7. CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER SEVEN
brENDEN
Well.
Here we are.
Elise and Grant are in May’s room for the night, and May is all set up downstairs on the couch.
And somehow Travis and I have found ourselves standing in my bedroom, facing each other on opposite sides of a bed that I forgot to make this morning.
“Uh...” I scratch at an itch on the inside of my elbow.
“I’m sorry,” Travis says, his gaze flicking rapidly from me to the bed, then back to me again.
“I didn’t know if you wanted me to stay since they expected me to, or if I was supposed to make up an excuse to leave.”
“Don’t be sorry,” I tell him.
“We should’ve had a plan for this. But I don’t mind you staying. Unless it’ll be uncomfortable for you.”
I grimace at my own words.
Of course this would be uncomfortable for him.
He’d obviously rather be at home sleeping in his own bed than here sharing mine with me.
This is really pushing the boundaries of our friendship.
It’s true that I got us into this situation, but I’d hate myself if I ruined our friendship for the sake of saving face with two people whose opinions of me will never be that high anyway.
“Maybe we can sneak you out?” I offer half-heartedly, glancing at the window then scratching myself again.
“This is all my fault, I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t apologize.” He comes around to my side of the bed and takes me by the forearm.
“I signed up for this. I’ll do whatever you need me to do to make it work. And I’m not sneaking out the window like we’re in high school.”
I can’t drag my eyes away from where he’s holding on to me.
That itch is gone.
“I’m sorry I’m such a mess.”
His grip tightens, and my eyes jolt up to meet his.
“What did I say about apologizing?”
I figure it’s a rhetorical question, but he continues to stare at me imploringly until I swallow the lump in my throat and answer him.
“You said don’t. But—”
“Nope,” he cuts me off.
“Stop.” He moves to sit on the edge of the bed, tugging me gently so I sit beside him.
“You’re not a mess. Lying to May’s grandparents about having a boyfriend probably wasn’t the best thing to do, but for whatever reason, you feel like you can’t tell them the truth now. So we’re doing this.”
He pauses and squeezes my arm.
“Personally, I think if you gave them the chance, they’d accept you for who you are, and they’d realize that being in a relationship doesn’t make you somehow a better person. But you asked me to be your fake boyfriend, so I promise I’m going to do a good job at it. If you want me to stay the night, I can stay the night.”
When he lets go of me, I immediately mourn the loss of contact.
It’s as if I’m suddenly touch-starved or something.
Which is weird.
I’m not usually like this.
May’s always been available for cuddles whenever I need them.
But Travis’s touch is different.
It’s solid, steady.
Like him.
It makes me feel like I can be solid too.
“If you’re sure you don’t mind, then you should probably stay so they don’t suspect anything,” I concede.
“We should go over the details of what faking this relationship is actually going to look like anyway, and what we’re each comfortable with doing. And then I can sleep on the floor.”
“You’re not sleeping on the floor,” he argues, angling himself toward me so his knee presses slightly into my thigh.
“I’ll sleep on the floor.”
“You’re my guest. I can’t let you do that.”
His smile is teasing.
“I’m not your guest. I’m your boyfriend, remember?”
“Fake,” I remind him.
He shrugs.
“Is it...” I clear my throat.
“Is it maybe okay for fake boyfriends to share a bed?”
There’s a flash of something I can’t identify in his eyes, and I’m about to backtrack, but then he says, “Yeah. I’m good with that if you are. I don’t think either of our backs would do well with sleeping on the floor.”
I laugh.
“Well, if I woke up and could barely walk tomorrow morning, that might help to sell this relationship.”
He makes a strangled, choking sound, and my face heats.
What in the world possessed me to make a joke like that?
We joke around all the time, but it’s always about innocent stuff, never about sex.
Never about gay sex.
With each other.
I kind of want to roll over and face plant myself into the comforter to hide.
But then suddenly, Travis is laughing so hard he clutches his stomach.
I slap a hand over his mouth, though now I’m laughing a little too.
“ Shhh. They’re right down the hall.”
“Sorry,” he says, getting a hold of himself.
“I’m sorry.”
His voice is muffled, which makes me realize I’m still covering his mouth.
Oops.
Removing my hand, I tuck it safely under my thigh.
But the ghost of his lips remains on my palm.
No.
Nope.
Not huh.
Not happening.
