Fake Out (Fake Boyfriend Book 1)

Attraction is a weird beast.

Once Damon loosened up over drinks last night, I began to think we could’ve come out of this weekend as friends. He’s intense but still a decent guy.

For some reason, my subconscious held onto that when I went to sleep and decided to show me exactly how decent—or indecent—he could be. While naked. And begging me to fuck him.

The dream came out of nowhere, but it dredged up shit from college which I thought was long forgotten. Experimenting—that was all it was freshman year. It wasn’t like I’d found another guy attractive since then.

Then why are you dreaming of fucking your fake boyfriend?

My dick jumps at the thought.

No. Down, buddy. Not going to happen.

It was only a dream. I once dreamed I was the spider from Harry Potter. Doesn’t mean I want to fuck a spider.

But you weren’t fucking other spiders in that dream.

It was all the alcohol last night. Let’s go with that.

The dream is one thing, but when I woke next to him, it seemed so real, I was harder than I’d ever been, and it wasn’t morning wood. I was horny. For Damon.

Shit.

So, yeah, I may be freaking out a little. Or a lot.

“Ready to head out?” I ask as I finish eating. “I haven’t bought a wedding gift yet.”

Damon downs the rest of his coffee, and I’m mesmerized by his throat as he swallows. I begin to imagine how he’d—

Stop it.

“Ready,” he says and stands. “Should we do the dishes?”

“Nah, that’s what Mom is for.”

“Is that so?” Mom’s voice comes from behind us as she trudges in the kitchen door, carrying tote bags full of groceries.

“We can’t be late.” I feign innocence.

Mom smiles. “Go on, get out of here then.”

“Thanks, Mom.” I kiss the top of her head.

The awkwardness I’m unwittingly exuding doesn’t dissipate as we make our way to the car. I think Damon’s picking up on it now too, but if he is, he doesn’t acknowledge it aloud.

“You have great parents,” he says.

“I know.”

“They probably won’t care if you told them the truth.”

“They won’t care that I lied to them for years?” I ask incredulously. “Yeah, okay. They’re great but not that great.”

“The longer you leave it, the worse it’ll be. What happens when you find a girl you want to settle down with?”

Pfft, like that’s ever going to happen. “I don’t plan on doing that.”

“You’re twenty-three and already resigned yourself to being alone forever?”

“I’m not a relationship type of guy. I learned that after Chastity.”

“Because you couldn’t break up with her?”

“Because I don’t like hurting people. Call me a wimp, call me a pussy, call me whatever you want, but I’d rather not deal with drama. I’m the type of guy who would stay in a relationship for two years too long to avoid confrontation.”

“Whoa. It all makes sense now. You think by telling your parents you’re straight, it’ll hurt them because they’ve believed the opposite for so long.” Damon laughs.

“Laugh it up.”

“Sorry,” he says, still laughing, “but do you realize how absurd your situation is? Most gay people are scared shitless to come out of the closet. You’re scared for your parents to find out that you’re straight.”

My molars mash together as I grit my teeth.

Out of the corner of my eye, Damon’s smile falters as he studies me. “Are we okay? You seem—”

“We’re cool,” I lie. “I’m just distracted with Chastity getting married today. And we’re here.” The car’s barely in park before I jump out.

Damon slowly gets out of the car, puts his hands in his pockets, and hangs his head.

He probably thinks I’m the biggest asshole. I should say something, but what? Don’t mind me. I had a sex dream about you, and now I can’t look you in the eye.

He follows me into the store, and I pause in my tracks. Damon runs into the back of me, and his hands fly to my waist to steady himself. The commotion attracts the attention of the guy who’s getting rung up at the counter.

I know him well. We used to be friends. Teammates, even.

Damon leans in and whispers, “You know that guy?”

“I do. And you need to be extra boyfriendly right now.”

His hands tighten on my waist. “This is a boyfriend move. Unless you have a lot of guys holding onto you for dear life.”

Right.

Damon releases my waist and grabs my hand, interlacing our fingers as he drags us toward Emmett.

