Page 40 of Fake Dating the Prince

“Perhaps if you’ve a fetish for home repair,” Flip said dryly, writing inoil.

“I do like a man who’s good with his hands.” Flip didn’t have to look to know Brayden was wagging his eyebrows. “What about this one? Thirty-seven across. You don’t even have any hints for that one.” He’d pulled Flip’s hand with the paper close enough that he could read it himself. “Bottom’s master.”

For God’s sake.“I think I might have to throw this paper in the fire when we’re done so the press don’t get hold of it.”

Brayden shook against his side. “Bottom’s master. God, what do you think, does ‘power top’ fit in there?”

Flip couldn’t hold in the laugh any longer. “If he puts his back into it.”

Thirty-seven across turned out to be a reference toA Midsummer Night’s Dream, but they were still laughing as they got ready for bed. Flip came in with his Magic Bag heated up to find Brayden snickering, and that set him off again.

And then Brayden snorted. Flip really wished he could stop finding that so endearing—and also so hilarious.

When they finally calmed down, Brayden asked, “God, did we have too much to drink?”

Flip smiled at the ceiling. “I’d say we had just the right amount.”

Sleep came swiftly, each of them on his own side of the bed. But even though it had never happened before, Flip couldn’t say he was surprised when he woke up in the middle of the night to find they had gravitated together, Brayden’s head, hair fragrant with Flip’s mint shampoo, tucked under his chin.

Flip decided to worry about it in the morning and went back to sleep.

Chapter Eight

BRAYDENhad to stop waking up like this.

Ever since Friday night, when it seemed like some kind of dam had broken between them, he and Flip had been behaving like heat-seeking missiles. They went to bed firmly on their own sides, and then Brayden woke up clinging to Flip like an octopus, or, for a fun twist this morning, with Flip plastered against his back.

Brayden hadn’t ever spent a real morning after with a boyfriend—largely because he didn’t have boyfriends. But that wouldn’t have been like this anyway—it wouldn’t have carried this sort of illicit thrill, seasoned with equal parts shame and self-indulgence and a liberal sprinkling ofwhat do you think you’re doing.

What Brayden was doing was holding very still, hoping Flip didn’t realize he’d woken up.

What hewantedto do was wiggle around a little to see if he could get a better idea of what Flip was packing under those pajamas—though with the way Flip was pressed against him, his hips flush with Brayden’s ass, it wasn’t like he didn’t have some idea.

And it was agoodidea.

Even if Brayden had wanted to go anywhere, he probably couldn’t have managed it without waking Flip, whose breath he could feel on the back of his neck and who had slung his arm around Brayden’s stomach to boot. Brayden was so hard that if Flip moved his hand a half inch lower, he could steal third.I guess I’ll just stay here, then.And think about… all the things he’d been avoiding.

About how easy it was to be around Flip, even though his lifewasn’teasy. About how welcome Brayden felt in the palace, with Flip’s family. About how he fit into their lives just as seamlessly as he fit in Flip’s arms.

About how good it felt to be there.

You’ve been doing so well until now. Don’t fuck it up by falling in love, for the first time in ten years, with the prince you’re fake dating, you absolute idiot.

On the other hand, wasn’t it good penance? If Brayden fell in love with Flip and had to leave when his vacation was over and go back to his life, wouldn’t that heartache cancel out the one he’d caused when Thomas died?

The idea was stupid. Brayden knew there were no cosmic balances. Nothing he ever did would make up for Thomas being gone, and if he were honest with himself, he knew that it wasn’t his fault and that he had nothing to make up for. But knowing those things intellectually didn’t make a difference.

Brains were dumb.

“Stop thinking so loud,” Flip rumbled, an inch from Brayden’s ear, and Brayden’s upstairs brain went offline entirely.

That was just notfair. A handsome prince who wasn’t stuck-up, who danced like he’d been taught by Brayden’s grandmother, who had a sharp wit and a warm embrace and a frankly ridiculous body—maybe Brayden should join him and Irfan for yoga?—and his morning voice promised exquisite debauchery of the slow and painstaking variety.

“Sorry,” Brayden rasped. “I was trying not to wake you.” He wondered how long Flip had been lying there and whether he’d been afraid to move too… perhaps out of politeness.

“Well, now that we’re both up—”

Brayden felt himself go scarlet. He thought he could feel the heat from Flip’s face too, as he blushed. “Nice choice of words,” Brayden managed.

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