Page 101 of Faking It Right
Senna’s eyes lit up. “Are they set on you for a third? Or do they have a recruitment process I should know about?”
“Don’t even think about it,” I warned.
She batted her eyelashes. “What? I’m simply curious about their selection criteria.”
“Well, according to Maylin, they know their third when they see them,” Harley explained. “They recognize the soul’s energy or some equally mystical bullshit.”
“That’s actually kind of romantic,” Gage admitted. “In a completely nonsensical way.”
Jagger’s grin turned devilish. “I’d pretend to believe in past lives for a shot at being with him.”
“Too late. I’m already sliding into his DMs,” Bryce announced, rapidly typing on his screen.
“You guys are ridiculous,” I said, shaking my head.
“Says the guy who was supposedly their soul mate for centuries,” Senna teased. “Too bad you’re straight and had to turn him down.”
Harley smirked. “That’s not the only reason Ryker was unavailable for their cosmic threesome.”
“Wait, not available?” Jagger perked up with interest. “Did you meet someone, Ryker? Please tell me it wasn’t another boring straight girl who thinks missionary is an adventurous kink.”
All eyes shifted to me, making my cheeks flush from the pressure. Now was the moment. All I had to do was spit it out. Rip off the band-aid.
“Actually, I, uh, Harley and I are—we’re…” I started, my voice cracking. I cleared my throat. “We’re together. As in, he’s my boyfriend.”
The chatter died so fast it left ringing in my ears. Fenway’s beer bottle froze halfway to his lips. Senna’s eyebrows shot into her hairline, a slow, knowing smile spreading across her face. Bryce’s jaw dropped, his perfectly glossed mouth forming a perfect O of theatrical shock, while Jagger looked smug, crossing his arms like he’d been waiting for the moment his entire life. Gage seemed amused by the sudden turn of events.
Fenway was the first to break the silence. “Wait, for real? This isn’t some elaborate prank like the time you pretended to like kale?”
Harley came to stand next to me, looking smugger than a cat who just caught the red dot. “Nope, one hundred percent real.”
“So much for all your years of aggressively insisting you’re straight,” Jagger joked.
I winced at the memory. “Yeah, turns out I might have been protesting a bit too much.”
“Abit?” Bryce snorted. “Honey, your ‘I’m straight’ mantra had all the conviction of a kid with chocolate smeared all over his face denying he ate the last cookie.”
“Looks like it’s time for you to recant saying, ‘I can appreciate that Harley has an attractive face without wanting to sit on it,’” Jagger teased.
Senna refocused the conversation. “What changed?”
I glanced at Harley, drawing strength from his presence beside me. “Everything? Nothing? I don’t know. It just sort of happened.”
“What he means,” Harley said, his hand finding mine, “is that he finally stopped denying what was right in front of him. Me, obviously.”
“Ha, I fucking knew it!” Jagger exclaimed, slapping his knee. “Pay up, assholes. I called this years ago.”
To my horror, our friends began digging out their wallets.
“You guys bet on us, too?” I asked, incredulous.
Fenway laughed. “Too? Did your family also have a betting pool?”
I huffed with annoyance. “Yes.”
“Why would we be any different?” Senna teased, handing Jagger a twenty. “We had one going on when you’d finally crack. I had last Christmas, so I’m out twenty bucks.”
Gage passed over his cash. “I had ‘never’ because I thought Ryker was too stubborn. Way to prove me wrong, buddy.”