His hand is larger than mine, and it feels weird. Or maybe just different. My palm sweats, and I hope to God Damon can’t feel how clammy it is.

Emmett’s jaw hardens. “Maddox.”

I lift my chin. “Emmett. This is Damon. My boyfriend.”

Damon lets go of my hand to stick his out for Emmett to shake. When Emmett stares at it without making a move, Damon drops it.

“Ignore him,” I say to Damon.

Emmett’s scowl reminds me of why I didn’t bother correcting the town when I was outed. Most people didn’t care. It was a scandal, yes, having been with Chastity for so long, but there was still a lot of support. Then there were the people who decided I wasn’t worth their time anymore. I didn’t tell them the truth, because if they couldn’t accept me for me—which was still the same person whether they thought I liked men or not—then I didn’t want to know them anyway.

“Why would you come home for your ex-girlfriend’s wedding when you’re …” Emmett starts. I wait for him to say the word gay out loud.

He doesn’t.

I wrap my arm around Damon’s waist. “She invited us.”

Mrs. Jones comes out from the back with a giftwrapped box. When she passes it to Emmett, he can’t get out of the store fast enough.

“He seems like a stand-up guy,” Damon says.

“One good thing about coming out is I learned who my true friends were. Emmett wasn’t one of them. Liked to drop the F-bomb a lot. And I’m not talking about the word fuck.”

“Maddox,” Mrs. Jones says, “I see the big city has done nothing but accentuate your vibrant vocabulary.”

I grin. “Of fucking course, Mrs. J. I like to think of the word fuck as a sentence enhancer.”

Mrs. Jones approaches and wraps me in a hug. “We miss you ’round these parts. Especially your Mom.”

“Aww. You know I was a city boy born in a small town.”

“Sounds like a Journey song,” Damon says.

“Still, it wouldn’t kill you to come home every once in a while,” Mrs. Jones says. “New York is not that far away.”

Hello, more guilt. I read somewhere too much guilt and stress cause cancer. Guess I’ll need a physical by the end of this weekend.

“That’s my fault,” Damon says. “I don’t let him go far.”

“And who is this charming young man?” Mrs. Jones asks.

“This is Damon. My boyfriend.”

“Well, I assume you’re here to buy a gift for Chastity’s wedding. There’s only a few items left on her registry.”

“We’ll take the cheapest one,” I say, and Damon snorts.

“Of course,” Mrs. Jones says with a smile. She reaches for the shelf above her and pulls down glass salt and pepper shakers that are accentuated with gold around the edges. “I’ll wrap these up for you.”

While she does that, Damon leans in and whispers, “Who the fuck needs glass salt and pepper shakers? Is your ex-girlfriend royalty or something?”

“She wishes,” Mrs. Jones mutters, and I can’t help laughing.

Once I’ve paid, and after a “have fun” from Mrs. Jones, we head outside.

“Where to now?” Damon asks.

“Lunch?”

“We just ate breakfast.”

I rub my stomach. “I’m a growing boy.”

“I could have another coffee. I didn’t get much sleep last night. Someone talks in his sleep.” He nudges me with his elbow.

I freeze, and Damon lets out a loud breath.

“Okay, that was a test. What’s going on?” he asks.

“You know?” I croak.

“Know what?”

“About my dream. About us.”

Damon’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “I didn’t realize it was about me.”

And now I’m mortified. “Shiiiiit.”

“Wait, you’re freaking out about having a sex dream about me? That’s why you’re acting weird?”

“Maybe.”

“You know it doesn’t mean anything, right?” Damon says. “We’re in an odd situation, we’re sharing a bed, and you’re facing demons from your past—like your ex-girlfriend who’s getting married. Oh, and pretending you have to be gay for a whole town. You’re allowed to have weird dreams.”

“You think so?” I ask quietly.

“I dreamed I was married to Jennifer Lawrence once. I was totally doing a guy on the side as well, but it counts. Dreaming about me only means you’re ten percent gay.” He grins.

I laugh, but it’s mostly fake. After last night’s dream, and the stuff I haven’t told him, I wonder if he has a point.

“I’m messing with you,” he says, picking up on my vibe.

