18. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
TRAVIS
This is the first morning I’ve woken up with Brenden in the same positions we went to sleep in.
It’s also the first time we went to sleep cuddling.
Last night, after I came my brains out between his thighs, holding him simply felt like the right thing to do.
I’d been too sated and exhausted to wonder if it was weird.
Now, in the light of morning, one of my arms is sore from the way it’s been awkwardly wedged between us all night, while my other arm is comfortably wrapped around his waist.
It still feels right to have his warm body pressed tightly to mine, but everything is also confusing.
Because I know it’s not right.
He’s not mine to hold.
Not really.
Maybe he is for now, but it’s only temporary.
Only for fun.
Once our charade is over, this will be over between us too.
I have to be ready to handle that and move on.
And it’s going to fucking suck, isn’t it?
The smart thing to do would be to protect myself from falling for him as best as I can.
I should get up and leave.
Go about my day and try to forget how perfectly he fits in my arms.
But I never claimed to be the smartest guy, so instead I continue to lie here, letting myself revel in this physical closeness.
His hair tickles my nose as I scoot my head even closer to his, but I don’t care.
The scent of his fruity shampoo has become a drug to me.
Slowly, he stirs, waking up while I’m breathing him in like some kind of psychopath.
I should probably back away, but I don’t.
I only loosen my arm around him so he can escape if he wants to.
Lifting my head, I catch his eyes opening, but it seems to take him a few moments to realize the position we’re in.
Then he lets out a soft, contented little hum and turns in my arms until we’re face to face.
“G’morning,” he says sleepily.
“Morning,” I say.
I leave out the “good,” but it really, really is.
As we lie here smiling at each other, I run my hand up and down his side, over the flowers that mean so much to him, and I’m hit with the oddest sensation.
It’s almost like a vision of the future.
An impossibly happy future where we’re actually together and this is how we wake up every morning.
I need to move before I let myself get lost in it.
But before I can extricate myself, his smile grows and he brings his hand up between us, placing it on my bare chest.
This shouldn’t prevent me from getting away, and yet I don’t move an inch.
His palm might as well be superglued to my pec.
“Do you have to get to the diner?” he asks, casually trailing his fingers through my chest hair like he’s not even aware he’s doing it.
I’m hyper-aware of it though, which makes it hard to focus on his question.
“Benji’s opening, but I told him I’d be there to help with breakfast,” I finally manage to answer.
Business for me is a little unpredictable whenever Mayweather has a big festival going on.
On the one hand, those things bring in lots of extra tourists, but on the other, people usually do most of their eating at the festival.
Breakfast might get slammed, though, before things kick off over on the green.
“Hmm, too bad,” Brenden muses.
“If we had time for orgasms, I’ve got some good ideas.”
As he trails his hand farther down my body, I use all my inner strength not to give in.
Because while we could easily squeeze in a quickie, I’m guessing (or maybe just hoping) that none of his ideas would be quick.
And more than that, I shouldn’t give in to this fantasy with him any more than I already have.
The return to what we really are to each other when this is all over—nothing more than friends—will be enough of a slap in the face as it is.
When his fingertips graze along the waistband of my boxers, I trap his hand with mine, halting his exploration.
A slight frown mars his perfect face, and I only barely manage to hold in a groan.
He’s killing me here.
“Save the ideas for later,” I suggest.
Because I’m only freaking human.
And I did agree to friends with benefits, but hooking up with him at night somehow feels safer than doing it in the morning light.
There’s a little twinkle in his eyes when he says, “Oh, I totally will.”
I release his hand, and when he removes it from my body, I try hard not to regret my decision.
Then he brings his hand to the back of my head, pulling me closer as he leans in to kiss me.
And this is almost as dangerous as if I let him touch my dick.
Because fuck .
It’s lazy in the best way, slow and blissful and unhurried.
It’s not a kiss that’s leading somewhere.
He’s simply kissing me because he wants to kiss me.
He wants to kiss me.
I let it go on until I start to get hard, and that’s when I gently pull back.
Definitely time for me to get out of this bed.
“I can whip something up quick for you guys before I leave,” I offer.
Smiling, he shakes his head.
“Don’t worry about it. We’ll survive.”
“I don’t mind,” I tell him, getting up and heading to the dresser for some clothes.
He sits up and stretches his arms above his head, letting out a loud yawn.
Then he says, “Really, it’s fine. I don’t wanna eat too much now anyway, since I plan on eating as much as possible later.”
That sounds about right.
“Is it cool if I hop in the shower?” I ask.
“Yeah, I’ll probably go downstairs and get coffee started.”
“Or you’ll fall back asleep,” I say, because he hasn’t gotten out of bed yet.
His smile is entirely unashamed.
“That’s also a possibility.”
