Page 29 of Faking It Right
Mom radiated joy. “You two are so sweet! I knew you were meant for each other.”
Mom’s joy cranked my guilt meter past the “you’re a terrible person” zone and into “you’re going straight to hell in a handbasket” territory. The guilt sat on my chest like I’d swallowed a bowling ball made entirely of bad decisions.
“Speaking of perfect couples,” Dad said, turning his attention to my sister, “Sawyer, how’s that new gallery space coming along for Gia’s exhibition?”
As the conversation shifted to Sawyer and Gia’s plans, Harley leaned close to me. “Hey,” he whispered, his breath warm against my ear. “Are you okay?”
His hand gave my thigh a gentle squeeze, sending my heart rocketing into my throat for a group hug with my Adam’s apple. How did he always know when I needed comfort?
Chapter Eight
HARLEY
I floppedonto the bed with a contented sigh while Ryker closed the bedroom door. His family had finally released us after what felt like hours of enthusiastic interrogation about our relationship. Dinner and hanging out afterward had gone even better than I’d hoped. They had practically devoured every morsel of our fake romance.
But something was off. Ryker perched on the edge of the bed like a brooding gargoyle, his shoulders hunched and his gaze fixated on the carpet as if it held the secrets of the universe.
“Well, that couldn’t have gone better,” I said, propping myself up on my elbows. “Your mom is completely sold and already planning our wedding. Did you see how she kept looking at us? I half expected her to ask what our first dance song would be.”
Ryker gave a noncommittal grunt, his fingers picking at a loose thread on his shirt.
I studied his profile, noting the tense set of his jaw and his stubborn refusal to meet my eyes. It wasn’t just post-family interaction fatigue. No, it was a full-blown, five-alarm pout.
“Okay, what’s wrong? You’ve been quieter than a mime in a library since dinner,” I asked, sliding over to join him on the bed.
His sigh sounded weary. “I feel like shit for lying to them.”
“About us, you mean?”
“Yeah.” He ran a hand through his hair, messing it up in that way that made me want to smooth it back into place. “They’re so happy for me—for us. My mom kept patting my hand like she was thanking me for finally giving her what she wanted.”
“It’s not entirely a lie. We genuinely care about each other.”
His eyes met mine, troubled and uncertain. “Yeah, but not romantically,” he protested, and then a flush crept up his neck as he held my gaze. “At least on my end.”
My heart, that traitorous organ, did a full-on salsa routine in my ribs. There was something about the way he said it, as if he wasn’t sure of his own words, that lit a dangerous flicker of hope inside me.
“You know, sometimes the line between friendship and romance is thinner than we think. The best relationships grow from people who genuinely enjoy each other’s company, who make each other laugh, who feel safe together. We already have all that. The rest is just details.”
“How is it that a self-proclaimed fuckboy like you has mastered the art of romance?”
I grinned, relieved to see a glimmer of his usual spark returning. “You bring it out in me, snookums.”
He rolled his eyes at the nickname, but I caught the hint of a smile he tried to suppress. Then his expression turned once more.
“I’m worried about hurting your feelings,” he admitted. “You’ve been into me for years, and here I am, asking you to pretend to be with me when I’m not sure if I can ever give you what you want for real.”
His brutal honesty caught me off guard. For all my flirting and teasing, I hadn’t expected him to be concerned about my feelings in our little charade.
I took his hand, interlacing our fingers together. “It’s enough for me to know you genuinely care about me, whatever form that takes.”
“Of course I care about you,” Ryker said, squeezing my hand. “I’m just not sure if that means romantically or not.”
“Maybe you should find your answers, then.”
His brow furrowed in confusion. “What’sthatsupposed to mean?”
I stood up and started on my shirt, my fingers unfastening each button as if it were a tiny, tantalizing secret I was revealing just for him.
