Page 83 of Maybe We Can Fake It

We’ve both got some grass and dirt on us, and his T-shirt is covered in egg yolk and streaks of popsicle juice, but I hug him tighter anyway.

“I’m so proud of you,” I tell him.

“I’m proud of us! I knew we’d make a great team.”

I’m aware all eyes are on us, but that doesn’t stop me from cradling the back of his head and turning my face slightly to bury my nose in his hair. Even after all we’ve done, it still smells great. Like peaches and sunshine and happiness.

That smell is beginning to feel like home to me.

I finally force myself to pull away before people start getting the wrong idea. Or the right one. “So what did we win?”

Brenden laughs right as Roddy walks over to present us with an obnoxiously large blue ribbon. It saysyou’re the best. Like some freaking children’s prize for winning the elementary school science fair.

I look from the ribbon to Brenden when he proudly accepts it, then raise my eyebrows. “Are you serious? We did all that for this cheap thing?”

His grin is almost blinding. “We did it because it’s fun! Plus we get our picture framed on a plaque that they’ll hang up in the grocery store.”

Groaning, I recall that there are indeed pictures of the winners going back a bunch of years displayed on a wall at the store. I’m so used to ignoring them that I almost forgot. Although I’ll admit, I have checked out each of Brenden and May’s winning photos.

“I don’t want my damn picture hanging up there,” I grumble.

But Roddy points a camera at us anyway and yells, “Say cheese!”

Brenden tugs me closer, holding up the ribbon in front of us both, and it’s clear I have no choice in the matter. So I sling myarm over his shoulders and do my best to smile, even though I hate this.

Then he presses himself more firmly against me, and that’s all it takes for my smile to become a lot more genuine. My participation in this nonsense is going to be memorialized on a fucking plaque, but Brenden’s pure joy and happiness in this moment might just make it worth it.

Whenwegetbackto his house, Brenden’s still beaming and bouncing around full of energy. His happiness is apparently contagious, because I’m still smiling too. I want to wrap him in my arms again, but I’d feel bad constraining him when he’s this excited, so I just watch him appreciatively.

He’s dirty and clutching that stupid ribbon, but his cheeks are flushed in a way that makes me think dirty thoughts. My mind flashes on the image of him fellating that fucking popsicle, and it’s game over.

I reach for him and pull him in toward me, catching him by surprise. He gazes up at me with intrigue, lips slightly parted, and I want to devour him. “We should get cleaned up,” I say. I’m aware of how rough my voice comes out, but hopefully no one else heard.

“Clean?” he asks. There’s amusement mixed with desire dancing in his eyes now, so he’s definitely caught on to my intentions.

“Clean,” I repeat. Then, like a cave man, I practically drag him up the stairs, ignoring the keen look May gives us as we pass her. The last thing I want to consider right now is his daughter possibly knowing what we’re about to do.

It’s true that I want to clean him.

And then I want to get him dirty again.

We barely make it into the bedroom before my hands are all over him. Grabbing, feeling, groping, squeezing. He gasps into my mouth as I slam my lips to his. I tug at his messy hair, and he lets out a whine that goes straight to my dick.

“Shower,” I say, pushing him backward toward the ensuite.

He nods frantically and helps me lead him there. We’re still kissing, and I’m still groping, exploring his body like I’m on some kind of treasure hunt, leaving no inch unchecked. Once we step into the bathroom, I hurry to strip off his dirty clothes. I might combust if we’re not naked and rubbing up against each other extremely soon.

“What’s gotten into you?” he asks breathlessly, though he doesn’t look upset about my urgency.

“Want you,” is all I manage to say.

And it must be the right answer, because he becomes even more alive under my hands. He steps out of his briefs as he helps me undo my jeans. I yank my shirt over my head and toss it. Pretty sure it lands half in the toilet, but I couldn’t care less.

When I step over to turn the shower on, I refuse to let go of him, holding him to me with my other arm. His cock is as hard as mine, poking the outside of my thigh. Turning back to him, I wrap my fingers around it while we wait for the water to warm up.

“Seriously, I’m not complaining,” he tells me, in between sharp panting breaths, “but I’ve never seen you like this.”

A growl escapes me, and I lean in to suck harshly on the side of his neck. Then I ease up, leaving a few gentle kisses over the same spot. With my nose still pressed to his skin, I inhale his scent and say, “You and those freaking popsicles.”

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