“I know.”

“Let’s just get through this wedding, okay?” he says. “Then tomorrow we’ll go our separate ways, and we never have to speak of this awkwardness again. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“I can do that.”

***

“Your tie is uneven,” Damon says as we get out of the car at the church.

“Are you going to take my man card?” I force the joke, because the reason my tie is crooked—apart from not knowing how to tie one properly—is because I was too damn distracted by a half-naked Damon when I was trying to tie it. I understand what he meant last night when he said he doesn’t look at guys in locker rooms. It seemed wrong to watch him dress, but I couldn’t tear my gaze away. He’s all muscle and hard edges.

I’ve looked at other guys before, but I wouldn’t have said I’ve checked them out. Now, I’m not sure that’s true. Guys compare themselves to each other all the time … right?

“Can I fix it?” Damon asks.

“Please.”

Damon’s hands shake as he loosens the tie around my neck and reties it, and he fumbles with the knot numerous times.

“Thought you said you know what you’re doing?” I ask.

“It’s harder doing it on someone else.”

“That’s what he said.”

Even though he fights it, Damon breaks out in a smile. “Stacy warned me you’d make those jokes.”

“I can’t help it. I’m five years old.”

“Clearly.”

“Speaking of your sister, have you heard from her?”

“I got a call and two texts while we were at lunch,” Damon says. “But I haven’t opened them. She gets mad when the phone says I’ve read her texts and I haven’t responded.”

“I need to try that tactic. I’ve had three texts—the third one telling me to stop ignoring her. Part of me wants to screw with her and tell her it was love at first sight between us.”

His fingers still. “You’re as bad as each other.”

“Hey, she had a guy turn up in that ridiculous outfit pretending to be you. I need payback.”

“That guy borrowed the outfit from me,” Damon deadpans.

I pull back and cock my head.

“What? I can’t make jokes?”

“I was trying to figure out if you were serious.” And trying really hard not to picture it. That image shouldn’t be inviting, damn it.

“All done.” He pats my tie.

I reach for his bowtie to straighten it. “I don’t think I’m doing anything here. I’ve just seen people do that in movies and shit. How do you even know how to tie one of these things?”

“I have a secret James Bond fetish.” When I don’t respond, Damon laughs. But when our eyes meet, the light-hearted moment is gone, and it’s replaced with tension. “Ready to do this?” he asks, his voice gruff. “This isn’t going to be like hanging out with your parents today. You’re going to have to touch me.”

“I’m okay with that.” My feet step forward and my hands run up his chest. For some reason, my brain thinks this is appropriate. Why, I have no fucking clue. I watch my hands as they plant themselves on Damon’s shoulders.

He stiffens but doesn’t move. I’m pretty sure he’s not even breathing.

My gaze moves up to his lips, and I wonder what they taste like. My mouth dries, and my tongue feels thick. The scents of our colognes mix, one woodsy and the other musk, somehow creating a smell that reminds me of sex.

What the fuck?

“Aww, aren’t you two cute,” Jared says.

Damon and I jump apart. “He was helping me with my tie,” I say, probably a little too defensively.

Will eyes me in suspicion. “We should go inside.”

I have no idea what just came over me, but it makes me a dick. Chastity’s wedding is sending me crazy. Yup, that sounds like a legit reason to think about kissing my fake boyfriend.

As soon as our feet cross the threshold of the church, the walls close in and I begin to sweat.

“You okay?” Damon asks and pulls me back.

Jared and Will take their seats.

“Yeah. It’s, uh … hot in here.”

“No, it’s not.”

I swallow hard. “I may be having a minor panic attack about the fact this was almost me a few years back.”

Damon steps forward to speak low. “Repeat after me: it’s not my wedding.”

“Not my wedding.” My voice gets stuck in my throat.

“Say it until you believe it. We should go sit down before you pass out.” He drags me over to the pews, and I take the seat next to Jared, but my leg bounces. Damon puts his hand on my thigh to get it to stop.

My brain repeats Damon’s mantra. Not my wedding. Not my wedding. Not my wedding.

