Page 9 of Faking It Right
Ryker knew me too well. “You hate tiramisu.”
“I’d suffer through it for you.”
“That’s how they’d know you were lying,” Ryker shot back, though a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.
I reached for the radio, letting my fingers brush his thigh again. This time, he didn’t tense up as much. Progress.
“What about when we went to the movies last month?” Ryker suggested after a moment. “We could say that’s when things changed.”
“The horror flick where you crawled into my lap during the jump scares? Perfect. Very romantic.”
His protest was adorable. “I did not crawl into your lap.”
“You gripped my arm so hard I had bruises the next day.”
“It was unexpected!”
“The movie was calledSlaughter House Party 2: Greek Week Nightmare. What were you expecting, a musical number?”
He laughed despite himself, the sound warming me from the inside out. “Fine. But we’re not telling my family I was scared.”
“Of course not. We’ll say you were making a bold move on me.”
“Who would believe I’d make the first move in this scenario?”
I grinned. “True, it’s far more believable that you finally succumbed to my irresistible charms.”
Surprise or maybe recognition flickered across his face before he disguised it with an eye roll. “Fine. The movie works.”
“And afterward, we went for ice cream, and you couldn’t keep your eyes off me as I licked my cone.” I demonstrated with a theatrical flourish of my tongue.
Ryker’s gaze darted to me, then back to the road. “You’re awful.”
“That’s not what you moaned last night when I made you come,” I purred, relishing the way his ears turned crimson.
“We are not telling my family about our fictional sex life.”
“Spoilsport.” I pouted, then perked up. “Actually, let’s circle back to pet names.”
He groaned. “Do we have to?”
“Yes, because we’re one of those obnoxiously schmoopy couples. What do you call me when we’re alone?”
“I call you ‘pain in my ass,’” Ryker muttered.
“Thanks for the compliment on my huge dick, but could we keep that under wraps in front of your parents?” I replied with a cheeky wink.
Ryker shot me a withering glare. “Can we please stick to our actual names?”
“Boring,” I sang. “How about ‘babe,’ ‘honey,’ or even better, ‘sex god,’ since I’m the one giving you earth-shattering orgasms?”
“I refuse to call you ‘sex god’ in front of my mother.”
“Fine, I’ll let you save it for the bedroom.”
Ryker’s lips twitched. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”
“Of course, I am.” I let my hand rest on his thigh again. “Aren’t you?”
