Page 43 of Maybe We Can Fake It

I honestly can’t tell how much he’s fucking with me. Like I know he’s joking around, but is there a part of him thatreally might want something like that? Maybe not a flash mob, necessarily, but big romantic gestures?

While I don’t know if I’d be capable of giving that to him, I meant it when I said he deserves it. And that’s just another reason I need to keep my feelings for him to myself. He deserves so much more than me.

“Okay,” I say, resorting to my old buddy sarcasm. “One flash mob coming up.”

“Good.”

“What else are you looking for?”

He slides down a bit so he’s closer to lying than sitting now, his cheek smushed adorably into his pillow. “Why don’t you tell me what you want in a boyfriend?”

Bright blue eyes, endless smiles, and an obnoxious coffee addiction.

That’s my immediate thought. But since I can’t say it, and I honestly don’t even know how else to answer, I fake a yawn and tell him, “We should probably get some sleep.”

He gives me an assessing look, and I pray that he hasn’t magically developed mindreading powers in the last thirty seconds. Then he smiles and agrees.

As he gets out of bed to hit the light switch, I fold down the covers so we can get under them, and I say another prayer that I don’t wake up with morning wood again. At least he didn’t kiss me this time, so I should be fine. I know I’m the one who asked him about kissing and agreed we could do it in front of Elise and Grant to sell this relationship, but after that first kiss, I realized it’s a terrible idea. For me, at least.

I’m still willing to do it when we need to. I refuse to let him down. But I’m honestly not sure how much of it I’ll be able to take without going crazy. Just that small taste I got last night was enough to make my desire for him—the desire that I’ve beenable to tamp down for so long—come burning furiously up to the surface.

“Are you comfortable?” he whispers sweetly after he’s settled in.

We’re both sticking as far as possible to our own sides of the bed, but I can still feel his heat. Or maybe I’m only imagining it because Iwantto feel it. Either way, this isn’t helping in my fight to keep my body under control.

“Yeah,” I lie. “I’m good.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

BRENDEN

Withthecorporateretreatover, I can finally take a deep breath. Only one though. No time for more, because MayFest starts Saturday. Travis is helping Addison get the menus ready for the new influx of guests plus the booth we’ll have at the festival. But then he’ll be off the hook. I feel guilty that I’ve monopolized all his time for the past week, between him helping out here and pretending to be my boyfriend.

Speaking of pretending...

It’s only been a couple days, but Travis has already been doing such a good job at acting like we’re a couple that he’s almost gotmeconvinced. When I woke up with him in my bed this morning, I had a moment—just one—where I forgot that he was only there as a favor. But I can’t do that again. I can’t forget for even another moment that this is all fake.

Because itisfake. F.A.K.E.

My newfound lust for Travis, on the other hand? I’m afraid that’s unfortunately very real.

But I’ll survive that. I’m no stranger to being alone and horny. I’ve never been the kind of guy to go for a quick hookup. I preferdating, actually getting to know someone first. It’s been a while since I’ve gone out with anyone though. I got tired of meeting men who ended up disappointing me. There have been a few guys who didn’t disappoint, who lasted a little while. But even with them, it never felt entirely right.

Last night when Travis asked me what I wanted in a boyfriend, it was nice getting to imagine my ideal relationship. In reality, though, I’m not expecting to ever have that.

It would take a special kind of man to truly fit into my life. Towantto fit in. To accept a preteen daughter and a crazy work schedule, and not to mention,me. I’ve got a lot of great qualities, I know that. But I’ve also got some not-so-great ones. I can’t cook, I hate cleaning, and I may be on top of things when it comes to my daughter and work, but when it comes to taking care of myself, I can be pretty scatterbrained. And I put on a good front, but underneath that, I’m hiding plenty of insecurities.

“Brenden, who picked out these tablecloths? I don’t think they’re the best quality linens.” Elise runs a finger over the cloth as we sit at one of the inn’s dining room tables, waiting for lunch to be served.

I fight both the urge to roll my eyes and the urge to cower under the criticism. It’s not hard to figure out where some of my insecurities stem from.

“I think they go well with the rest of the room’s décor,” I say, defending my choice. Because it’smychoice. It’s my inn.

That they helped pay for.

“Surely you could find someone to make these for you in the same pattern but with better material. It’s worth the extra expense.”

“I’ll look into it,” I tell her, even though I have no intention of doing that.

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