When I can’t catch my breath, Damon squeezes my leg and the reassuring touch makes my anxiety disappear.

The ceremony is long and drawn out. I sense the occasional stare from interested parties—the news of me and my boyfriend’s appearance already making the rounds. The pastor rambles on about soul mates here, a bond forever there. Add in sappy vows, and bam, it should be over. Why is this taking so long? At one point, Damon leans in and whispers, “I’m falling asleep.”

When we’re finally released from the torturous ramblings of tying one life to another in the name of God and what-the-fuck-ever, I’m ready for a drink. Or several.

It’s a short walk through the cemetery to get to the community center where the reception is being held, and Damon holds my hand the whole way.

I do a quick stop at my grandfather’s grave, kiss my hand and then place it on his headstone, and continue walking. “Is it weird I’m more comfortable here than in there?” I point to the church.

“That you’d rather be dead than married?” Damon asks. “Yeah, it’s a bit extreme.”

“You have to ignore Maddy,” Will says from behind us. “The only type of commitment he can make is a couple of hours.”

“Yeah, I’ve worked that much out already,” Damon says and then squeezes my hand.

As soon as we reach the community hall and wade our way through the crowd and over-the-top decorations, we beeline it to the bar. “Scotch,” I say at the same time Damon says, “Rum.”

“Are you a pirate?”

“Aye. Would you prefer I order a cocktail with an umbrella? Have to give the folks here a nice dose of stereotypical.”

“I kinda want a cocktail with froufrou toppings. They’re delicious,” Jared says beside us.

Damon laughs.

“I’d have to drink about a hundred of them to get drunk enough,” I say. “I’ll stick with scotch.”

“How are we getting home?” Damon asks.

“Cab? Uber? Walk? Don’t care.”

“Tonight’s going to get messy, isn’t it?”

“I’m counting on it.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Jared says. “Will and I were hoping to hook up with a bridesmaid or two. Turns out, I’ve already slept with two of them and Will has the other one, and we’re not interested in crossing swords … so to speak.”

“So now we’re off to find sad cousins and relatives of the bride from out of town,” Will says.

“Have fun with your sad women,” I say. “I’m ready to be entertained watching you two strike out again like last night.”

“Those girls were interested in you two,” Jared mumbles. “Targets acquired, Willy Boy.” Jared points across the room.

As soon as he and Will are out of sight, Damon slides in closer to me. “Should I be worried that my sister went for a guy like that?”

“I often judge her taste in guys. After all, she rejected me for months, yet that bozo comes to visit and she jumps into his bed a few hours after meeting him.”

Damon winces. “That’s something I didn’t need to know.”

“Sorry to tell you that your twenty-three-year-old sister is sexually active and has been since college.” I gasp. “Shocking, I know.”

We down a few rounds and laugh our asses off at Will and Jared who are trying so damn hard to get laid.

“You wish you could be out there with them?” Damon asks.

“Not in this town.” I grab his hand. “Let’s go find our table.”

When he said we had to be more affectionate, I assumed I was going to have to be conscious of doing it—that I’d need reminding—but it’s been natural and reflexive, just as it would if I were on a date with a woman.

I don’t know what to make of that, but it also doesn’t freak me out like my dream did.

We find our names at the same table as Will and Jared and also a few girls we went to high school with.

“Maddy,” Claire exclaims and jumps out of her chair to hug me.

“Hey, Claire. This is my boyfriend, Damon.”

“Wow. So you really are gay, huh? We all thought it was your way of breaking up with Chastity.”

Damon laughs but recovers by putting his arm around my shoulder and saying, “I thought he was straight when I met him.”

Yeah, so did I.

“You still play football?” she asks.

“Not since high school,” I admit.

“He’s into baseball now,” Damon says. “Thanks to me.”

“You wish,” I say. “You will never convert me.”

“Give it time.”

“Ooh, there’s Chastity and Christopher. I’m gonna go congratulate them,” Claire says.

Damon leans in and whispers, “You know, I’m starting to think your town isn’t as dumb as I thought they were. I’m wondering if everyone knows you’re full of shit.”

