Page 97 of Faking It Right
“Someone has to. Otherwise, you’d probably volunteer us to come back as something ridiculous like flamingos.”
“Flamingosaremajestic creatures. And I look fabulous in pink.”
His only response was a soft snore.
I took pity on him. “Sweet dreams, soul mate,” I whispered. “May all our past and future lives be as perfect as this one.”
Chapter Nineteen
RYKER
I pacedthe length of our kitchen, rehearsing different versions of the same announcement under my breath. “So, funny story. Harley and I are—well, we’re kind of…” I groaned, running my hands through my hair. “No, that sounds stupid.”
Harley leaned against the counter, arms crossed over his chest. One corner of his mouth was hitched up in a smirk. The bastard had been enjoying my nervous breakdown for a solid twenty minutes.
“What about this?” he suggested, a wicked glint in his eyes. “Attention, friends! I’ve finally succumbed to Harley’s irresistible charms and incredible sexual prowess. Please direct all congratulations to him for his persistence in seducing me.”
I shot him a withering glare. “Not helping.”
“Or we could make out in front of everyone. Actions speak louder than words, snookums.”
“I swear to god, I’m going to harvest your organs and sell them on the black market to fund my revenge scheme,” I growled,wearing a trench in the floor with my frantic pacing. If I didn’t stop, I’d dig myself a direct tunnel to Satan’s living room before midnight.
Our friends were due to arrive any minute for our post-spring break get-together. We’d planned it weeks ago, before the seismic shift in my relationship with Harley. Now, I had to explain to our entire friend group that the guy who’d insisted he was straight for years had started dating his male roommate.
“They’re going to think this is a prank,” I complained. “Jagger will never let me live this down. Remember last Halloween when he kept saying I looked at you like you were a snack? And I denied it so hard I knocked over the candy bowl?”
Harley’s laughter filled the kitchen. “To be fair, youwerechecking out my ass in those leather pants.”
“I was not—” I stopped myself, because what was the point of denying it now? “Fine. Maybe I was. But that’s why this will be a disaster. I’ve spent years telling them I wasn’t into you.”
“And they’ve spent years not believing you, so you’re even.” Harley pushed off from the counter to close the distance. His hands settled on my shoulders, his touch soothing my frayed nerves. “Ryker, they’re our friends. They’ll be thrilled for us. And if they give you shit, which they absolutely will because they’re assholes, I’ll make you feel better after everyone goes home.”
My cheeks flushed at the memory of how good Harley was at making me feel better. “You’re not making this easier.”
“Who said that was my goal?” He brushed his lips against mine in a teasing kiss. “Now, go get one of your fruity space-themed hard seltzers and try not to explode.”
The knock on our door made me jump like a cat who had just realized cucumbers were secretly snakes in disguise.
“Showtime,” Harley whispered, giving my ass a playful smack as he sashayed to answer the door.
I took a sip of my Galactic Grapefruit hard seltzer to calm my nerves. The drink tasted like someone had conveyed the experience of eating a grapefruit telepathically to a medieval plague doctor who then had to recreate the flavor using only candle wax and the powdered bones of the last guy who asked, “Are you sure this is medicine?” The flavor was interstellar levels of weird, but I couldn’t get enough of it.
“Hey, man!” Fenway’s voice carried from the entryway when he stepped inside our apartment. “I brought that blueberry wheat ale you mentioned.”
I emerged from the kitchen to find Fenway handing Harley a six-pack of craft beer. His gaze landed on me, and his brow immediately furrowed.
“Damn, you look like you’re constipated with anxiety,” he said, striding over to clap me on the shoulder. “What’s up? Did your mom set you up with another walking red flag during break?”
A laugh scraped its way out of my throat. “It wouldn’t be a trip home if she didn’t.”
Fenway plopped onto our couch and cracked open a beer. “Is your sister still with that hot girlfriend of hers?”
“Gia? Yeah, they’re good,” I replied, grateful for the safe topic. “They’re talking about moving in together after Sawyer graduates.”
Another loud knock was followed by what sounded like singing.
“That’ll be the drama queens,” Harley joked, heading for the door.
