Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
RYKER
The action thriller my dad had picked for family movie night might as well have been a documentary on watching paint dry.
The action hero could have belted out an aria while juggling flaming swords, and I wouldn’t have noticed, because my attention span had defected to Harley’s side with more loyalty than a golden retriever.
Harley lounged next to me on the couch, his body radiating warmth. He’d settled in with the casual confidence of a cat claiming a sunbeam, one arm draped along the back of the couch behind my shoulders, his leg brushing against me. I was hyperaware of every subtle shift.
“Pass the popcorn, biscuit.” Mom patted my knee, making me jump. “Have mercy on your mother’s tiny T-Rex arms.”
I blinked, realizing I’d been staring at Harley’s profile for who knows how long. “Right. Sorry.” I grabbed the bowl from the coffee table and handed it to her. Her smile was so knowing it could have predicted next week’s lottery numbers.
Harley’s hand dropped to my thigh, giving it a light squeeze. “You okay, snookums? You seem a million miles away.”
The pet name transformed my stomach into tennis shoes banging around a washing machine on spin cycle. His thumb traced small circles on my jeans, and I nearly choked on air like it had suddenly turned into solid concrete.
“I’m fine,” I muttered, forcing my gaze back to the screen. Some guy was dangling from a helicopter. Great. Totally normal. Meanwhile, Harley’s fingers remained on my thigh, a warm weight that consumed all my mental bandwidth.
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?”
I leaned against the counter, staring at the floor. “This wasn’t supposed to be real.”
There was a beat of silence before Sawyer asked, “What do you mean?”
I looked up at her, suddenly desperate to confide in someone. “Me and Harley. It was supposed to be fake. A way to get Mom off my back about dating Maylin.”
The corner of her mouth ticked up. “Oh,” she said, the single syllable loaded with meaning. “And it’s not fake anymore?”
“We’ve been—I mean, we…”
“Sleeping together?” Sawyer prompted.
I winced. “Can you not say it like that?”
“Like what? It’s sex, Ryker. You had an orgasm with a man, not an exorcism. Although, watching you squirm like this, I’m not entirely convinced the ghost of your heterosexuality isn’t still haunting you.”
“It’s not—” I stopped myself, realizing what I’d been about to say. It’s not just sex. Which meant it was something more. Something that terrified me.
Sawyer’s expression softened. “Oh.”
“Don’t ‘oh’ me,” I muttered.
“Oopsie, it looks like someone caught real feelings for his fake boyfriend,” she said in a singsong voice.
It wasn’t a question, but I answered anyway. “Maybe? I’ve never felt this way about a guy before.”
“But you’ve felt this way about women?”
It was a fair question. “Not exactly. Not like this.”
Sawyer hopped down from the counter and approached me, putting her hands on my shoulders. “Ryker, listen to me. Labels don’t matter. What matters is how you feel when you’re with him.”
“But I’m straight,” I protested. Because straight guys totally jerked off their male best friends and got mind-blowing blow jobs from them, right? Shit.
She gave me a look. “Are you, though? You seem pretty into Harley.”
I couldn’t argue with that. The memory of our encounters over the past few days flashed through my mind, making my pulse quicken.
“Nothing makes sense anymore,” I admitted. “What we are now? Friends? Boyfriends? Friends with benefits? It’s all happening so fast.”
“Have you talked to him about it?”
I shook my head. “What would I even say? ‘Hey, I know I said this was fake, but now I get hard every time you look at me, and also, I might be falling for you.’ Yeah, that’d go over great.”
“Maybe not in those exact words, but yeah, something like that.”
“It’s not funny,” I grumbled.
“It’s a little funny.” She snorted in amusement before turning serious. “Look, Harley’s head over heels about you. The way he looks at you? The way he’s always looked at you? I know you have the emotional depth of a kiddie pool filled with vanilla pudding, but come on, Ryker. Even you must see it.”
My thoughts were a jumbled mess, like someone had taken all my certainties and tossed them in a blender. “I’ve never questioned my sexuality before. Ever. And now, I can’t stop thinking about being with Harley.”
Sawyer gave me space to work through my thoughts.
“I always assumed I was straight,” I continued, my voice dropping to almost a whisper. “But with Harley, everything’s different. It’s like I thought I was a circle my whole life, but it turns out I’m a dodecahedron with several unexplored sides.”
“That’s not uncommon, you know,” Sawyer said gently. “Sexuality isn’t always as fixed as people think.”
“It’s not only about the physical stuff. It’s…” I struggled to articulate the feeling. “When he smiles at me, my stomach does that thing where you miss the last step and face-plant hard. And when he’s not around, I keep wondering what he’s doing and if he’s thinking about me.”
Sawyer seemed amused by my predicament. “Sounds like you’ve got it bad.”
“But what if I’m confused?” I asked, voicing my deepest fear. “What if this is some weird phase or curious experiment for me? Harley has genuine feelings for me, and has for years, apparently. What if I hurt him?”
She tilted her head, studying me. There was something in my tone that made her narrow her eyes. “Wait a minute.” Realization dawned on her. “Have you two been fooling around?”
My cheeks burned hotter than Satan’s taint as I developed an instant fascination with the floor tiles, silently begging them to rearrange into an escape hatch directly to my grave.
“Oh my god, you have!” Sawyer’s voice rose with delight.
“Shh!” I hissed, shooting a glance toward the living room. “Keep it down!”
“Have you only been making out? Doing hand stuff? Has his dick been in your mouth yet?”
“Fucking hell, Sawyer!” If shame could kill, the coroner would already be measuring me for a body bag and listing “acute humiliation” as the cause of death. “And no.”
“Your dick’s definitely been in his, though.” She cackled as I cringed, a wicked grin spreading across her face. “And? Are you enjoying it?”
I buried my face in my hands, wishing for death. “We’re not having this conversation.”
“Oh, come on. It’s me you’re talking to.” She nudged my shoulder. “Is it good?”