Jed
Six months later
I turn the music up a notch, my favorite Motown playlist blasting through the gym speakers as I give Max a confused look, mouthing sorry, I can’t hear you. He looks like he’s seconds away from murder.
“I can fire you whenever I want, you know,” he shouts directly into my ear, and I finally turn the music down to a reasonable level, giggling gleefully. He tries to maintain his flat stare, but the corners of his mouth betray him.
“You wouldn’t dare,” I grin. “No one else would remember your ridiculous coffee order.”
“It’s not ridiculous—” he starts.
“It’s sophisticated,” finishes Kyle, sniggering with me as he hands Max’s coat to him. Max frowns. Kyle is Max’s buddy, and he doesn’t work here, but he may as well do with the amount of time he spends here.
“Enjoy your Thursday night drinks, boys. I’ll be holding down the fort like the fucking exemplary employee I am,” I say, receiving a middle finger from Max as I wave them off into the night.
They both fist bump Aiden as he walks in with his gym bag slung over one well-defined shoulder, his dark curls bouncing slightly with every step. My smile widens.
My nostrils flare instinctively when he gets close, searching for his scent, but they’re met with nothingness.
Just the usual alpha-laden scent of the gym—although it’s less than it used to be, after we asked the cleaners to start using neutralizing sprays when Aiden joined.
I don’t imagine many omegas want to work out in a place that smells like testosterone and sweaty pheromones.
I caught on to the fact that he wears scent blockers pretty early on, and mentioned as casually as possible that it wasn’t necessary. I also mentioned that if anyone even made a passing fucking joke about him being an omega, to let me, Max, or Marcus know, and we’d deal with them.
He’s taken me up on the second one a couple of times—albeit reluctantly.
I’m still not entirely sure he believed me when I told him that it’s because we have a zero tolerance policy on dynamic discrimination, and not because I secretly think he can’t handle himself.
God knows he proves that every time he comes in here and unleashes hell in the ring.
But he’s continued wearing the blockers.
Which is fine; he obviously feels more comfortable that way, and who can blame him?
Who wants a gym full of alphas sniffing your scent whenever you work up a sweat?
But that doesn’t stop a small, selfish part of me hoping to catch even the faintest hint of it.
Because Aiden is… attractive. Built. Talented.
Quietly hilarious. Fucking hot as balls, honestly.
Maybe, maybe, if I was the dating type, I’d have considered asking him out by now, but my relationships with omegas rarely go past the first date.
And that’s usually just the way I like it—have a fun evening, hook up with no strings, never see them again.
No baggage, no commitment. Exquisite. The best of all worlds.
But that doesn’t quite work when you have to see said omega at work every other day. Not to mention it would be pretty damn unprofessional, even if it’s not explicitly against the rules.
But god, I wonder what he smells like.
Which is exactly why he wears the goddamn neutralizers in the first place, Jed, you fucking perverted neanderthal.
“You’re looking extraordinarily cheerful for a Thursday night,” Aiden deadpans. He’s not a big joker, but I’ve figured out his dry sense of humor over the past few months, and I always get a kick out of being on the receiving end of it.
“I’ve just been having fun pissing off Max,” I say as we walk over to an empty spot and I watch Aiden slip off his jacket and try not to stare. “Ready for me to piss you off, too? I was thinking we could do some cardio drills; I know how much you love those.”
This time, he doesn’t bite back with any of his usual dry wit. He runs a hand over his face instead, and I notice that he looks tired. “Sure. Whatever.”
I lean against a concrete pillar, cocking my head. “Or not. We can do something else if you’re not feeling cardio.”
Aiden looks back up at me, his mouth twitching like he wants to say something. “Actually, can we spar? Or do bags or something? I kind of just want to hit things today.”
I bark a laugh, clapping him on the back. “Oh my god, hitting things is my favorite thing—how did you know? Get your gloves on, my man.”
We start with some light drills, but I can tell Aiden’s missing his usual fire, his arms falling limply to his sides after every combination. Ten minutes in and I can practically see the thunderclouds gathering above his head, and I decide to change tack.
“Okay, let’s do something different,” I say, raising the practice pads to chest height. “It doesn’t take a genius to see that something, or someone, has majorly pissed you off today. Whoever it is, I want you to picture them right here.” I wiggle the pads in his face. “Let’s smash out that rage.”
Aiden drops smoothly into his stance. “Never heard that one before,” he says wryly, but his eyes sharpen as he narrows his focus on the pads.
“It’s a cliché for a reason,” I say, feeling a flash of excitement. He’s got so much hidden fire in him, and I love watching it come out. “Now keep your breathing steady, exhale on impact. Distribute your weight like I told you. That’s it.”
He lays into the pads, taking my cues, adjusting his stance, and using his breath to channel his power.
The difference in his technique is immediate, the fire I know and admire slowly but surely showing back up.
His face is a mask of concentrate, his strong jaw flexing with every jab. I can’t take my eyes off him.
I take him through a series of increasingly complex combinations, watching him push through the burn until his shoulders are trembling and his skin is glistening with sweat.
When I finally drop the pads and collapse onto the mats, we’re both panting.
I’ve got a breathless smile breaking open my face, and Aiden looks slightly less like he wants to burn the entire world to the ground, which I’m going to take as a win.
Aiden pushes his gloves off, letting them drop heavily to the floor, and sinks down onto the mat right beside me. His arm is slung over his face, his chest heaving hard.
