Page 13 of Faking It Right
My mother patted the center cushion of the sofa, her not-so-subtle hint about where I was supposed to sit. “Come over here, biscuit. I want to hear all about your escapades.”
I took my assigned seat, and Harley slid in next to me, pressing his thigh against mine with an effect like someone had replaced my blood with something flammable and then tossed in a match. With my mother settled on my other side, it turned the three-cushion sofa into a sardine can.
The living room had always been the heart of our home, where we gathered for movie marathons, board game rivalries, and holiday chaos. The built-in bookshelves were crammed with well-loved paperbacks and puzzles missing more pieces than they had. Family photos in mismatched frames competed for space on every flat surface, and my mother’s collection of “meaningful” candles cluttered the coffee table, each onesupposedly dedicated to a noble cause like “creativity” or “harmony.” Because nothing said spiritual enlightenment like paying thirty dollars to make a room smell like a fruit salad left in the sun.
My body betrayed me with Harley’s proximity, conducting a full-scale rebellion against whatever remained of my common sense. His arm stretched along the back of the couch, where he touched my neck. It turned that particular patch of skin into an unauthorized spokesperson for parts of my anatomy that had no business entering the conversation.
“You look like hell,” Sawyer remarked with her typical bluntness. “Those bags under your eyes could carry a week’s worth of groceries. Were you up all night fucking or something?”
“Finals,” I mumbled, avoiding her sharp stare. “I’ve been cramming nonstop because my music theory exam was brutal.”
Sawyer narrowed her eyes like a suspicious detective investigating my case of bullshit. “Hmm, ‘studying,’ you say? Is that what they’re calling it these days?” She shot a conspiratorial glance at Gia, who responded with an eyebrow-raised smirk. “Are you sure it wasn’t Harley keeping you up all night?”
My face must have done something scandalous because Sawyer’s teasing morphed into triumphant glee in a heartbeat. She straightened up, her finger jabbing in my direction like a gavel of judgment.
“Okay, spill it. What are you two hiding? And don’t you dare lie. You’re terrible at it.”
The blood drained from my face as I glanced at Harley, who watched the exchange with a wicked grin. “I—we’re not—I mean—” I stammered, my brain short-circuiting under the spotlight of everyone’s scrutiny.
“You caught us. We’re dating now,” Harley chimed in, swooping in to save me from my verbal train wreck. He slid his hand from the back of the couch to my shoulder, giving it a squeeze that was both reassuring and possessive. “We finally made it official.”
My mother gasped so dramatically that I half expected her to swoon. Her hands flew to her cheeks, her eyes widening to cartoonish proportions. “I knew it! Didn’t I tell you, Danson? I told you they’d figure it out eventually!”
My father snorted, his laughter bubbling up from deep within. “You certainly did, although we all knew this was where their friendship was heading.”
“Um, yeah,” I managed weakly, while Harley beamed beside me, playing his role like a seasoned actor in a rom-com.
The living room erupted in jubilation. My mother sprang from the couch, clapping her hands like a fan at a concert. Gia whistled loudly, while Sawyer beamed with the satisfaction of solving her case.
Mom practically crowed with glee. “I’ve been saying it for literallyyears! Remember when Harley first came over for Thanksgiving freshman year? The way you two exchanged looks at each other over the cranberry sauce? I told your father that night, ‘Danson, our son is head over heels for that boy.’ But you stubbornly insisted you were straight.”
I melted into the couch like a Popsicle in Satan’s asscrack, watching my life turn into a cosmic shitshow directed by a sadistic puppeteer with a hard-on for irony. It was supposed tobe a simple fake relationship to dodge a blind date, not a family-wide celebration of something they’d been expecting for ages.
“And then last Christmas,” Mom continued, barely pausing for breath, “when you conked out on Harley during that movie marathon? The way he was playing with your hair? We all knew there was something else going on. We were all waiting for you to confess you had mutual feelings.”
“Mom—” I tried to interject, but she was a runaway train.
“Oh, I can’t wait to tell everyone! The ladies at my garden club are going to be so ecstatic this finally happened.”
Dad cleared his throat, a mischievous glint in his eye as he glanced at Sawyer. “Well, I believe this means someone just hit the jackpot in the family betting pool.”
I whipped my head toward my father. “The what now?”
“The betting pool,” Dad repeated, as if wagering on your son’s love life was as normal as discussing the weather. “On when you two would finally get together.”
“You did not seriously take bets on my love life,” I sputtered, staring at my family in disbelief.
Dad pulled out his wallet and leaned over to hand Sawyer fifty dollars. “Junior year, second term was Sawyer’s guess. Your mother thought last Christmas would be the magic moment, and I had my money on after graduation.”
Sawyer pocketed the cash with a smug grin. “We absolutely did, little brother. And thank you for the easy win.”
“I had ‘never’ in the pool,” Gia admitted with a shrug. “I figured you were too stubborn to figure it out.”
I sat stunned, my mouth hanging open in disbelief. Harley, the traitor, was laughing beside me.
“This isn’t happening,” I muttered.
“Oh, it’s happening, snookums,” Harley whispered, his breath hot against my ear. “And they’re loving every second of it.”
