Page 102 of Faking It Right
There was something surreal about watching my friends argue about the technicalities of their bets rather than expressing any shock about my relationship with Harley.
“You’re not surprised?” I asked.
“What’s there to be surprised about? And hey, look at it this way. Now that you’re finally getting laid regularly, maybe you’ll be less grumpy,” Jagger added with a wink.
The tension in my shoulders melted away, replaced by a dizzying rush of affection for the ridiculous people who apparently knew me better than I knew myself. “Thanks, guys. It means a lot.”
“Don’t get all mushy on us now,” Senna warned, raising her beer in a toast. “But since we’re having a moment, here’s to Ryker and Harley, for finally figuring out what the rest of us have known forever.”
“To Ryker and Harley!” they chorused, lifting their drinks high.
Harley’s arm slipped around my waist, pulling me close. “See?” he murmured against my ear. “Told you it would be fine.”
“Yeah, yeah, you were right,” I admitted, unable to suppress a smile. “Don’t let it go to your head.”
“Too late,” he said, planting a quick kiss to my temple that made our friends whoop and holler.
For all my worrying, it turned out the hardest part wasn’t telling them; it was getting them to stop teasing us long enough to change the subject.
But Jagger could always be counted on to derail a conversation. “Now, who wants to hear about the yoga instructor who could do things with his body that should be physically impossible?”
“Oh, here we go,” Fenway groaned, settling back with his beer.
Just like that, the spotlight shifted away from Harley and me. Jagger launched into a vivid retelling of another one of his spring break hookups, complete with hand gestures that made Gage cover his eyes in mock horror.
“He could literally bend himself in half backward,” Jagger insisted, attempting to demonstrate and nearly spilling his drink. “And when he got on his knees?—”
“Did you at least learn his name this time?” Senna interrupted, reaching for another cookie.
Jagger waved dismissively. “Names are overrated. I think it started with anM? Mahalo? Mondo? Mungo? Whatever, I saved him in my phone as ‘Yoga Daddy,’ and that’s all that matters.”
Gage's grin was rueful. “You’re an absolute disaster.”
“A disaster who got laid six times in one weekend,” Jagger corrected with a smirk. “Quality and quantity, my friend.”
Bryce scoffed. “Amateur. While you were playing Twister with your bendy boy, I was enjoying a threesome with the cocktologists who run that swanky new bar downtown.”
Fenway said, “Bullshit,” through a cough. “There’s no way.”
“I have the matching hickeys and their business card to prove it,” Bryce countered, pulling out his phone. “Want to see the pictures?”
“No!” Gage and I exclaimed in unison.
Jagger gestured to see the photos. Bryce passed his phone over so Jagger could flip through them. His expression clearly said he appreciated what he saw. “What a pleasant surprise to discover they’re called cocktologists because of their cocktail-making abilities and also their huge cocks.”
“I still say a cocktologist sounds like someone who psychoanalyzes depressed cocks,” Senna joked.
Laughter erupted as Bryce exaggerated the details to comical heights.
I settled back into the couch, letting the familiar chaos of our friend group buzz around me like a comforting, slightly unhinged hive. Everything felt normal. Nothing fundamental had changed, despite the bombshell we’d dropped.
Harley rejoined the conversation. “Did you at least get free drinks out of the arrangement?”
Bryce beamed with smug satisfaction. “Of course. I’m such a good fuck, I earned a lifetime VIP pass and fifty percent off all specialty cocktails.”
“Now,that’show you hook up strategically,” Senna nodded approvingly. “Speaking of strategic moves, did you hear about the new adjunct professor they just hired to start teaching this fall for the Fashion Merchandising department?”
She lowered her voice conspiratorially as she continued. “My cousin works in the department’s office, and she said he’s sexy as fuck. Like, model-turned-professor hot.”
