Maybe We Can Fake It, page 12
I can’t help it, I burst out laughing. He’s never said something that obscene to me before. Luckily, the shock of it made it funny, rather than a turn on.
As I calm down, I tell him, “While I may be able to provide that, I don’t think it’s something I can display in front of Elise and Grant.”
His blue eyes flash darker for a second, and I replay my own words. Shit. Am I flirting?
Quickly, I move past the talk about dicks and add, “So how about something that helps me illustrate to them how much I care about you? As your fake boyfriend, I mean.”
“Let’s see...” He twists the extra material of his pillowcase between his fingers. “Is it super self-centered if I say I want a boyfriend who totally adores me?”
I adore you.
“Not at all,” I reply, holding in my first thought. “You deserve that.”
“It’s just that I’ve always put all my focus on being a good dad for May. So if I’m going to give someone else part of my focus, I want to know that it’s worth it. I need to know that they really want to be around.” He nudges the back of my hand with his knuckle, and I realize I haven’t taken it off his knee yet, so I reluctantly do that. “But don’t worry, Elise and Grant don’t seem suspicious about us. I think they’ll buy this thing without you having to pretend to fawn over me. In fact, you doing that would probably be hilarious and just blow our cover, because fawning doesn’t fit your whole Grumptopus vibe at all.”
I pretend to be offended, though he’s not exactly wrong. “Hey, I could fawn.”
He gives me a look like he’s fighting to keep a straight face, and then he laughs. “Sure. Right. I totally buy that.”
“I could,” I argue. Because now, inexplicably, I feel the need to prove it to him. To prove I could be the kind of boyfriend he wants. And actually, I’m pretty sure I fawn over him all the time in my head. It’s just the doing it openly part that would likely be hard for me.
“Hmm,” he says, tapping his finger against his chin, like maybe he’s trying to picture it. Which, yes, I imagine isn’t easy. Then he gets an evil glint in his eyes and says, “All right, so I expect a flash mob.”
“A what now?” I say. Even though I do know what flash mobs are. Ridiculous, publicly humiliating spectacles.
He nods enthusiastically. “Yup. That’s the level of fawning and adoring I’m talking about. I want a guy to be so into me that he needs to make sure everyone else knows it too.”
I honestly can’t tell how much he’s fucking with me. Like I know he’s joking around, but is there a part of him that really might want something like that? Maybe not a flash mob, necessarily, but big romantic gestures?
While I don’t know if I’d be capable of giving that to him, I meant it when I said he deserves it. And that’s just another reason I need to keep my feelings for him to myself. He deserves so much more than me.
“Okay,” I say, resorting to my old buddy sarcasm. “One flash mob coming up.”
“Good.”
“What else are you looking for?”
He slides down a bit so he’s closer to lying than sitting now, his cheek smushed adorably into his pillow. “Why don’t you tell me what you want in a boyfriend?”
Bright blue eyes, endless smiles, and an obnoxious coffee addiction.
That’s my immediate thought. But since I can’t say it, and I honestly don’t even know how else to answer, I fake a yawn and tell him, “We should probably get some sleep.”
He gives me an assessing look, and I pray that he hasn’t magically developed mindreading powers in the last thirty seconds. Then he smiles and agrees.
As he gets out of bed to hit the light switch, I fold down the covers so we can get under them, and I say another prayer that I don’t wake up with morning wood again. At least he didn’t kiss me this time, so I should be fine. I know I’m the one who asked him about kissing and agreed we could do it in front of Elise and Grant to sell this relationship, but after that first kiss, I realized it’s a terrible idea. For me, at least.
I’m still willing to do it when we need to. I refuse to let him down. But I’m honestly not sure how much of it I’ll be able to take without going crazy. Just that small taste I got last night was enough to make my desire for him—the desire that I’ve been able to tamp down for so long—come burning furiously up to the surface.
“Are you comfortable?” he whispers sweetly after he’s settled in.
We’re both sticking as far as possible to our own sides of the bed, but I can still feel his heat. Or maybe I’m only imagining it because I want to feel it. Either way, this isn’t helping in my fight to keep my body under control.
“Yeah,” I lie. “I’m good.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
BRENDEN
With the corporate retreat over, I can finally take a deep breath. Only one though. No time for more, because MayFest starts Saturday. Travis is helping Addison get the menus ready for the new influx of guests plus the booth we’ll have at the festival. But then he’ll be off the hook. I feel guilty that I’ve monopolized all his time for the past week, between him helping out here and pretending to be my boyfriend.
Speaking of pretending...
It’s only been a couple days, but Travis has already been doing such a good job at acting like we’re a couple that he’s almost got me convinced. When I woke up with him in my bed this morning, I had a moment—just one—where I forgot that he was only there as a favor. But I can’t do that again. I can’t forget for even another moment that this is all fake.
Because it is fake. F.A.K.E.
My newfound lust for Travis, on the other hand? I’m afraid that’s unfortunately very real.
But I’ll survive that. I’m no stranger to being alone and horny. I’ve never been the kind of guy to go for a quick hookup. I prefer dating, actually getting to know someone first. It’s been a while since I’ve gone out with anyone though. I got tired of meeting men who ended up disappointing me. There have been a few guys who didn’t disappoint, who lasted a little while. But even with them, it never felt entirely right.