The way he looks right now in the morning light, lazy and happy and beautiful, has me tempted to crawl back into the bed and sleep for a bit longer too, just to be close to him.
But I have to do the responsible adult thing and go run my business.
“I’ll meet you guys on the green later,” I remind him.
The idea of going to MayFest with him, May, and the Richardsons is pretty nerve-wracking.
Not because I don’t like going to the town festivals (although I don’t), but because being out in public with them will be dangerous.
But Brenden and I already talked about how we have to be careful, balance Elise's and Grant's expectations of our relationship with what we’re letting the town see.
At least it isn’t unheard of for Brenden to drag me around with him to do things I don’t want to do.
We just can’t act too much like a couple while we do this.
“Everything’s going to be fine,” he assures me.
” Even though I know he’s not entirely relaxed about this thing either.
“Right. Yeah. I’m gonna...” I gesture toward the bathroom.
“Right,” he repeats.
“Go ahead. I know you need to hurry.”
I’m doing okay on time, but I do hurry in the shower, not wanting to give myself any extra time to stress.
When I come out of the ensuite ready to leave, I’m not surprised to find Brenden back under the covers, eyes closed, breathing softly in sleep.
I allow myself a few moments to watch him, taking in every detail, then cross to the bed, unable to resist placing a featherlight kiss on his temple before I get out of here.
Don’t get used to this , I warn myself as I close his bedroom door quietly behind me.
Walking out of the diner and heading over to the green, I feel like I might be walking to my own death.
This fake dating arrangement was complicated enough when we only had to do it in the privacy of Brenden’s house.
Now it’s gotten even more complicated, since we somehow need to pull it off in public without anyone else catching on.
But would it really be so bad if they did?
I remember Mrs.
Morris the other day, her colorful way of suggesting I give dating men a try, and I almost laugh.
Then I think of my dad and those words he shouted to the football players on the TV screen, and the urge to laugh disappears.
You can see the green from the diner’s glass front.
It’s right across the road, and yet I manage to cycle through all too many emotions by the time I’m stepping onto the grass.
But then I spot Brenden and his little group standing off to the side on the outskirts of the festival activities.
May is pointing out one of the booths to her grandmother, Grant is frowning down at his phone as he types something, and Brenden is looking right at me.
He’s smiling, and the smile only grows as I walk his way.
And now suddenly, the only thing I feel is pretty damn happy.
I’m not sure what I ever did to deserve this man smiling at me like that.
Like I’m the one person he most wants to see.
But somehow amongst my questionable decisions and shitty attitude, I must have managed to do something right.
Brenden steps closer when I reach him, as if he might hug or kiss me.
Then he stops, catching himself, and just says, “Hey.”
May’s grandparents both greet me simply as well, while May gives me a smile to rival her dad’s.
My face is doing something funny, almost unfamiliar, as I greet them all back.
It takes me half a second to realize I’m smiling.
I’m smiling, and it’s not forced at all.
I’m smiling, and I mean it.
Yes, I do smile on occasion.
Especially when Brenden’s around.
But something about this moment feels different.
Important.
It feels like I’m a part of their group, like I belong here with these people.
People whose company I actually enjoy, even Elise and Grant.
And people who somehow, inexplicably, seem to enjoy my company in return.
Turns out I kind of like this feeling.
Who knew.
Brenden’s eyes are curious as he watches me, as if he can tell there’s some weird inner workings going on in my mind.
Rather than share anything I’m thinking though, I ask if everyone’s ready to check out the festival, and Brenden tells May to lead the way.
She heads off, bypassing and weaving around booths like she knows exactly where she wants her first stop to be.
When she comes to a halt in front of a plain looking booth, I glance up at the small wooden sign hanging over it that features nothing but a painted illustration of a cinnamon roll.
Colleen Barlow stands alone in the booth, ready to greet us.
She’s in her fifties, teaches second grade at the elementary school, and is known around town for these cinnamon rolls.
She could probably put the bakery out of business if she wanted to, but she says she only bakes for the joy of it and that baking for a profit would ruin that joy.
Although I’m sure she makes a killing selling at the festivals.
I always hear people complaining afterward about how she sold out before they could get to her.
That’s probably why May ran directly here.
Brenden looks equally as excited as May as the two of them peer at the display of obscenely enormous cinnamon rolls.
They’re practically drooling.
Elise, however, isn’t impressed.
“Shouldn’t we have something substantial for lunch before you eat sweets?”
“Grandma, you have to get them before they sell out,” May insists.
“It’s true,” Brenden says, backing her up.
“Trust me, you guys don’t wanna miss out on one of these.”
Grant looks from the giant pastries to Brenden.
“I think I’ll pass.”
“I’ll just try a bite of yours,” Elise says to May.
Brenden snorts a laugh.
“Yeah, fat chance of that. She’ll eat the whole thing before you can blink.”
