Aiden
Jed wasn’t joking about looking good in a button-down.
When I open my apartment door and see him standing there a week after we decide on this fucking insane plan, I nearly close the door in his face.
Because he’s dressed in black jeans and a gray shirt that skims the broad planes of his chest and tapered waist just right, the sleeves rolled up to reveal his thick, inked-up forearms, and no one in their right mind would believe that the alpha standing in front of me would date an omega like me.
But then his face lights up with one of his easy, lopsided smiles, and I stand aside to let him in and try not to look like I’m burning up from the inside out.
I’ve thought about backing out of this plan every day since we made it: it’s stupid, unnecessary, and it’s very possibly a recipe for disaster.
If things go south, at best it’ll be painfully embarrassing, and at worst Jed might decide it’s not worth the awkwardness of training me anymore, and I’ll lose the only trainer who’s treated me like a human being rather than a liability.
But. But.
The thought of walking into my sister’s engagement party alone, subjected to another mind-numbing evening of my dad’s backhanded comments about how I’m “too much” of an omega to ever land a partner, makes my stomach churn.
Showing up with a ridiculously handsome, magnetic alpha on my arm feels like the ultimate fuck you, dad.
Besides, if I’m being completely honest with myself, the fact that this plan involves Jed has made backing out almost impossible.
Over the last week, my phone has buzzed constantly with his casual, teasing texts as we sorted out the details.
I’ve caught myself smiling at my screen like an idiot way too often.
And I’m not under any illusions as to why he’s doing this—Jed is just that guy.
He’s easygoing, wildly generous, and would probably throw himself in front of a train if he thought it’d save someone a headache.
I see it at the gym all the time. He’s just playing the savior because he hates seeing anyone get knocked down.
But that doesn’t stop me wanting to pretend for one night.
“Nice place,” Jed says, although he barely looks around as he steps inside.
His gaze is fixed on me instead, the curious way his eyes quickly dart over my frame making me question my choice of outfit.
I notice his nostrils flare, a muscle jumping in his jaw, and it occurs to me that this might be the first time he’s been near me when I’m not wearing blockers. “You’re wearing glasses.”
Oh. My hand comes up to tap the frames resting over my ears, as if I’ve forgotten I was wearing them. Okay, so now I’m doubting my outfit choice, my decision not to wear blockers, and my decision not to wear contacts.
“Uh, yeah,” I mutter, shutting the door and locking it before I lose my nerve completely. “I wear contacts to the gym so I don’t smash these up, but the rest of the time…” I tap the frames. “I’m a regular four-eyes. Should I—I can take them off if you think—”
“No, they’re hot as fuck,” he says easily, openly appraising me with one of the flirty looks he’s given me a hundred times at the gym.
The problem is, I’ve seen him give the exact same look, accompanied by many flavors of obscene jokes, to almost everyone else at the gym.
Although that doesn’t entirely stop the hum of bashful satisfaction that buzzes in my chest at the compliment.
“Deadly in the ring and blind, who knew?”
I huff a laugh, Jed already managing to ease the knot in my stomach, even if only by a tiny, tiny bit.
“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.