Page 15 of Faking It Right
Mom looked ready to burst into a confetti rainbow of happiness. “That’s so sweet! I can’t wait to see you two being all lovey-dovey. I’ve always said horror movies were good for romance. The adrenaline, the closeness, the desperate need for physical comfort—” A timer dinged in the kitchen, cutting her off. “That’s my cue to start the garlic bread. Why don’t you boys get comfy upstairs before dinner?”
Sawyer smirked. “Is that what the kids are calling you properly christening Ryker’s childhood bed?”
“Stop!” I squeaked, my face turning a brilliant shade of crimson as the room erupted in laughter. My family dissecting our nonexistent sex life was more than I could endure.
“Don’t forget to use protection!” Gia called out as Harley stood and tugged me to my feet, leading me toward the foyer. I wanted to die. Right there. Just teleport to an alternate dimension where the conversation had never happened and I was an only child raised by emotionally unavailable wolves.
My father’s amused voice followed us. “Try to keep it down, boys. These walls aren’t soundproof.”
Fucking hell, even my own father was encouraging us to have sex in my childhood bedroom. I was going to need a lifetime of therapy after this.
Harley and I headed back to the front door. His fingers laced through mine like they belonged there, a fact that sent my internal crisis meter screaming into the red zone of a full-blown emergency.
“You’re enjoying this way too much,” I hissed under my breath as we separated to grab our luggage.
Harley’s eyes twinkled with mischief. “Can you blame me? Your family is a riot. They’re so supportive of us.”
“There is no ‘us,’” I reminded him, keeping my voice low. “This is all pretend, remember?”
“Sure, snookums.” He winked at me, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “Whatever you say.”
I grabbed my overnight bag before we climbed the stairs together, our shoulders brushing with each step. The familiar creaking of the third and seventh steps brought back memories of sneaking out as a teenager and avoiding those noisy boards like a ninja on a mission. Now, each squeak felt like an overzealous announcer heralding our grand ascent to my waiting bedroom, where my family assumed we’d be engaging in activities that would make even a scandalous romance novel blush.
More framed photos lined the upstairs hallway, chronicling Sawyer’s and my awkward phases through the years. Harley paused to examine a particularly cringe-worthy shot of thirteen-year-old me, complete with braces and a haircut that could only be described as a tragic cry for help.
“You were adorable even then,” he said with shocking sincerity.
I tugged him away from the wall of shame. “Come on, let’s get this over with before I regret more of my life choices.”
My bedroom door was closed, and I hesitated before turning the knob. What fresh horrors had my mother unleashed upon my sanctuary in the name of redecorating? Taking a deep breath, I pushed the door open and stepped inside, Harley close behind me. I locked the door because my family treated boundaries as if they didn’t apply to their God-given right to meddle in every aspect of my existence.
The room was mostly as I remembered it, with my bed in the middle, desk by the window, and bookshelves crammed with textbooks and novels I’d hoarded throughout high school and my first two years of college.
But true to Sawyer’s warning, Mom had replaced my band posters with Renaissance art prints. Cherubic angels and classical figures gazed down from the walls, creating an ambiance that was more museum than a teenage bedroom.
“Wow,” Harley said, surveying the scene with a half-impressed, half-horrified expression. “Your mom wasn’t kidding about the art.”
I groaned, dropping my bag on the floor. “This is ridiculous. Look at this!” I gestured to a large print above my bed featuring several plump, naked cherubs frolicking in clouds. “How am I supposed to sleep surrounded by so many baby dicks?”
Harley burst out laughing. “Damn, mine looks gargantuan next to theirs.”
Inconvenient memories of his long, thick dick getting sucked plagued me like a waking nightmare. “Like your monster cock needs any fucking help to look even bigger,” I grumbled.
“I don’t know,” Harley said, his voice dropping to that velvety tone that made my insides twist like I’d just called my professor “daddy” during a lecture on accident. “I think they add a certain ambiance.”
I turned to find him standing closer than I’d anticipated. “Don’t start,” I warned, stepping back and colliding with the bed.
He feigned innocence. “Start what? I’m just appreciating your mom’s exceptional taste in décor.”
My queen-sized bed suddenly seemed the size of a postage stamp. There was no way we could both fit there without being pressed against each other all night. The thought sent a rush of heat through me that I desperately tried to ignore.
Harley’s presence would turn my mattress into a dangerous trapdoor. Every shift of my hips would be playing Russian roulette with my boner stats. Spoiler alert: I had a one hundred percent chance of humiliation.
I pressed my hand to my forehead, staring at Harley as if he’d confessed to being three raccoons in a human suit. What in the actual deep-fried fuck had just happened?
My best friend never missed an opportunity for a good quip. “Uh-oh, looks like someone didn’t have ‘Oh, thank god, we can quit pretending you’re straight’ on his coming-out bingo card.”
“They weren’t supposed to throw a fucking Pride parade for me like they’ve been waiting to celebrate my whole life!” I held my hand against my forehead with a groan. “How did this get so fucked-up so fast?”
