Page 24 of Faking It Right
I smirked. “I was going to say pillow fighting, but I like where your mind went.”
“Sure you were.”
The domesticity of the moment wasn’t lost on me. Standing close enough to feel the warmth radiating from his body, my fingers carded through his hair, his guard temporarily lowered. It was everything I’d fantasized about for three years. I savored the moment before stepping back.
“There. Now you look presentable enough to face your mother.”
He reached up to check his hair. “Thanks.”
“What are fake boyfriends for?” I injected a casualness into my tone I didn’t feel. Each lighthearted word was a careful brick laid over the hope aching in my chest.
“Speaking of which, we should review some ground rules before dinner.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Beyond no blow jobs under the table?”
He gestured between us. “What’s okay and what’s not.”
“Didn’t we already cover this when you specifically requested hand-holding and cheek kisses only? Though I think we can safely add mutual masturbation to the approved activities list, albeit not in front of your family.”
His face flushed again. “That’s not—I mean—” He took a deep breath. “Look, what happened was…”
“A onetime thing?” I guessed, bracing for the impending rejection that would surely follow.
He ruffled his hair, undoing all my meticulous styling. “I’m not saying that. But I don’t want things to get weird between us.”
I had to laugh at that. “Hate to break it to you, but that ship has sailed, crashed into an iceberg, and is currently resting at the bottom of the ocean.”
“You know what I mean,” he sighed. “I don’t want to ruin our friendship.”
The sincerity in his voice softened me. “Hey.” I stepped closer, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Nothing could ruin us, okay? We’ve survived worse than mutually satisfying hand jobs.”
A small smile tugged at his lips. “I guess you have a point.”
“Of course I do. I’mverywise.” I squeezed his shoulder. “Besides, this doesn’t have to be a big deal unless we make it one. We’re still us but with more knowledge of each other’s O-faces now.”
That startled a laugh out of him.
“Now, are we good?” I asked. “Because I’m ravenous, and your mom’s lasagna and garlic bread are legendary.”
He nodded, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. “Yeah, we’re good.”
“Excellent.” I clapped my hands together. “Now, one last thing before we head down. Do I have sex hair? Because if not, I feel like I should mess it up a bit. Really sell the ‘we just had a quickie before dinner’ vibe.”
“Absolutely not,” he said as a grin battled its way to the surface.
“Fine, fine.” I ruffled my hair, giving it that deliberately chaotic look. “But I’m telling your sister we christened your childhood bed.”
“You arenot,” he spluttered, eyes wide with horror. He shoved me toward the door. “Out. Now. Before I change my mind about this entire arrangement.”
“You wouldn’t,” I shot back, turning to face him. “You need me too much.”
He stopped, suddenly serious. “Yeah, I do.”
The simple admission landed like a sucker punch, knocking the wind right out of me. We stood there, inches apart, the air crackling with something I couldn’t quite label.
I took a step closer, unable to resist. “Ryker…”
He swallowed hard, his gray eyes searching mine. “What?”
