Page 46 of Faking It Right
When I dared to glance at him, he was watching the movie with apparent interest, a small smile playing at the corner of his mouth. The bastard knew exactly what he was doing to me.
I tried to pay attention, but Harley shifted closer, his breath warm against my ear as he whispered, “Your face gets this little crease right here when you’re overthinking.” His finger touched between my eyebrows.
I swatted his hand away. “Watch the movie.”
“I’d rather watch you,” he replied, quiet enough that only I could hear.
My face burned. I grabbed my water glass and took a long drink, trying to cool down. When I set it back on the table, I caught Sawyer staring at me from across the room.
She held my gaze, one eyebrow raised in her trademark “I can see right through your bullshit” look that always made my spine try to pretzel itself. Her eyes flicked toward the hallway.
I frowned, shaking my head.
Sawyer’s expression hardened. She jerked her head more insistently, mouthing, “Now.”
Great. Just what I needed: a sisterly interrogation while I was already struggling to keep my composure with Harley’s hand still resting on my thigh.
“I’ll go get more snacks,” I announced, standing abruptly.
“There’s plenty—” Mom started.
I cut her off, already backing toward the kitchen. “Different ones.”
Harley looked up at me, his blue eyes questioning. “Want me to help?”
“No!” I said too quickly. “I mean, I’ve got it. You’re comfortable. Stay.”
His lips quirked into a half smile. “If you insist.”
I turned away before my face could betray me, but not before catching Sawyer making some excuse to Gia and following me. Great. The cavalry was coming.
As I reached the kitchen, I heard Sawyer’s footsteps behind me. I busied myself opening and closing cabinets, pretending to look for snacks.
“What’s going on with you?” She leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed like she was about to deliver a verdict.
“Nothing. Just watching a shitty movie with my family. Super normal.” I grabbed a bag of chips we didn’t need in my best imitation of a raccoon raiding a dumpster.
“Bullshit.” Sawyer moved closer, lowering her voice. “You’ve been twitchier than a squirrel on espresso all night. You keep looking at Harley like he’s a Swedish furniture instruction manual with half the pages missing—confused, frustrated, but still determined to screw something.”
I set the chips down with more force than necessary. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Really? Because from where I’m sitting, it looks like you’re in full-blown gay panic mode.”
“You’re imagining things,” I insisted, even as my pulse raced. “Everything’s fine.”
Sawyer studied me for a long moment before her expression softened. “Ryker, talk to me.”
I glanced over my shoulder to make sure no one had followed us. “There’s nothing to say.”
“How about the truth?” She hopped up to sit on the counter. “What’s going on between you and Harley?”
That question performed a perfect landing on the trampoline of my deepest fears. My mouth was ready to spill the tell-all about our relationship mockumentary, but my fabrication factory had apparently been condemned by the Department of Mental Health and Safety. Finally, I settled for a vague “It’s complicated.”
“Complicated how?” When I didn’t answer, she continued, “Look, I’m not trying to pry, but you’ve been acting weird. One minute, you’re all over each other, the next, you look as if you’re about to bolt. If something’s wrong?—”
“Nothing’s wrong,” I interrupted. “It’s…” I trailed off, not sure how to explain something I didn’t understand myself.
“It’s what?”
