nearer. I can tell through the slight crack in the patio door that she’s entered the living room. “Are you out there?”
“You have to kiss me,” Mackenzie says suddenly.
This throws me off. “What?”
“Kiss me,” she repeats. “Right now. It’ll make her leave us alone.”
“I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to—”
“If you don’t kiss me, she’s going to have us combing through that book all night.”
My eyes dart to the patio door, where a very Moira-like shadow is nearing the glass. “I don’t want you to have to—”
“Just shut up and kiss me.”