Page 39 of Fake Dating the Prince

Brayden let out a breath and shook his head. “Not while I’m here, okay? I want to come too.”

It was definitely his own heart Flip should have been worried for.

“All right,” he agreed. “Now come on. I think we deserve hot alcoholic beverages in front of a toasty fire.”

“That sounds like a pastime I can get behind. Or in front of.”

And get in front of it they did. Flip ordered them a light supper, and then they both changed into lounging clothes. Brayden lay in front of the fireplace, absently eating a plate of vegetables and hummus while he scrolled through something on his phone. For the first time since he could remember, Flip sat on the floor with his back to the couch, his legs outstretched with his feet toward the fire, and worked his way through a crossword on actual paper.

“This princeing thing is more difficult than people give you credit for,” Brayden said around a yawn. He tossed his phone away and rolled over, presumably to heat his other side. The motion made his high school T-shirt ride up almost to his rib cage. With Brayden’s face turned toward the flames, Flip stared at that stretch of skin with impunity, imagining what it might feel like under his hands.

Or his mouth.

After a moment Flip remembered to respond. “Thank you. You’re keeping up admirably.”

But he didn’t drag his eyes away from Brayden’s stomach until Brayden turned his head toward him. “Thanks for taking me with you to everything. You didn’t have to do that.”

Flip shrugged, the muscles between his shoulders tightening. “You didn’t have to be my escort to the Night of a Thousand Lights. But you did, and that put the kibosh on your solo sightseeing trip. This is the least I could do.”

For some reason that made Brayden’s mouth tighten in a false smile. “Yes, true. You owe me.”

Damn it. Flip rewound the conversation and backtracked. “And it’s nice,” he said, “having someone around to do things with. I’ve never…. I was mostly in Canada, and I didn’t have a lot of princeing to do, as you put it, the last time I was with someone.” And before that, he’d never really been serious enough about someone to trust them to come along. Which he should have noticed earlier, and he realized now that they would have been awful at it. “Clara’s too young to come along, and my parents have their own appearances to make.” He briefly glanced away from Brayden’s face and into the fire. “It’ll be difficult to go back to doing it alone.”

Brayden let out a slow breath. “Yeah.” Then he half sat up and looked at the forgotten newspaper lying near Flip’s knee. “Okay, enough being maudlin. What’re you working on?”

Flip picked up the paper. “My mother’s crossword.” He shook his head. “Before I moved into my own apartments, we used to squabble over who would get to it first. I could get my own newspaper subscription, but it wouldn’t be the same as sneaking hers. Sort of a running joke.”

Brayden grinned. “Yeah, it’s the same in my parents’ house if I ever visit in the morning. My mom’s an English teacher, so she’s got an edge, but I speak more languages and I’m better at the travel stuff. And Dad gets up earlier and he’s pretty good at them too. It can get cutthroat.”

Flip could easily imagine Brayden partaking in a morning of shared coffee and newspaper subterfuge. The mental picture made him smile. “Competitive crossword-stealing. A pastime for arseholes.”

With a sly look, Brayden tilted his head to indicate the paper. “Sure. But what about cooperative crossword-solving? You look like you’re having trouble.”

Flip looked down at the puzzle. “Got stuck,” he admitted. “It’s been a long day and I guess my brain’s had enough.”

Brayden lifted his head a fraction of an inch, a partial smile on his face.

“What?” Flip asked.

“Just… you do this thing, you know? When you’re not comfortable, you get very formal. And then, all of a sudden, you start dropping words and saying ‘arsehole’ and I know you’re happy.” His cheeks went rosy as though he were embarrassed at having made the observation.

Flip felt himself go red too, because he was aware he did it but hadn’t known it was so noticeable. And he hadn’t considered what it might tell Brayden about him.

“Anyway.” Brayden crawled over to look and leaned his head against Flip’s shoulder. “Gimme a clue.”

“Fifteen across,” Flip said, tapping his pen. “Renovator, eight letters.”

“Mmm. Restorer.”

Flip filled it in and Brayden pointed to the fourth-last letter. “There, starts witho. What’s the clue?”

He scanned over the Down list and… stopped. He needed a moment to silently curse the world.

Brayden nudged him. “Well?”

Nothing for it. “Lubricate.”Whyhadn’t he filled that one in? Three letters—it was obviouslyoil, only now he wasn’t thinking about squeaky wheels.

“Seriously?” Brayden craned his neck, giggling. It made Flip want to laugh too. “Is this the naughty crossword or something?”

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