Page 15 of Maybe We Can Fake It

Addison cocks her head at me like,What the hell was that?But I just chuckle. Becausethatwas Brenden Sanderson. Ridiculousness is part of his charm.

Whentheeveningcomes,I show up at Brenden’s house with two large pizzas from Ricci’s. He’s bought me plenty of pizza over the years as a thank you for things I’ve done for him, so I know all of his and May’s favorite toppings.

What I don’t know is whether I should even be here right now. Yes, I want to help him however I can. But this whole fake dating thing sounds like something out of a cheesy movie. People don’t do this in real life, right?

And he’ll be expecting me to explain what I told him earlier. About me being...notstraight.

I’m not ashamed of who I am. I never have been. It’s just something I’ve gotten used to not talking about.

Hiding.I’ve gotten used to hiding it.

Andthat’ssomething I’m a little ashamed of. But it is what it is.

When I knock on the door, it takes a minute for it to open, and then May’s standing there, hair up in a sloppy bun seemingly held together by the pen speared through it. She’s peering down at the notebook she’s holding, with a pencil between her teeth.

“Come on, you’re on vacation,” I say.

She jumps a little as she looks up at me. Like she forgot she answered the door and there would be a person on the other side of it. Taking the pencil out of her mouth, she eyes me curiously.“This is for extra credit. I didn’t know you were coming over. Did something break?”

I jut my chin at the boxes I’m balancing on my hand. “I brought pizza. Are you hungry?”

She either doesn’t notice that I didn’t explain my reason for being here, or she doesn’t actually care, because she says, “Heck, yeah!” Then she tosses her notebook on top of the pizza boxes and takes them from me, striding off toward the kitchen.

I step inside, shutting and locking the door behind me. Brenden never locks it, and while I know this town is one of the safest you’ll find, I also know we live in a pretty messed up world. I’ve had this argument with him multiple times.

Brenden’s in the kitchen, putting a few dishes away one-handed because his other hand is holding an oversized mug of coffee. “Oh, hi!” he says, a slightly anxious edge to his voice despite his warm smile. “I was just cleaning up a bit.”

“You didn’t have to clean up for me,” I tell him.

“It wasn’t really for you.”

“Is he why you vacuumed?” May asks, setting the pizza boxes on the counter.

A flush creeps up Brenden’s neck as he says, “Excuse me, don’t act like this house is always a disaster. I vacuum all the time.”

The reproachful look she gives him almost makes me laugh. “You wait for me to get so sick of the crumbs in the carpet thatIvacuum.”

He glares at her, then turns back to me. “She’s lying. I absolutely vacuum. I’m a fully functioning adult who totally has his shit together.”

“I know you are,” I placate him, still fighting not to laugh. Why is he trying to impress me? We’ve grown close enough over the years that I know he can be a bit messy and forgetful sometimes. He’s great at his job and being a parent—it’s all theless important stuff that he’s not as concerned about. And I don’t judge him for that.

May is already opening up the first pizza box and reaching for a slice. The cheese stretches off the end as she picks it up, so she tears it with her fingers, and then she takes a large, extra cheesy bite.

Brenden hands her a plate and a few paper towels. “Hey, kid. Would you mind taking your pizza up to your room? Travis and I kind of need to talk about something.”

She looks confused for a second, followed by minorly suspicious. But then she grabs two more slices and spins on her heels, strolling out of the kitchen.

Once Brenden and I are alone, my heart starts beating faster. Guess it’s time to talk.

He passes me a plate and gestures to the round table in the corner of the room, in front of the window. I grab a couple slices of pizza before taking my plate over there. The magnolia tree in his backyard has bloomed, and focusing on the yellow flowers soothes my nerves a bit.

“So,” he says, taking the chair closer to me, rather than opposite.

I appreciate the seating arrangement, because it makes it appear less like this will be an interrogation. But my god, is he really going to make me watch him drink coffee with pizza? I shouldn’t be surprised, but I don’t know if my stomach can take it, especially when it’s already tied in knots.

He finds my gaze and holds it. “You don’t have to explain yourself or your sexuality to me. But I’d be lying if I said your reveal earlier didn’t shock and confuse me.”

Slowly chewing a bite of pizza, I wonder what about it was so shocking. Granted, he had no way of knowing, but is it really that hard to believe I could be into men? Shit, I don’t come off as grossly homophobic or something, do I?

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