I really don’t know how my brain got so scrambled, but it needs to unscramble fast, because Travis is my friend.
There’s no way I should be imagining what his lips would feel like on the rest of my skin.
And yet.
.
.
“So we agree we can share?” His voice jolts me out of whatever nonsense was going on in my head, and he pats the bed beside his hip.
“Oh yeah, totally,” I say, hoping he can’t hear how nervous this idea makes me.
Because there’s no reason to be nervous, right?
“It’s big enough. It’s not like we’ll have to cuddle.”
He cocks his head, amusement dancing in his eyes.
And seriously , what is wrong with my mouth tonight?
“Let’s pretend I didn’t say that. Or maybe anything I’ve said since we stepped into this room.”
“But it’s fun to see you flustered,” he says.
My eyebrows shoot up my forehead.
Is he flirting with me?
We don’t flirt.
We give each other shit.
I smile at him, and he grouches at me.
That’s our thing.
Or is this pretend flirting?
Because we’re pretend boyfriends, so maybe he’s just staying in character.
We really need to talk about this.
“Right,” I say.
“So sleeping arrangements are settled, I guess. Good.”
He gestures at his jeans.
“I didn’t exactly bring anything to change into. Do you have some sweats I can borrow?”
I glance down at where his thick thighs are resting on the edge of the bed.
Then I picture him squeezing into a pair of my pants, and a sudden heat creeps up the back of my neck.
I could really use a drink of water.
“I’m not sure anything I have will fit you.”
As his eyes sweep over me, from my head down to my feet, it feels like he’s noticing my body for the very first time.
I resist the urge to cover myself, not even sure which part I should cover.
My legs, my skinny arms, my relatively flat but soft stomach.
I’m not ashamed of my body, and the guys I’ve dated haven’t seemed to have any complaints.
But I’m not defined like Travis.
He’s rugged and muscular, all hard edges, whereas I’m just.
.
.
me.
Not small enough to be considered a twink, and yet when other queer men look at me, I’m pretty sure nothing about me screams “top” to them.
There’s been more than a few guys who were surprised—and not pleasantly—to find that I liked to do it both ways.
“You’re probably right.” Travis stands.
Now he’s the one looking self-conscious.
“I can just sleep like this. It’s fine.”
“No, that isn’t fine. Sleeping in jeans is the worst.” God, this poor man was only trying to help me out.
And now here he is, stuck at my house, forced to share a bed with me, and even willing to be in physical discomfort while he does it.
“You can, uh... just take them off.”
The corner of his mouth quirks up like he wants to smirk, but I cut him off before he can say anything.
“Don’t tease me!”
“I’m sorry,” he says, his fingers reaching out to graze briefly across my arm, leaving tingles in their wake.
“This whole thing is a little... unexpected. But I think you being nervous and awkward is helping me stay grounded.”
“Gee, you’re welcome.”
His face becomes unbearably soft.
Unbearable in the sense that I don’t see this softness from him often, and it’s making me want to lean closer to him.
To climb into his lap and let him hold me.
Resisting this newfound urge is painful, but I’m strong.
“What I mean is,” he says slowly, “I don’t want this whole thing to make anything weird between us. When we’re done being a fake couple, we have to go back to being you and me, right? Pretending we’re together is bound to be a little awkward. So if we can joke about it, I think that’s a good thing.”
“I know,” I agree.
“I’d never want things to be weird between us either.”
I couldn’t imagine losing Travis’s friendship.
The bantering, the easy company.
Not to mention, May and I would probably starve.
He tugs at the material of his jeans.
“So do we talk first or get comfortable first?”
“Might as well get comfortable and get used to sharing this bed.”
His rich brown eyes study me a moment.
Then he turns away, clears his throat, and says, “Yeah, okay.”
We both get up, and I point him toward the ensuite bathroom, letting him know there should be a new toothbrush under the sink he can use.
Hopefully.
While he’s in there, I open my dresser drawer and gather my sleepwear.
A pair of thin navy blue drawstring pajama pants and a plain white T-shirt that’s a bit baggy on me.
I don’t normally wear a shirt to bed, except sometimes in the winter, because I feel like I’m being strangled.
But there’s no way I can get into bed shirtless with Travis.
Nope.
No way.
When he emerges from the bathroom still fully dressed in his flannel and jeans, I experience a pang of disappointment.
