Page 32 of Maybe We Can Fake It

Travis gives me one deep, imploring look, making me wish I had answers to whatever silent questions he’s asking. But I’m afraid I don’t. My mind is offline. Then he moves away from me, back to his side of the bed, and I reboot, managing not to follow him there even though my body wants to.

“Well,” he says finally. “I think that went okay.”

Okay?I want to ask. Because that was a hell of a lot better than okay. But I keep my lips pressed firmly shut, trying not to linger on the memory of the way they felt against his. Of all the tiny sparks.

I did theater in high school, and one time I had to kiss this girl that I didn’t particularly like, because she was kind of a snob. Our director had us practice countless times to make it look real. And although we eventually got it and it looked natural, it still felt nothing but practical. We were just doing our jobs.

That’s what this was supposed to be.

So why did it feel so muchmorethan practical?

“Brenden, are you okay? Did that make you uncomfortable?”

I almost laugh, because the only place it made me uncomfortable was in my pants. Thankfully, my pajamas leave enough room for things to...happenwithout it being painful. But the last thing I want is for Travis to realize I got hard simply from ten seconds of kissing him.

If he knew, then he’d be the one uncomfortable with this situation, and he might want to back out. That can’t happen, so I need to get myself under control and remember this is nothing more than him doing me a huge favor.

“I’m fine,” I lie. “I think we got the hang of it, right? We don’t need to practice again.”

There’s still a concerned look on his face, but he says, “Right. I think we’re good.”

“Ready to sleep?”

“Yeah.”

“Great,” I say, the exhaustion from this stressful day suddenly hitting me like a wrecking ball ridden by Miley Cyrus. “Thank you again for doing all this.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he tells me.

But it’s sort of impossible not to worry about how I’m having all these new feelings for my friend.

Lust. It’s only lust, I tell myself. Nothing more.

And lust, I can handle. It’s only natural when you get all up close and personal with a smoking hot guy. But I’m a father, and I have to be responsible. I can control my libido. It doesn’t haveto control me. It’s possible to be lusting after Travis but still want us to remain friends.

I’ll get over it. Lust always fades.

I scoot myself down the bed until I’m lying on my back, and the mattress shifts as Travis does the same next to me. “Goodnight,” I say, rolling onto my side and facing away from him to put a bit more space between us. Not that I actuallywantthe space. But I need it.

“Goodnight,” he replies.

Then we’re both quiet. I’m holding my body so rigidly, keeping myself from spreading out the way I normally would. Despite how tired I am, it takes me a long time to fall asleep. And before I do, I recall the totally-out-of-left-field story May made up for her grandparents about me and Travis.

How the heck did she come up with that? She made it sound like he was pining away for me all these years.

Like there’d be a chance in hell of that.

But luckily, Elise and Grant have no way of knowing how crazy and unrealistic the story was.

CHAPTER EIGHT

TRAVIS

Iwakebeforethesun rises and before my alarm. My body’s used to this because of all the mornings I need to get up super early to open the diner. Like today. The alarm will probably sound any minute, so I need to turn it off before it wakes Brenden. I start to move, but then freeze, realizing something.

Brenden.

He went to sleep last night with as much distance between us as this bed allowed. As if I have cooties. He was practically falling off the mattress.

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