Chapter 7 #2
Harley sipped his iced tea, dragging the moment out for maximum torture. But nothing could have prepared me for his actual answer. “I think I always knew there was a chance. There was a spark of curiosity in the way he looked at me sometimes, even if he wasn’t ready to admit it.”
“I did not look at you like that,” I protested weakly.
“Oh, you absolutely did,” Harley countered with a grin. “Especially when I’d emerge from the shower in nothing but a towel.”
Sawyer snorted. “Classic denial.”
“I wasn’t in denial,” I insisted. “I just hadn’t considered the possibility.”
“And now?” Mom asked, her expression softening.
I glanced at Harley, at his stupidly handsome face and the warmth in his eyes that made my heart hammer against my ribs so violently that my other organs started placing bets on which would crack first: my sternum or my composure. “Now, I’m exploring options I didn’t know were available.”
“That’s a very diplomatic way of saying your best friend turned you into a tourist in the bisexuality neighborhood,” Sawyer teased.
I opened my mouth to deny it, then thought better of it. “Honestly, I don’t know what I am right now. But I know how I feel about Harley.”
“Great, so when’s the wedding?”
I nearly choked on my iced tea while Harley patted my back.
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” he answered while I recovered. “We’ve only been official for a few weeks.”
“But you’ve been living together for years,” Mom pointed out. “You’re practically married already.”
“Mom,” I wheezed, still recovering from my near-death experience, “please don’t plan my wedding before I’ve even figured out what I want for breakfast tomorrow.”
“Chocolate chip pancakes,” Harley replied. “You always crave them on Saturday mornings during breaks.”
I stared at him, astonished he remembered such a minor detail. “Yeah, I do.”
“See?” Mom said triumphantly. “He knows you better than you know yourself.”
“Face it, little brother. You’re practically an old married couple already,” Sawyer pointed out with great glee. “All you did was finally add sex to the equation.”
It was hard not to pout. “I said we’re not discussing my sex life at the dinner table.”
“So there is a sex life to discuss,” Gia shot back with a devilish grin.
I gave up with a groan. “You all suck.”
Sawyer’s grin turned wicked. “Not as much as your boyfriend does on his knees for you.”
My jaw dropped as everyone erupted in laughter. “You know, sometimes I really wish we weren’t so open as a family.”
Harley squeezed my thigh again, his eyes dancing with amusement. “Relax. They’re just happy for us, snookums.”
“Don’t call me that in front of them,” I hissed.
“Too late, snookums,” Sawyer teased. “Oh, that’s precious.”
Mom cooed. “So adorable.”
“I think I’m going to be sick.” But despite my embarrassment, there was something heartwarming about sitting with my family and Harley, all of them accepting us without question, even if it was fake.
“Don’t worry,” Harley whispered, his breath tickling my ear. “I’ve got plenty of other nicknames for you that are just for us.”
The promise in his voice made my heart skip a beat, tumble down a flight of metaphorical stairs, and land in a puddle of anticipation that would have alarmed any therapist worth their hourly rate. Shit. How did one mutual hand job fuck me up so much?
Gia theatrically grimaced. “You two are sickeningly cute together. It’s disgusting.”
“Absolutely revolting,” Sawyer agreed, though a fond smile crept onto her face. “I love it.”
For some reason, their teasing didn’t sting as much as it had earlier. Maybe I was growing used to it, or perhaps my earlier orgasm finally put me in a better mood. “You’re both hypocrites. You two are way worse.”
“We’ve earned the right to be nauseating,” Gia said, swiping a bite from Sawyer’s plate with the finesse of a seasoned thief. “We’ve been together four years. You’ve been together what, three weeks?”
“Three weeks, two days, and about seven hours,” Harley supplied helpfully.
“You’re keeping track?” I asked, surprised by the specificity when our dating relationship was as real as a unicorn in a tutu.
Harley’s eyes softened. “Of course, I am. It’s not every day the guy you’ve been crushing on for three years finally makes all your dreams come true.”
Mom clasped her hands together with a delighted sigh. “That’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard.”
“It’s stalkerish,” I muttered. The way Harley was looking at me made it hard to remember we were supposed to be pretending.
Harley turned to my mom with a charming smile. “By the way, Jacinta, you did a stellar job with those Renaissance cherub posters in Ryker’s room. They’re very romantic.”
“What’s so romantic about baby dicks?” I complained, shaking my head. “How do their micro peens set the mood?”
Everyone howled with laughter.
“Oh my god, Ryker!” Sawyer wheezed, wiping tears from her eyes. “Only you would refer to them as ‘micro peens’ at the dinner table.”
Gia snorted. “I bet that really kills the mood when Harley’s trying to get romantic.”
“Can we please stop discussing my love life and cherub genitalia in the same conversation?” I demanded.
Harley took the teasing in stride, sliding his arm around my shoulders.
“Nothing will stop me from wanting Ryker,” he declared with such conviction that everyone around the entire table went “aww.” His gaze locked with mine, and for a moment, I forgot we were acting.
“Not even an army of naked baby angel voyeurs watching us from the walls.”
Mom radiated joy. “You two are so sweet! I knew you were meant for each other.”
Mom’s joy cranked my guilt meter past the “you’re a terrible person” zone and into “you’re going straight to hell in a handbasket” territory. The guilt sat on my chest like I’d swallowed a bowling ball made entirely of bad decisions.
“Speaking of perfect couples,” Dad said, turning his attention to my sister, “Sawyer, how’s that new gallery space coming along for Gia’s exhibition?”
As the conversation shifted to Sawyer and Gia’s plans, Harley leaned close to me. “Hey,” he whispered, his breath warm against my ear. “Are you okay?”
His hand gave my thigh a gentle squeeze, sending my heart rocketing into my throat for a group hug with my Adam’s apple. How did he always know when I needed comfort?