Not that I expected him to strip down and walk out to show me.
But I wouldn’t exactly have been opposed to that.
He gazes at me questioningly.
“Your turn?”
I snap myself out of it.
“Right, thanks. I’ll just be a sec.” Stepping past him, I avoid eye contact.
As I change and brush my teeth in the bathroom, I give myself a silent but stern talking to.
Stop it.
Travis is your friend.
Nothing’s going to happen.
It doesn’t matter that you’re dying to know what he looks like under his clothes.
Stop imagining what those strong thighs would feel like if he had his legs wrapped around your waist, squeezing you with them while you fucked him.
Unsure whether that little talk helped or made things worse, I take a deep breath and step out of the bathroom.
Travis is sitting up in my bed, shoulders propped against the headboard, the covers pulled up to his waist.
He’s removed his flannel, leaving him in a black undershirt that hugs his pecs and biceps.
Suddenly, I wish I had x-ray vision, because I assume he’s removed his jeans too.
I can almost sense him actively not looking at me as I move around the room, dropping my dirty clothes in the laundry basket and plugging in my phone by the nightstand.
Then there’s nothing left for me to do but get in bed.
In bed.
With Travis.
No big deal, right?
Carefully, I lift the covers just enough for me to slip under.
I match his position, leaning against the headboard, but angle myself toward him so we can talk.
When I stretch my legs out, my foot grazes against the bare skin of his calf.
He stiffens, and I jerk it back.
My queen bed has never seemed so small before.
There’s plenty of room for me to spread out like a starfish when I’m alone.
But I’m not alone now, nope, no siree .
Travis isn’t a small guy, and the lack of space between us is apparent.
“So... we were gonna talk,” I say, somewhat idiotically.
“Yeah. I want to make sure you’re okay with me touching you like I did downstairs. I was trying to play the boyfriend role and went with what felt natural. Plus you were upset, and it seemed like I was able to help you calm down. But if you need us to have clearer boundaries, we can set them now.”
What he’s saying makes sense, and talking about this is the mature, smart thing to do.
But all I can think about is how good it felt when he put his hand on my thigh under the table earlier when I was stressed.
He’s always been there for me as my friend, but no one would call him a touchy-feely guy.
His touch in those moments offered me a whole new level of comfort.
And I’m afraid I liked it way too much.
Because like he said, he was only playing a role.
“Brenden?”
“Oh. Uh.” Focus.
What was he asking?
“Do you have any boundaries as far as physical contact that you want to discuss?”
I shake my head.
“Right. No. At least, I don’t think so. I need this to look believable between us, because if Elise and Grant find out I lied and did something this crazy...”
Remembering exactly why we’re doing this whole thing makes me shudder.
It’s way too late to call it off.
Travis shifts so he can face me easier, and his knee presses into my thigh again.
“We’ll make it believable. So you’re okay with hugging, holding hands, light touches?”
“Yes,” I answer quickly.
Probably a little too okay with it.
“And what about...” He hesitates, and for the first time in this conversation, he seems to be the one who’s nervous.
“About what?” I prompt.
“What about kissing?”
My whole body goes tense, shocked at even hearing the word “kissing” coming out of Travis’s mouth in regards to me.
Wow, I really threw both of us into this mess without thinking it through at all, didn’t I?
“We don’t have to,” he says.
“I’m sure they won’t think it’s weird if we don’t kiss in front of them.”
“No, we should!” That comes out sounding a bit too eager, and I blush.
“I mean, we can. If it seems appropriate. I don’t think we need to be making out in front of them or anything, but yeah. A simple hello or goodbye kiss occasionally will help sell it.”
His knee nudges into my thigh a little harder, but I don’t know if it’s on purpose.
“I think so too. So if it feels right, we’ll just go for it. We need to look like we’re fully comfortable with each other, and then they won’t question anything.”
I’ve always been fully comfortable with Travis.
Until now.
When we’re sitting here talking about things like holding hands and kissing.
Now my mind is shooting off in all different directions.
Up until recently, I didn’t even know he swung this way.
Can I picture him kissing a guy?
I go tense with the realization that yes, in fact, I can .
And the guy I’m picturing him kissing looks an awful lot like me.
I shift a little, trying to ward off the effect that sudden mental image has on me.
But I’m not very successful, and before I can stop myself, I blurt out, “Maybe we should practice.”