Last night when Travis asked me what I wanted in a boyfriend, it was nice getting to imagine my ideal relationship. In reality, though, I’m not expecting to ever have that.
It would take a special kind of man to truly fit into my life. To want to fit in. To accept a preteen daughter and a crazy work schedule, and not to mention, me. I’ve got a lot of great qualities, I know that. But I’ve also got some not-so-great ones. I can’t cook, I hate cleaning, and I may be on top of things when it comes to my daughter and work, but when it comes to taking care of myself, I can be pretty scatterbrained. And I put on a good front, but underneath that, I’m hiding plenty of insecurities.
“Brenden, who picked out these tablecloths? I don’t think they’re the best quality linens.” Elise runs a finger over the cloth as we sit at one of the inn’s dining room tables, waiting for lunch to be served.
I fight both the urge to roll my eyes and the urge to cower under the criticism. It’s not hard to figure out where some of my insecurities stem from.
“I think they go well with the rest of the room’s décor,” I say, defending my choice. Because it’s my choice. It’s my inn.
That they helped pay for.
“Surely you could find someone to make these for you in the same pattern but with better material. It’s worth the extra expense.”
“I’ll look into it,” I tell her, even though I have no intention of doing that.
I subtly check my phone for the time, wishing May were here. But unfortunately, she’s back at school today, meaning it’s up to me to entertain her grandparents on my own. I tried to convince her to take a few more days off, ready to write her a note feigning illness, but my little smartypants wasn’t having it.
My excuse of having to work only gets me so far when Elise and Grant insist on coming here to have lunch with me.
Thankfully Addison appears before Elise can find something else to criticize, strolling out of the kitchen with three plates of food balanced on her arms. She could’ve sent out a server, but I know she’s trying to make the best possible impression on these two for my sake. Even through her own panicked state over everything going on, she’s already noticed how tense having them here makes me.
This morning when I lamented to her about how I’d have to take a break to eat with them, she actually stepped away from her food prep long enough to awkwardly give me a few pats on the back. So I think I’m wearing her down on the friendship front. Me being a mess has seemed to make her like me more. I’ll take it as a win, I guess.
“This all looks wonderful,” Elise says, taking in the fancy lunches Addison whipped up for us. I revel in the praise, even if it’s more a compliment for my chef than for me.
Already digging into his food the moment Addison leaves the table, Grant asks, “Will we be seeing Travis again tonight?”
“Yes, you told him he needs to come for game and movie night, didn’t you?” Elise says.
“He’ll be there. He’s looking forward to it.”
That last part is a big fat lie, but he did promise to get coverage for the diner’s dinner shift so he could make it.
Honestly, I didn’t expect us to have to do so much to keep up this ruse. I expected that Elise and Grant would want to spend most of their visit alone with May. And with me too, I guess, since May and I are basically a package deal. I thought Travis would only need to pop in for a couple guest appearances. But they seem determined to get to know him and treat him as part of the family. Not that I’d actually call this weird thing the four of us have a family.
We eat in silence for a bit until Grant asks me, “So that event you had here went well?”
“Oh yeah,” I tell him, spearing a baby carrot with my fork. Normally, I hate carrots, but Addison put some kind of glaze on these that made them deliciously sweet. If only all vegetables could come sweetened.
Grant watches me a few seconds, and when I don’t elaborate, he says, “That’s good. Would you like us to move into a room here now that it’s over? We don’t want to keep putting you out.”
“Yes, we’re sorry. We didn’t realize we were coming at such a bad time,” Elise adds. “But I am glad we’ll be here to see this spring festival May’s been telling me about.”
It occurs to me now that they haven’t given me an end date for their stay. It makes sense that they’d want to stay for the festival, but I assume they’ll be leaving right after. They never like to slum it here for more than a week.
Unfortunately, because of the festival coming up, the inn is still booked solid this week. I mean, that’s not unfortunate for the inn. Only for my mental state, since I can’t move them here.
When I tell them as much, I make sure to hide my feelings about the situation.
Elise apologizes again, while also assuring me they’re happy to stay at my house. “And we’ll find things to do on our own,” she adds. “We won’t keep bothering you at work.”
I’m not sure if she’s intentionally using reverse psychology on me, but her implying that they’re bothering me actually makes me feel bad, so I wind up saying, “Oh no, you’re not bothering me. I can always make time to have lunch with you. I’m the boss, after all.”
Elise looks happy, while I try not to cringe at my own words. This weekend can’t come fast enough. I’m not going to let them ruin my fun at the festival with May. And then after it, they’ll be gone, and my life can go back to normal. No more faking, no more sleepovers with Travis.
As I chew another carrot, the sweet taste turns almost bitter in my mouth. For a second, the thought of going back to my normal friendship with Travis disappoints me.
Only for a second, though.
May is too good at board games. When she was a kid, I used to let her win. She was around eight when I realized I was no longer letting her win—she was just beating me at everything. You might say most board games are primarily about luck, but I don’t know. It seems like she finds a way to outsmart me every time.
