Page 50 of Faking It Right
Her lips quirked into a familiar smirk. “Though I’ve got to say, we’ve all been waiting for this. We even formed a support group called ‘Friends of Ryker’s Oblivious Bisexuality.’ We met on Wednesdays. There was a newsletter. We hadmerch, for god’s sake.”
And just like that, the sentimental moment shattered. I groaned and shoved her shoulder. “You did not,” I said through a laugh.
She snickered. “You sure about that?”
It was probably bad that my answer to her question was “Not really.” But I laughed despite myself. The tension that had been building inside me for days finally snapped, replaced by something lighter, almost buoyant.
“If you don’t believe me, I’ll send you our group’s mug later. Gia designed it. It’s a masterpiece.” Sawyer poured chips into a communal bowl for sharing. “Look, all I’m saying is don’t overthink this. You like him, he likes you a lot. Enjoy the ride and figure out the rest as you go.”
“That simple, huh?”
“That simple.” She picked up the bowl with the flair of a magician revealing their final trick. “And if you need a label, try ‘happy’ for now. The rest can wait.”
Maybe she was right. Maybe I didn’t need to have all the answers yet. Maybe I could relish the joy of rubbing my dick against Harley’s like we were trying to spark a campfire until we came.
“Come on.” Sawyer nudged me with her elbow. “Let’s get back before Mom sends a search party.”
“Hey, Sawyer?” I said as we headed to where our family waited.
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for not making this weird.”
She snorted. “Oh, I’m still planning on making it weird later.”
When we returned, the movie was in the middle of an outrageous chase scene, complete with explosions and a hero clinging to a speeding car. Mom was completely engrossed, gripping the edge of her seat, while Dad had his arm around her shoulders, looking amused at her intensity. Gia was curled up against Sawyer’s spot on the loveseat, scrolling through her phone while occasionally glancing at the screen.
And then there was Harley.
He looked up as we entered, his eyes finding mine. Even in the dim glow of the TV, I could see the question lurking about why I had disappeared with Sawyer for far too long in the kitchen.
I settled into my spot next to him on the couch, our thighs almost touching. Sawyer plopped the chip bowl onto the coffee table before returning to her seat beside Gia, who curled into her side.
“Everything good?” Harley whispered, leaning in close enough that I could smell his familiar scent of patchouli and lavender that had become so comforting to me.
His eyes searched mine with genuine concern. That was the Harley who existed beneath all the flirtatious facade and sexualinnuendos, the one who always sensed my emotional tornadoes and cared enough to check the forecast.
My emotional clusterfuck compass suddenly oriented itself, like a penis finally finding a hole after drunkenly bumping around in the dark and into thighs for ten minutes. North located. Ready to drill. Down to fuck.
“Yeah,” I replied, the word feeling more honest than anything I’d uttered all week. “Everything’s good.”
His eyebrows lifted, picking up on the sincerity in my voice. A question formed in his eyes, but he didn’t push.
I reached for Harley’s hand where it rested between us on the couch. I brushed against his knuckles before intertwining my fingers with his. Something unfurled within me that reassured me my heart hadn’t completely atrophied from years of emotional constipation.
Chapter Twelve
HARLEY
I followedRyker into his bedroom, still chuckling about his father’s commentary during the last twenty minutes of the movie. Danson was mild-mannered most of the time, but his rare rants were comedic gold.
Ryker closed the door behind us with the painstaking care of someone disarming a bomb. He’d been wound tighter than a virgin at a frat party since he and Sawyer returned from their hush-hush kitchen conference. His fingers tapped against his thigh as he flitted around the room, picking up random objects only to set them back down seconds later.
I flopped onto the edge of his bed to stretch my legs out. “Are you going to tell me what you and your sister were whispering about in the kitchen during your impromptu intermission? Or should I guess? Because I’m brimming with creative theories involving sibling telepathy and a possible alien abduction.”
He launched into full rant mode, pacing across the bedroom floor. “She always does this! Every single time. She swoops inlike some kind of emotional support vulture with ‘helpful advice’ I never asked for.”
“Emotional support vulture?” I repeated, not bothering to hide my amusement. “That’s a new one.”