“That’s not true,” May claims.
Then she turns to her grandmother.
“I promise I’ll share with you. But I get to pick the design.”
“Design?” Elise and I ask at the same time.
Eyeing me like I’m some kind of alien, Brenden says, “Haven’t you had one of these before?”
“Maybe.” I think I remember having at least one when I was a kid, but definitely not since then.
And I don’t remember anything about designs.
“Colleen will draw you whatever you want on top in icing,” May explains to me and her grandparents.
“And the best part is, if you ask, she’ll give you an extra cup of icing for dipping.”
“Just what you need, more sugar,” Elise comments.
But her small smile suggests she’s only teasing.
I catch Brenden stiffening up like he’s about to get defensive, so I nudge his shoulder and ask, “What design are you going to get?”
“A coffee cup, duh,” he says.
Duh.
“And what about you?” Elise asks May.
“A stack of books,” May says proudly.
Then she turns to me.
“What design do you want?”
I immediately shake my head.
“Oh, no, I’m not getting one of these things.”
“But you have to!” she argues.
Even though I most certainly do not have to—because I’m an adult who doesn’t take orders from teenagers—I find myself sighing in resignation.
“Fine, I’ll get one. But it seems like a waste, because there’s no way I’m eating all that. And I don’t need a design, just regular icing is fine.”
I catch Brenden eyeing me again.
But this time his expression is so soft it almost feels like a caress.
And then Colleen leans closer to us from inside her booth, interrupting the moment.
“Of course you’ll get a design. Everyone gets a design. That’s how I do it.”
“It’s really not necessary.”
She looks me up and down, then says, “Honey, nothing about eating a pound of cinnamon roll is necessary, so let me enjoy myself and give you a design. You don’t even have to pick it out, I’ll come up with something.”
“He loves all things frilly and cute,” Brenden chimes in, shooting me a teasing grin.
“Hearts and flowers and puppies.”
I grumble an unintelligible complaint and resist the urge to reach out and wrestle him into submission.
There’s a line forming behind our group, so Colleen hurries to ring us up.
Brenden reaches for his wallet, but I beat him to it, and he smiles his thanks.
The look we share while we wait for Colleen to ice our pastries warms my insides more than any cinnamon roll possibly could.
May squeals in delight when Colleen passes hers over, along with a cup of icing.
Somehow she manages to hold the giant thing in one hand while she takes a picture of it.
Brenden looks just as pleased to be handed his, but he refrains from squealing.
He holds it out toward May, letting her get a picture of the two of theirs side by side, before he brings it up to his mouth and takes a large, messy bite.
The tiniest moan escapes him, and my dick twitches in my pants.
When Colleen hands me my cinnamon roll with an oddly knowing smile, I glance down at it, finding that she drew a man’s face.
It’s impressive, for icing art, but seems like a fairly uninspired choice.
That’s what I get for not having any hobbies or loving anything the way Brenden and May do, I guess.
Brenden thanks Colleen before ushering our group off to the side to make room for all the other sugar fiends behind us.
As we’re moving, May peeks at my cinnamon roll and laughs.
“Oh that’s cute! She drew you.”
I glance at the design again, wondering if she actually thinks it looks like me, or just that it’s supposed to be me.
Then I notice something that wasn’t obvious at first, because drawing in icing isn’t exactly the most precise artform.
The icing man is wearing glasses.
Brenden leans in close to me to look at the cinnamon roll, but I’m looking at him.
At his cheekbones, pink lips that are shining from the icing.
.
.
and his glasses.
She drew Brenden for me.
But why?
Is this elementary school teacher secretly some kind of witch who can look inside me and see what I want the most?
Or is my desire for Brenden painted clearly across my face now?
Have I lost the ability to hide it that I’ve perfected over the years?
It startles me when his eyes meet mine.
His expression is unreadable, but I just know he spotted the glasses too.
The chatter of May and her grandparents around us fades to background noise.
His stare bores into me so hard I’m afraid I might combust.
So I do the first thing I can think of.
I swipe my finger right through the icing, smearing the drawing, and then reach out quickly to wipe it across his cheek.
His eyes light up in surprise before he starts laughing.
May whips out her phone to take a picture of him, and whatever intense things I was feeling a moment ago ease into something simpler.
Something that feels an awful lot like contentment.
I go to offer him a napkin, but he uses his finger to wipe the frosting off his face, then brings it to his mouth to suck it clean.
I quickly look away before my dick can get any ideas again.
We all stand around watching the festivities while we eat the pastries.
As I predicted, I don’t even come close to finishing mine.
It’s good, but way too sweet for my taste.
Before I toss it, though, I give it one more glance and kind of wish I’d been like May and taken a picture before I destroyed the little icing Brenden
Maybe I like sweet when it comes to him.