After winning two games of Clue, she asks if anyone wants to play Scrabble. Thankfully, Grant is happy to take her up on it so the rest of us can bow out. She really makes me look like a dummy when she kicks my ass at that one. I should stop letting her read so much.
Elise stays to watch, but Travis and I sneak off to the kitchen to take care of the cookies we’re baking for the movie later. Well. The cookies Travis is baking. From scratch.
I might not cook, but May and I are big fans of sweets, so I do know how to pop some pre-packaged cookie dough in the oven. I even remembered to stop at the store to buy it. But when Travis saw, he scoffed and ran out to get ingredients to make his own cookies.
Show off.
I watch him as he takes the bowl of dough he mixed out of the refrigerator and finds the cookie sheet in the right cabinet on his first try. He looks particularly good today. His jeans seem tighter than usual. Or maybe they’re not. Maybe now that I’ve let myself acknowledge how hot he is, my eyes are just more drawn to his ass.
God, the things I could do to that ass if he’d let me.
No.
Nope.
Not going there. As if that would ever happen.
Meanwhile, I’m over here looking like a bum in maroon lounge pants and an old Skyler James concert tee. May insisted we both get them when I took her to his show years ago. I’m not that obsessed, I swear.
After he scoops out the cookie dough and sticks the sheet in the oven, we hang around here. He grabs himself a water bottle out of the fridge—and no, I didn’t know I had those in there—while I get a pot of coffee going.
“You know drinking coffee in the evening really isn’t good for your sleep,” he says.
“It won’t keep me up,” I tell him, filling my mug. “My body’s so used to it.”
He raises an eyebrow at me. “That’s not how bodies work. Even if you don’t have trouble falling asleep, it’s still in your system and it will affect the quality of sleep you get.”
“Should I start calling you Doctor Grumptopus?” I tease.
He lets out a long-suffering sigh. “Fine, I’ll keep my mouth shut and not worry about your health.”
He’s turned away from me, taking a seat at the table, so thankfully he doesn’t catch the way I get stuck for a few moments, frozen in place, hand around my coffee mug. His words hit a strange place inside of me that I wasn’t aware of. A place that might appreciate having somebody actually worry about me. Somebody besides my daughter.
Last night I told him I wanted a partner I could depend on. Maybe he’s just playing the part. Worrying about my health kind of falls into that category, right?
I shake myself out of it and join him at the table. Quietly, I tell him, “In case I haven’t said it enough, thank you. For doing all this.”
He chuckles. “You’ve thanked me about a hundred times.”
“Well, consider this one hundred and one.”
Leaning in closer to me and keeping his voice down too, he says, “I’m still not sure I understand where your anxiety with the two of them comes from. They seem nice. Different than you, sure. But they obviously love you and May.”
“They love May.”
His eyes peer into mine, making me feel like he can see all the way inside me to the vulnerable squishy parts. “You don’t think they love you?”
“I think...” Unable to articulate what I think, I take a sip of coffee instead. But he doesn’t stop looking at me in that imploring way, so I have to continue. “They care about me in the sense that they know I’m raising and loving their granddaughter. I don’t think they approve of a lot of my choices, though, and in the beginning, they wanted to fight me for custody. But April, May’s mom, had all the paperwork done up legally, and I had the money to support a child from my parents’ deaths, so they knew they didn’t have enough of a case. They let it go and tried to be civil because they were probably afraid I’d cut them out of May’s life entirely.”
Travis reaches out and takes my free hand, the one not gripping my mug like a lifeline. “That sounds tough. But I don’t think it means anything negative against you. I’m sure most grandparents in that position would’ve done the same thing. It’s unusual for a mom to choose a non-relative to raise her child, but it shows how much your friend trusted you, how she knew you’d be everything May needed.”
April knew I’d need May just as much as she needed me. And she was right.
I keep that thought to myself. Even if I’ve already shared it in a moment of weakness with him before, I don’t need to remind him how pathetic I am. Instead I stare, transfixed, down at our hands.
Giving mine a squeeze, he says, “I’m sure now that you’ve all been in one another’s lives for so long, they love you like family.”
“But I’m not family,” I whisper.
“I think they see you that way. Maybe you just don’t realize it because you’re too caught up in the assumptions you’ve made about them.”
Yikes, that kind of makes me sound like a jerk.
I’m at a loss for how to respond. It’s possible there could be some truth to what he’s saying. But how would he know? He doesn’t know them like I do. He hasn’t experienced years of these awkward visits. Hasn’t watched the way they criticize everything I do.
But he’s been around a lot these last few days, and maybe it takes an outsider’s perspective to see things clearly. Or maybe he’s wrong. I don’t know.
“Well, isn’t this cozy?”
I jump at Elise’s voice, tearing my hand from Travis’s on instinct. Although, we’re supposed to touch, so I don’t know why I feel like I got caught doing something scandalous. “Sorry,” I say.
“No need to apologize, hon,” she replies. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. It just gets boring watching those two play that game. They take it so seriously, both staring at their letters so hard I’m afraid they’ll set the tiles on fire.”
