Chapter 6 #3
His annoyed huff was adorable. “I swear to god I will smother you in your sleep,” he threatened, but the laughter he couldn’t quite suppress ruined the effect.
“Worth it to see the look on your face. Besides, isn’t the whole point of this charade to be so convincingly coupled up that your mom gives up on matchmaking?”
“Yes, but there’s a fine line between convincing and nauseating,” he pointed out, running his fingers through his hair in a futile attempt to tame it.
I stepped closer, reaching up to help fix his hair. “Here, let me. You look like you just had a showdown with an electrical socket and lost.”
He tensed as my fingers combed through his hair, then gradually relaxed. “It’s not that bad.”
“It absolutely is,” I contradicted, smoothing down a particularly stubborn cowlick. “But it’s cute. Makes you look like you rolled out of bed after a vigorous round of—”
“Don’t finish that sentence,” he warned.
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’m very wise.” 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 are not,” 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?”
The air between us thickened, charged with the unspoken thing hanging in the space of a single breath. “Thanks for not panicking about earlier.”
“I’m still processing everything,” he admitted quietly. “But I’m not freaking out.”
“Good.” I smiled, softer than my usual cocky grin. “Because for what it’s worth, that was the hottest thing that’s happened to me in ages.”
His cheeks flushed again, but he didn’t look away. “Really?”
“Yeah,” I confirmed, moving even closer until I was practically looming over him. “And I wouldn’t mind a repeat performance sometime. Preferably before we fall asleep.”
I expected him to retreat, to make a joke, to deflect as he always did when things got too real between us. Instead, he surprised me by rising on his tiptoes and pressing a quick, impulsive kiss to my lips.
It was over almost before it began, but it left me stunned and delighted. Ryker looked equally shocked by his own boldness, his eyes wide as he dropped back down to his normal height.
“Um,” he said eloquently.
I broke into a grin. “Well, well, well. Look who’s taking the initiative with kisses now.”
“Shut up,” he muttered, but there was no heat behind it. “It was practice. For dinner.”
“Sure it was,” I agreed, not believing him for a second. “Very convincing practice. I’m thoroughly convinced.”
He couldn’t hide his smile. “Come on, let’s wash our hands and go downstairs.”
I couldn’t resist adding, “You know, if you want to practice more, I’m available anytime. Day or night. Especially night. Preferably naked.”
“You’re the worst.” The affectionate lilt in his voice dulled the edge of his words.
“Yet you kissed me, anyway. What does that say about your taste?”
“That I’ve clearly suffered brain damage from prolonged exposure to your ego,” he retorted, but his smile betrayed him.
I laughed, feeling lighter than I had in years as we headed downstairs. Maybe our faux relationship wouldn’t be so fake after all.