“I guess they can’t exactly say ‘you’re lying’ to my face. It’s like one of those pranks where you’re sure you’re being pranked, but you don’t want to call the person on it in case it’s not. Like with the dude with the angel wings yesterday. I was ninety-nine percent sure he wasn’t you, but I still hesitated because what if it was?”

“That wasn’t my idea, by the way.”

“Oh, I know. Your sister is pure evil. It’s why I love her.”

Damon grimaces and changes the subject. “So, you used to play football?”

“I was the punter on my high school team. Nowhere near good enough for Olmstead. Their team’s full of NFL-bound players. I like the sport but was never in love with it or anything. Nothing like you and baseball.”

“Incoming,” Damon says and takes a sip of his drink.

I turn to find my ex approaching.

“Hey, Maddy, so glad you could make it.”

“You look beautiful, Chastity.” I lean in to kiss her cheek. I’m not lying. She’s always been a beautiful girl.

“This is my husband, Christopher,” she says, pulling the guy forward. He’s a balding guy in his late twenties.

I shake his hand. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you.”

“Uh, this is Damon. My boyfriend.”

“Ah, this is the boyfriend,” she says. “I thought he was making you up. Couldn’t even tell me your name last week.”

“I was a wee bit drunk,” I say.

“Are you …” Christopher narrows his eyes at Damon. “No, wait, are you … Damon King?”

Damon stiffens.

“Holy shit. I can’t believe Damon ‘The Lion’ King is at my wedding.”

“Lion King?” I ask.

Damon rubs the back of his neck. “I didn’t realize I’d be famous in these parts.”

“I’m a Newport alum,” Christopher says. “I played for the Lions, and then the year after I graduate, in comes freshman Damon King and takes the team on to win the fucking College World Series three years in a row. Almost made it four until—” Christopher’s mouth slams shut. “Oh. Sorry. That last game was brutal.”

“Don’t sweat it,” Damon says, but I think I can hear his molars grinding. “It was a few years ago.”

“Are you okay now? All healed?” Christopher asks.

“All healed. Never playing ball again though.”

I think I see the actual moment Christopher’s heart breaks. I’d find it funny if Damon didn’t look like he was about to vomit.

Chastity’s gaze ping-pongs between me and Damon. “Christopher’s running for mayor. He’s going to be a politician.” I don’t know if she can sense Damon’s discomfort too or if she’s trying to one up me on the whole my new partner is better than yours.

“Local government is a long step from the White House, honey,” Christopher says.

“Chris and Chas, come over here,” a woman calls from the table next to ours.

“Better make the rounds,” Chastity says. “Thank you for coming, Maddy.” She hugs me. “You were an important person in my life for so long, and—”

My throat does that constricting thing again. “You should get to your guests. Congrats again.”

She smiles a classic Chastity smile, and I have to admit a part of me—way, way, way deep down—has missed her, but as soon as she walks off, I sag in relief.

“Chris and Chas? Could they get any more sickeningly cutesy?” Damon says.

I turn to my pretend boyfriend who has obviously been keeping a huge secret from me. “So, Simba—”

“Fuck me,” Damon mumbles.

“You didn’t tell me you were famous.”

“Because I knew you’d call me fucking Simba.”

I laugh. “You must’ve been a big deal for someone who didn’t go to school with you to recognize you.”

Damon sighs. “I was a gay ball player with rumors of becoming the number one pick in the draft. It was big news, so I was everywhere for a while. Especially in baseball.”

“I was wondering why you went to Newport instead of Olmstead like Stacy. I mean, Jersey versus New York? No contest.”

“Newport was better for baseball back then. I wanted to get the attention of agents, but you know that saying be careful what you wish for? I didn’t get just agents’ attention. When the media caught wind that I was an openly gay player headed for the big leagues, everything exploded. More media and sporting journalists went to Newport’s games than any other school. I had people recognizing me on the street. I felt like a celebrity.”

“That’s a lot of pressure.”