I reach over and slap his stomach with a breathless laugh, not letting the contact linger for too long, even though part of me wants to. “You’re a fucking natural, kid,” I tell him. “And I’m not just saying that because I like you.”
Beside me, I catch him glance over at me, the first hint of an actual smile just threatening to break through.
“Thanks,” he mutters.
“What were you picturing?” I ask. He hesitates, so I quickly add, “You don’t have to tell me. Just curious what lit that fire. Someone better watch their back.”
He huffs a bitter laugh, dragging his arm away from his eyes to stare up at the ceiling.
“It’s a cheesy answer,” he says.
“I’m a cheesy guy,” I grin.
He blows out a heavy breath. “My dad.”
I let out a low hum. “Yeah, that is cheesy.”
“Fuck off.” He elbows me lightly, and Jesus Christ, why is that enough to make my cheeks hot?
“What did ol’ pops do to deserve all those hits?” I ask gently.
“Got off the phone with him about an hour ago,” Aiden says, using the back of his hand to wipe sweat from his forehead and hauling himself up so he’s sitting.
“It’s my sister’s engagement party this weekend.
He called me to ask if I was bringing a date, although he laughed down the phone before I could actually answer.
I think his exact words were ‘you and I both know no self-respecting alpha wants an omega who looks like he could bench press them’.
” He lets out a bitter laugh. “That was the gist of it, anyway. You’d think I’d be used to it by now.
It’s been the running joke of the family since I had a growth spurt when I was fifteen. ”
The hurt in his voice makes something ugly flare in my chest, and hearing him try to brush it off only makes it worse. There’s not much I won’t laugh off with humor, but this is one of those rare situations.
“You know that’s bullshit, right, Aid?” I say.
“I don’t know.” He rubs a mark on the mat with his shoe, still avoiding my gaze. “It’s not entirely bullshit. I don’t have a date. Haven’t even been on a date in nearly three years, and that’s not even mentioning actual relationships.”
I look at the shape of his profile, and the strong lines of his body, and find that almost impossible to believe.
“Relationships are overrated. I make it a personal rule never to go past the first date—strictly by choice, mind you. Takes all the pressure off,” I say, flashing him a wink.
He drags a hand over his face. “Maybe you’re right. Ugh, it’s so dumb,” he groans. “It’d just be nice to prove them wrong for once, you know?”
“So find a date,” I say. “Shouldn’t be hard, a strapping young omega like you.”
He rolls his eyes at me. “Sure. I hear family functions make ideal first dates.”
“Fair point,” I laugh, stretching out my legs. “Okay. So borrow me.”
Aiden tilts his head in my direction, giving me a sardonic look. “Very funny, Jed.”
“What? I’m serious!” I say, because I am. If I can’t ask him out on a real date, why not a fake one? “You can tell your dad I’m an investment banker with a huge property portfolio and a Porsche if you like. And I look great in a button-down.”
He frowns at me like he’s still trying to figure out if I’m messing with him or not. I stare back. “You’re actually serious?”
“Dead serious”
For a second, his mouth twitches like he’s on the verge of smiling, and I’m sure his cheeks weren’t that flushed a minute ago. But then the ghost of a smile fades, his eyes clouding with that same bitterness I’ve been hearing in his voice all night. “I don’t need a pity date, Jed. But thanks.”
I turn to face him squarely. “Will there be free food?”
“Yes.”
“Drinks?”
“Most likely.”
“And obviously the company will be unmatched,” I grin.
“That part’s debatable.”
I ignore him, whipping him with my towel instead. “Sounds like a good time to me. I kind of can’t believe you didn’t invite me already.”
“Shut up, Jed,” he says, but that whisper of a smile is back, and growing more real by the second.
“And wouldn’t you just love to wipe the self-important smile off your dad’s face?
” I continue, the thought of it making my insides twist in excitement, because yeah, free food and booze is fun, but getting the opportunity to seriously piss off the guy that’s clearly made Aiden feel like he’s not an absolute fucking catch for most of his life sounds a hell of a lot better.
He sighs wistfully. “Yeah. I really would.”
“So,” I say, stretching my arms above my head and cracking my neck obnoxiously. “It’s a date.”
Aiden pauses. He looks up at the ceiling, grimacing, then looks back at me. “I can’t believe I’m actually considering agreeing to this. You’re a master manipulator.”
“I wear many hats,” I say, spreading my hands with a grin, and for some reason my heart is beating unnecessarily fast. “Therapist. Protein shake mixologist. High-class escort.”
“Oh god, please don’t call it that,” he grimaces.
“What about ‘paramour’? Does that work in this context? Or fake-boyfriend? Foyfriend? Foybriend?”
“Jesus Christ, Jed, I’m leaving,” he says, shaking his head, pushing himself onto his feet weakly.
“Wait!” I hop up after him, suddenly full of energy again. I jog, around to block his path and hold out my hand. “Phone, please.”
He sighs heavily, but hands me his phone. I put in my number, under Fake Boyfriend.
“Send me the details,” I say when I’ve finished punching it in.
Aiden takes his phone back, his lips pressing into a thin, uncertain line. “Are you sure about this? It’s kind of fucking weird.”
“I’m kind of fucking weird,” I shrug, and thank god, that gets a smile out of him. And I might be a total scumbag, because I think I might just be doing this to get the opportunity to see more of those. Well, and to piss off his dad. “I’m fucking sure, Aid. It’ll be fun.”
He shakes his head again, but the color has returned to his cheeks, and he looks a little more alive than he did when he walked in here. “If you say so.”