Page 16 of Faking It Right
“Why are you shocked? Your parents are so supportive you could literally tell them, ‘I’m secretly a serial killer,’ and they’ll show up with an airtight alibi and a shovel to help you hide the bodies. Why would they balk at you having the best boyfriend ever?” He chuckled as he settled onto the edge of my bed like he owned the place. “And hey, look on the bright side. At least they’re supportive and not bigoted assholes who’d disown you like my family would. Things could always be worse.”
I threw my hands up in exasperation. “But I’m notactuallygay!”
He looked far too entertained by my crisis. “If you get any deeper in the closet, you’ll need a flashlight to find your way back out.”
I huffed, crossing my arms. “What are you talking about? I’ve got an entire ex-harem ready to testify that I’mextremelyinto women.”
“Okay, so you’re bisexual, then,” he said with a casual shrug.
“No, I’m not!” It took everything in me not to stamp my foot like a petulant child, stubbornly insisting to the contrary.
My annoyance tickled him. “Says the man who currently has a boyfriend. Right.”
“Fakeboyfriend. You’re playing the part so Mom will stop setting me up with women like Maylin. None of this is real. We’re notactuallydating.”
“Are you planning on telling mommy and daddy dearest at dinner that you’re lying about your sexuality to dodge dates with women?” He flashed a wicked grin that made me want to smack him with a pillow. “Because that little tactic won’t work the way you think, Ryker. It’ll only make them more convinced you’re into men.”
With a heavy sigh, I dropped onto my bed beside him. “What am I supposed to do? Mom wants to see us all ‘lovey-dovey,’ which is way beyond the scope of our agreement.”
“Not really. I agreed to be your fake boyfriend during this trip, which means I signed up for all the perks of a real relationship.”
I snorted at the sheer ridiculousness of his claim. “Yeah, right. Kissing and fucking me is taking a joke way too far, even for you, Harley.”
Before I could process what happened, he knocked me flat on my back, pinning me to the mattress. The intense look in hisblue eyes shut off my brain as I stared up at him, wide-eyed and flabbergasted.
“What if I wasn’t joking?” Harley murmured.
I let out a nervous laugh because what the hell else was I supposed to do when my best friend was on top of me, acting like we were about to make out? “You have to be!”
He traced the outline of my jaw with a tenderness that tripped a wire deep inside me, setting off an alarming detonation in my gut. “No, I don’t.”
“You don’tdoserious.”
Ignoring my protest, he switched to a dangerously persuasive tone. “Do you want our first kiss to be a masterclass in awkwardness in front of your parents? Because they’ll expect that based on how giddy your mom was about us showing open affection.”
It galled me how right he was. My mom had transformed into a giddy schoolgirl at the prospect of witnessing us play house as a “real” couple. I’d kissed plenty of girlfriends in front of my parents, so not kissing my boyfriend would raise more eyebrows than a bad magic trick.
He persisted, chipping away at my resistance. “If you don’t kiss me, they’ll assume you don’t trust them to accept you, which will hurt their feelings, especially when all they want is to support you and your sexy-as-fuck boyfriend.”
“Fake boyfriend,” I whispered, clinging to that lifeline like a life preserver in a sea of confusion.
He traced my lower lip with his thumb, amusement radiating from him. “Your fake boyfriend wants to kiss you for real.”
“Why would you take it that far?” I protested. Harley had been a great friend to me for three years, but that was surely taking things too far, right?
“Because we both need this.” He tilted my chin up and leaned down, pressing his lips to mine.
When I didn’t respond, he kissed me again with a little more heat, soft yet commanding. His third kiss shattered my resolve. My hand rebelled, weaving through his silky hair and pulling him closer for a deeper taste.
His tongue teased the seam of my lips, and my brain short-circuited faster than that time I accidentally zapped a metal takeout container in the microwave. I opened for him with a moan so wanton I’d have blamed it on a ghost if anyone asked.
He ignited a frenzied need in me like I’d never known, his expert mouth making me forget my name, my supposed straightness, and possibly the concept of inhaling oxygen.
I kissed him back with the desperation of a guy who’d been surviving on ramen for a month, suddenly faced with a five-course feast. I gasped as his warm hand slipped under my shirt to stroke my bare skin, feeling like someone had replaced my blood with lightning.
It sparked a craving for more, especially when he shifted his hips against mine in a slow, deliberate grind that made every mediocre hookup I’d ever had feel like an embarrassing memory.
Feeling him moving against me as he gave me the best kiss of my life gave my dick the wrong idea, or maybe the right one; the jury was still out. I tried to protest, but my arousal escalated to a full-on erection that I couldn’t hide from Harley any morethan I could conceal an elephant in a phone booth. When his answering hardness pressed against mine, my hetero soul demanded, “What the hell are you doing?” while the rest of me threw rainbow confetti and cheered, “Yas, queen! Keep going!”
