Page 29 of Maybe We Can Fake It

He shrugs.

“Is it...” I clear my throat. “Is it maybe okay for fake boyfriends to share a bed?”

There’s a flash of something I can’t identify in his eyes, and I’m about to backtrack, but then he says, “Yeah. I’m good with that if you are. I don’t think either of our backs would do well with sleeping on the floor.”

I laugh. “Well, if I woke up and could barely walk tomorrow morning, that might help to sell this relationship.”

He makes a strangled, choking sound, and my face heats. What in the world possessed me to make a joke like that? We joke around all the time, but it’s always about innocent stuff, never about sex. Never about gay sex. With each other.

I kind of want to roll over and face plant myself into the comforter to hide. But then suddenly, Travis is laughing so hard he clutches his stomach. I slap a hand over his mouth, though now I’m laughing a little too. “Shhh.They’re right down the hall.”

“Sorry,” he says, getting a hold of himself. “I’m sorry.”

His voice is muffled, which makes me realize I’m still covering his mouth.Oops.Removing my hand, I tuck it safely under my thigh. But the ghost of his lips remains on my palm.

No.

Nope.

Not huh. Not happening.

I really don’t know how my brain got so scrambled, but it needs to unscramble fast, because Travis is my friend. There’s no way I should be imagining what his lips would feel like on the rest of my skin.

And yet...

“So we agree we can share?” His voice jolts me out of whatever nonsense was going on in my head, and he pats the bed beside his hip.

“Oh yeah, totally,” I say, hoping he can’t hear how nervous this idea makes me. Because there’s no reason to be nervous, right? “It’s big enough. It’s not like we’ll have to cuddle.”

He cocks his head, amusement dancing in his eyes. Andseriously, what is wrong with my mouth tonight?

“Let’s pretend I didn’t say that. Or maybe anything I’ve said since we stepped into this room.”

“But it’s fun to see you flustered,” he says.

My eyebrows shoot up my forehead. Is he flirting with me? We don’t flirt. We give each other shit. I smile at him, and he grouches at me. That’s our thing.

Or is this pretend flirting? Because we’re pretend boyfriends, so maybe he’s just staying in character. We really need to talk about this.

“Right,” I say. “So sleeping arrangements are settled, I guess. Good.”

He gestures at his jeans. “I didn’t exactly bring anything to change into. Do you have some sweats I can borrow?”

I glance down at where his thick thighs are resting on the edge of the bed. Then I picture him squeezing into a pair of my pants, and a sudden heat creeps up the back of my neck. I could really use a drink of water. “I’m not sure anything I have will fit you.”

As his eyes sweep over me, from my head down to my feet, it feels like he’s noticing my body for the very first time. I resist the urge to cover myself, not even sure which part I should cover. My legs, my skinny arms, my relatively flat but soft stomach.

I’m not ashamed of my body, and the guys I’ve dated haven’t seemed to have any complaints. But I’m not defined like Travis. He’s rugged and muscular, all hard edges, whereas I’m just... me. Not small enough to be considered a twink, and yet when other queer men look at me, I’m pretty sure nothing about me screams “top” to them.

There’s been more than a few guys who were surprised—and not pleasantly—to find that I liked to do it both ways.

“You’re probably right.” Travis stands. Now he’s the one looking self-conscious. “I can just sleep like this. It’s fine.”

“No, that isn’t fine. Sleeping in jeans is the worst.” God, this poor man was only trying to help me out. And now here he is, stuck at my house, forced to share a bed with me, and even willing to be in physical discomfort while he does it. “You can, uh... just take them off.”

The corner of his mouth quirks up like he wants to smirk, but I cut him off before he can say anything.

“Don’t tease me!”

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