“Right? It was the pressure that made me push through the pain. I never told my coaches my arm was pinching. Then a few weeks after the pain starts, I’m on the mound during the championship game for our conference.” He gulps down a mouthful of rum, and his knuckles turn white holding the glass. “We’re up by one, it’s bottom of the seventh, bases are loaded, and I just need one out. I’d kept them from scoring the whole game. The coach tries to take me out of the game and put a closer in, but I’m determined to finish the inning.” Damon’s voice cracks.

“You don’t have to tell me if it’s too hard.”

“It’s not that. I just … fuck, I’m still mad at myself for not paying attention to the signs. I threw a fastball, and then bam, I was on the ground trying not to pass out from the pain. The fucker from UMass hit it deep left field, and two of those assholes crossed home plate by the time the ball was back in our catcher’s mitt.”

“Farrrrk,” I say.

“The closer couldn’t turn it around, and we lost the game. There was pain in my shoulder, and I ignored it. The doctors say I probably had a small tear, and I kept playing on it and did more damage. Career suicide.”

“Athletes are taught to play through the pain, though.”

“Exactly. I told myself to suck it up, because I was worried I’d be benched if they found out. And I often wonder if it would’ve been different if I was closeted. If I was the number one draft pick as a straight guy, I doubt the media would’ve jumped on it so hard.”

“Let’s drink more,” I say. “Because that’s depressing.”

“Welcome to my life.”

After we get new drinks, the mood is somber when we get back to the table. Damon’s dream was shattered in mere seconds, but he went and moved on and had made a life becoming a sports agent. Something he loves … probably. It’s a logical step. Ballplayer turned sports agent. My only goal was to get out of this town, and I did that. Now what?

“You know,” Damon says and leans forward. “Your ex isn’t the ball-busting girl I thought she was going to be. I don’t get it.”

“Don’t get what?”

“Your aversion to all this and your ex-girlfriend. I’m missing part of the story.”

I hate that this guy who I’ve known for all of twenty-four hours can read me. He stares right into me, leaving me vulnerable but not entirely uncomfortable. Confusion clouds my head again for the sixtieth time in the last twenty-four hours.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Damon asks.

“No one—not even Stacy—has asked me why I am the way I am.”

“So, why are you?”

“You ask me for my deepest and darkest secrets so casually as if it’s not a big deal.”

Damon runs his hand over his jaw, as if he’s trying not to smile. “Unless you’ve killed a guy, been abused, or belong to ISIS, your deepest and darkest secrets can’t be too scary.”

I blow out a loud breath. I don’t talk about this stuff—to anyone. “This town was my home for eighteen years, but I don’t belong here, and I never have. Can’t tell you why because I couldn’t work it out. I lived here, I had fun here, I was a normal kid, but the idea of living here my entire life made me break out in hives. And with Chastity …”

“You would’ve been trapped here.”

“Exactly. My parents are great, but I’ve never been close to them. Or my sister. I look nothing like them, act nothing like them. My whole life has been one big game of one of these things is not like the other.”

“Maybe you were switched at birth,” Damon jokes.

“You’d be surprised how many times I asked myself that growing up, but it’s not just them. Or here, for that matter. I’ve never belonged anywhere. Even in New York. I almost transferred junior year because I was bored out of my brain. Now I’ve graduated and been in my job for a year, it’s like I’m on that never-ending conveyer belt I left here to get away from. I wanted to travel and explore. I’ve done none of that.”

I could keep talking. I could ramble all I want about seeing the world and not being tied down, living a life trying new things, doing new people, but I don’t say those things aloud. I can’t explain why being stuck in the one spot for the rest of my life scares the shit out of me.

“What keeps you in New York?” Damon asks.

That’s easy to answer. “Your sister.”

He screws up his face as if he’s tasting something sour.

“Nah, man, not like that. I had a thing for Stacy freshman year, but after I gave up trying to get her into bed, we became actual friends. I’m glad she stood her ground, because if she hadn’t, I wouldn’t have her now. Does that make any sense or is the scotch already affecting my speech?”

Damon’s face remains stoic. “It makes sense.”

“When I told her I wanted to transfer out of OU, she asked me to stay, so I did.”