Whoopsie.
Travis blinks at me a few times, and I resist the urge to shout out, Haha, just kidding!
Because even though I might have said it for entirely unscrupulous reasons, it’s not a terrible idea.
If we kiss for the first time in front of May’s grandparents, who knows how awkward it will look.
We should get used to it first.
“We can do that,” he finally says.
Which makes the reality of the situation set in.
If he and I kiss, there’s no going back after it.
Not that I think one kiss will make me fall in love with him or anything.
But it would be foolish to assume that nothing will be different.
I just have to hope our friendship can survive this.
“Okay,” I say.
“Okay,” he repeats.
“Uh.” He scoots closer to me, and I find myself holding my breath.
“So I’ll just...”
He leans in, bringing one hand up like he’s going to cup my face, but then he lets it fall down to rest on my shoulder instead.
Using that connection, he gently guides me forward until our lips meet.
It’s soft, hesitant, brief.
The barest of grazes before he pulls back.
But I felt it.
Sweet lord, I felt it.
And I want to feel it again.
So without stopping to consider what that means, I lean in this time and press my mouth to his.
He exhales sharply, like I took him by surprise, but then he kisses me back, moving his lips gently against mine.
His fingers curl tightly around my shoulder for a second, then his hand drifts down my biceps before it falls away.
But he’s still kissing me.
The kiss probably only lasts about ten seconds, but when we stop, my head is spinning like I lacked oxygen for much longer than that.
Travis gives me one deep, imploring look, making me wish I had answers to whatever silent questions he’s asking.
But I’m afraid I don’t.
My mind is offline.
Then he moves away from me, back to his side of the bed, and I reboot, managing not to follow him there even though my body wants to.
“Well,” he says finally.
“I think that went okay.”
Okay?
I want to ask.
Because that was a hell of a lot better than okay.
But I keep my lips pressed firmly shut, trying not to linger on the memory of the way they felt against his.
Of all the tiny sparks.
I did theater in high school, and one time I had to kiss this girl that I didn’t particularly like, because she was kind of a snob.
Our director had us practice countless times to make it look real.
And although we eventually got it and it looked natural, it still felt nothing but practical.
We were just doing our jobs.
That’s what this was supposed to be.
So why did it feel so much more than practical?
“Brenden, are you okay? Did that make you uncomfortable?”
I almost laugh, because the only place it made me uncomfortable was in my pants.
Thankfully, my pajamas leave enough room for things to.
.
.
happen without it being painful.
But the last thing I want is for Travis to realize I got hard simply from ten seconds of kissing him.
If he knew, then he’d be the one uncomfortable with this situation, and he might want to back out.
That can’t happen, so I need to get myself under control and remember this is nothing more than him doing me a huge favor.
“I’m fine,” I lie.
“I think we got the hang of it, right? We don’t need to practice again.”
There’s still a concerned look on his face, but he says, “Right. I think we’re good.”
“Ready to sleep?”
“Yeah.”
“Great,” I say, the exhaustion from this stressful day suddenly hitting me like a wrecking ball ridden by Miley Cyrus.
“Thank you again for doing all this.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he tells me.
But it’s sort of impossible not to worry about how I’m having all these new feelings for my friend.
Lust.
It’s only lust , I tell myself.
Nothing more.
And lust, I can handle.
It’s only natural when you get all up close and personal with a smoking hot guy.
But I’m a father, and I have to be responsible.
I can control my libido.
It doesn’t have to control me.
It’s possible to be lusting after Travis but still want us to remain friends.
I’ll get over it.
Lust always fades.
I scoot myself down the bed until I’m lying on my back, and the mattress shifts as Travis does the same next to me.
“Goodnight,” I say, rolling onto my side and facing away from him to put a bit more space between us.
Not that I actually want the space.
But I need it.
“Goodnight,” he replies.
Then we’re both quiet.
I’m holding my body so rigidly, keeping myself from spreading out the way I normally would.
Despite how tired I am, it takes me a long time to fall asleep.
And before I do, I recall the totally-out-of-left-field story May made up for her grandparents about me and Travis.
How the heck did she come up with that?
She made it sound like he was pining away for me all these years.
Like there’d be a chance in hell of that.
But luckily, Elise and Grant have no way of knowing how crazy and unrealistic the story was.