Page 73 of Maybe We Can Fake It

And it’s going to fucking suck, isn’t it?

The smart thing to do would be to protect myself from falling for him as best as I can. I should get up and leave. Go about my day and try to forget how perfectly he fits in my arms.

But I never claimed to be the smartest guy, so instead I continue to lie here, letting myself revel in this physical closeness. His hair tickles my nose as I scoot my head even closer to his, but I don’t care. The scent of his fruity shampoo has become a drug to me.

Slowly, he stirs, waking up while I’m breathing him in like some kind of psychopath.

I should probably back away, but I don’t. I only loosen my arm around him so he can escape if he wants to.

Lifting my head, I catch his eyes opening, but it seems to take him a few moments to realize the position we’re in. Then he lets out a soft, contented little hum and turns in my arms until we’re face to face. “G’morning,” he says sleepily.

“Morning,” I say. I leave out the “good,” but it really, really is.

As we lie here smiling at each other, I run my hand up and down his side, over the flowers that mean so much to him, and I’m hit with the oddest sensation. It’s almost like a vision of the future. An impossibly happy future where we’re actually together and this is how we wake up every morning.

I need to move before I let myself get lost in it.

But before I can extricate myself, his smile grows and he brings his hand up between us, placing it on my bare chest. This shouldn’t prevent me from getting away, and yet I don’t move an inch. His palm might as well be superglued to my pec.

“Do you have to get to the diner?” he asks, casually trailing his fingers through my chest hair like he’s not even aware he’s doing it.

I’m hyper-aware of it though, which makes it hard to focus on his question. “Benji’s opening, but I told him I’d be there to help with breakfast,” I finally manage to answer.

Business for me is a little unpredictable whenever Mayweather has a big festival going on. On the one hand, those things bring in lots of extra tourists, but on the other, people usually domost of their eatingatthe festival. Breakfast might get slammed, though, before things kick off over on the green.

“Hmm, too bad,” Brenden muses. “If we had time for orgasms, I’ve got some good ideas.”

As he trails his hand farther down my body, I use all my inner strength not to give in. Because while we could easily squeeze in a quickie, I’m guessing (or maybe just hoping) that none of his ideas would be quick. And more than that, I shouldn’t give in to this fantasy with him any more than I already have.

The return to what we really are to each other when this is all over—nothing more than friends—will be enough of a slap in the face as it is.

When his fingertips graze along the waistband of my boxers, I trap his hand with mine, halting his exploration. A slight frown mars his perfect face, and I only barely manage to hold in a groan. He’s killing me here.

“Save the ideas for later,” I suggest. Because I’m only freaking human. And I did agree to friends with benefits, but hooking up with him at night somehow feels safer than doing it in the morning light.

There’s a little twinkle in his eyes when he says, “Oh, I totally will.”

I release his hand, and when he removes it from my body, I try hard not to regret my decision. Then he brings his hand to the back of my head, pulling me closer as he leans in to kiss me. And this is almost as dangerous as if I let him touch my dick. Becausefuck.

It’s lazy in the best way, slow and blissful and unhurried. It’s not a kiss that’s leading somewhere. He’s simply kissing me because he wants to kiss me.

He wants to kiss me.

I let it go on until I start to get hard, and that’s when I gently pull back. Definitely time for me to get out of this bed.

“I can whip something up quick for you guys before I leave,” I offer.

Smiling, he shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it. We’ll survive.”

“I don’t mind,” I tell him, getting up and heading to the dresser for some clothes.

He sits up and stretches his arms above his head, letting out a loud yawn. Then he says, “Really, it’s fine. I don’t wanna eat too much now anyway, since I plan on eating as much as possible later.”

That sounds about right.

“Is it cool if I hop in the shower?” I ask.

“Yeah, I’ll probably go downstairs and get coffee started.”

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