“Because you couldn’t man up and do what you wanted? I’m starting to sense a theme. Chastity wouldn’t let you go to New York; Stacy won’t let you leave.”

“It’s not like that with Stacy. When she asked me to stay, I realized she’s the closest thing to home I’ve ever had.”

Damon takes a swig of his drink. “Okay, I’m going to ask this once, and whatever you say, I’ll accept as the truth. Are you sure you don’t still have a thing for my sister?”

I burst out laughing. “No way. And if I did, Jared’s done her, so she’s off limits. I’m not into crossing swords either. She’s honestly more of a sister to me than Jacie is.”

Damon leans back in his chair and finally looks satisfied that there is absolutely nothing between me and Stacy. “Okay. Should we dance? You need to make a choice, because I’m fairly certain everyone here knows we aren’t together and that you’re not really gay. You either double down on this lie of yours or come clean. I vote for the latter but will support you if you choose option A.”

“Guess you need to show me your dance moves then.”

Damon shakes his head in disappointment. “’Kay. I’m gonna hit the head and then drag you onto the dance floor.”

While Damon walks away, my eyes gravitate to his ass. The one he was begging me to fuck last night in my dream.

I shift uncomfortably in my seat.

“What’s the story?” Will asks, taking the chair next to me.

“What story?”

“You say this is all fake, but is it?”

“And here Damon thinks we’re not convincing enough.” Yeah, I’m deflecting. “He’s a cool guy. I think we’ll be friends after this.”

“You keep staring at his ass.”

“Jealous? Want me to stare at your ass instead?”

“Well, shit, I’m sorry for being concerned for my friend after you came home freshman year and—”

“This is nothing like that.” Only, it’s a hell of a lot like that.

Will is the one person in the world who knows what happened between me and my roommate freshman year of college, but I wasn’t expecting him to throw it back in my face.

“What ended up happening with that, anyway?”

I crack my neck and breathe deep, because I don’t want to get into it right now. I’m already confused enough as it is.

“Ready?” The rumble of Damon’s voice brings me out of my murderous mood. Will’s a lucky man, then.

I stand. “Ready.”

Damon leads me to the dance floor and pulls me close.

“I’m not gonna be the chick,” I say when we fumble with where to put our hands.

He rolls his eyes and grabs me around my waist, and with his free hand, clasps our hands together out to our side. Damon mumbles something that sounds like “God forbid a straight man do anything that resembles a feminine trait.”

Eyes from everywhere around the room land on us. I don’t need to glance around to know the burning sensation at the back of my head is from the stares of both curious and disgusted spectators. Emmett wasn’t the only person to cut me out when Chastity told everyone I was gay.

“Might wanna look like you’re enjoying this,” Damon says at my frown. “We have an audience.”

“I hate dancing.”

“Of course, you do.”

I’m lying. I don’t mind dancing, but the truth is, I hate dancing right now. I hate that we’re on display and that everyone is passing some form of judgment. They’re wondering why I came home, why I’m at Chastity’s wedding, and some are probably even wondering what I’m doing here with Damon. But what I hate more than that is the fact I like being pressed against him a hell of a lot more than a straight guy should.

My gaze wanders around the room and lands anywhere but on Damon. It’s not the stares that are getting to me—it’s him.

“Aren’t you in marketing?” he taunts. “That’s selling, right? You’re not selling this very well.” He cups my head, forcing my eyes to meet his. I beg him silently to let me out of whatever invisible hold he has on me, because his piercing green eyes make me think about things that I shouldn’t.

Like my dream.

His strong arms and how good his hard body feels against me.

And his lips. Those damn lips I can’t stop looking at.

“It’s a short song,” Damon says. “You only have to pretend to like me for a little longer.”

Pretending certainly isn’t the problem. Pretending I’m not drawn to him is.

My eyes go to his mouth again, but when Damon’s brow drops, he catches me in his confused gaze.

“Maddox—”

I don’t know I’m moving closer until my mouth meets his, and I swallow his gasp. My name on his lips breaks the fraying cord attached to my denial.

And when he kisses me back? I’m completely lost.