Page 82 of Maybe We Can Fake It

Because I’d rather spend time with him than anyone else. I’d rather do nothing but sit around with him—or even do something as crazy as this competition with him—than do any of my favorite activities with somebody else. Not that I have many favorite activities.

I’m struggling with how to respond to him without revealing all these truths, when I hear a squawk and spot Delilah. She’s strutting over to us on her creepy, thin chicken legs, with Mitch right behind her.

He tugs a tiny bit on her leash so that she stops right in front of our table. With a chuckle, he says to me, “You’re lucky you’ve got Brenden on your team for this one. He’s got some practice at sucking down popsicles, am I right?”

Brenden laughs loudly, which is what stops me from jumping up and punching Mitch in the mouth. I also know he doesn’t mean anything negative by his joke. He’s not the slightest bit homophobic—just a pain in the ass. And yeah, Brenden made basically the same joke. But still, it’s a harsh reminder of how comfortable people in this town are with getting up in other people’s private business.

And no, I don’t think I’m ready for that.

Mitch leaves us alone after our boxes of popsicles are brought over in a cooler full of ice and Roddy gives everyone a one-minute warning. I’m not a fan of popsicles, but building a houseout of the sticks should be easy enough. So Brenden and I agree that we’ll both eat a bunch at first, and then once we’ve got some sticks to work with, I’ll focus on building, while he keeps eating as fast as he can.

When Roddy starts the timer, we dive in. Brenden rips open the first box, and we both take a popsicle and tear off the wrappers. Mine is purple and sickeningly sweet, but I keep sucking, ignoring the tiny pains in my teeth when I bite into it. Brenden’s is green, and he finishes first, setting the stick aside and immediately tearing open a new one.

I try to keep up with him, but he’s definitely contributing more sticks to our pile than I am. After a few minutes, he motions to the sticks for me to start building. He doesn’t even pause his eating to use words.

Quickly, I build a base for our house, using the small bottle of instant-dry super glue they provided us with. I work as efficiently as possible, while being careful not to glue my skin to anything.

At one point Brenden opens a popsicle and holds it in front of my face. So I bite off as much as I can, and then he shoves the rest into his mouth beside the other one he’s already working on. I would laugh at how ridiculous he looks with two popsicle sticks hanging out of his mouth and his cheeks bulging, but if I do, I’ll choke on the frozen sugar I’m now sucking on.

I’m proud of the job I’m doing on building our house. Brenden must be feeling confident about it too, because he finally slows down to breathe a little more. Or maybe he has brain freeze.

I do my best to stay focused on my task, but I have a hard time tearing my eyes away from him as he places a new popsicle in his mouth. Holding my eye contact, he starts sensually sliding the treat in and out of his mouth, making sure I catch peeks at his tongue getting in on the action too. And then on one slide intohis mouth, he just keeps going, taking it into his throat until his lips close around the base of it.

My eyes widen and I choke forcefully on air. The irony of me being the one to choke while he’s the one with his throat stuffed isn’t lost on me. He looks all too pleased with himself as he pats me on the back with one hand. Then he opens his mouth to show me all that’s left of the popsicle is the stick.

I manage not to start choking again, but my jeans have tightened. Which is all sorts of wrong, considering there are kids around, as well as Brenden’s family.

He grins at me for a moment before his face turns serious, and he tosses the stick on the table. “Okay, no more fooling around, keep going!” he demands.

I open my mouth to remind him that I’m not the one who was fooling around, but then snap it shut, deciding to just get back to work. My mind is distracted after that raunchy display, so it’s a good thing I can basically do this job on autopilot. I just keep building as quickly as I can until Roddy calls time.

It takes a while for the judges to come around and look at everyone’s structures. When they award me and Brenden first place for the event, he screams, leaping out of his seat. I stand too, only with less enthusiasm.

A handful of amused and disbelieving stares are pointed my way, which makes me slightly uneasy. But it’s hard to care too much with Brenden beaming at me and bumping his hip into mine.

I’m freaking proud of us. We won three out of the five events and did really good in another. I think we actually have a good shot at winning this entire thing. I know how happy that would make him. And that, of course, would make me happy.

As everyone stands around waiting for the final rankings, Brenden and I chat with May and her grandparents. Most of the conversation is Brenden and May animatedly recounting howthey did in each of the events, since most of the time, they weren’t able to watch each other.

I notice Elise managed to do all of this and stay clean, which makes me wonder how much effort she put in. But regardless, I’m impressed with her for even participating. She doesn’t seem as uptight as Brenden thinks she is. The jury’s still out on Grant though.

Finally, Roddy says he’s ready to announce the winner. He begins with announcing the team in last place and moving up from there. It seems mean to call out the worst placing teams like that, but it’s clear by everyone’s laughter and clapping that no one is too upset about losing.

May and Elise come in sixth place, so I guess Elise did give a good effort. Brenden high-fives his daughter, then spins toward Elise with his hand still raised. An awkward look crosses his face, and he starts to lower his arm, but she smiles and slaps him with a high-five too.

When he reaches third place, Roddy leads everyone in slapping their thighs for some sort of makeshift drumroll. I abstain from this, obviously. But despite myself, I’m getting amped up with excitement and nerves, because me and Brenden are somewhere in the top three.

Roddy announces a young local couple for third place, and then it’s just between me and Brenden and the O’Brien twins.

Brenden and I turn to each other. “Holy shit,” he whispers, reaching for my hand.

“In second place,” Roddy calls out, after another corny drumroll, “we have Jimmy and Tommy O’Brien!”

I vaguely register one of the twins cursing as Brenden flings himself against me in a hug.

“And that means,” Roddy yells over the crowd’s cheering, “that our official winners of this year’s Mayweather May Games are Brenden Sanderson and Travis Reed!”

“We did it!” Brenden squeals in my ear.

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