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Stacy searches in her bag and pulls out her phone. “I’m on it.” “Really?” “I’d love to say I’m doing this because I’m your friend, but honestly? The thought of you having to pretend to be gay for forty-eight hours entertains me immensely.”
“You do like baseball, right?” Damon looks at me as if I’m about to slaughter a unicorn. “I’m more of a football kind of guy.” He checks his watch. “Three hours and this fake relationship is already over.”
Fuck, he’s good-looking when he smiles. So much so, I’m wondering if my family will call bullshit on our little act. Clearly, if I was with Damon for real, I’d be punching above my weight.
He’s straight. He’s straight. He’s straight. He hates baseball. He hates baseball. He hates baseball.
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.”
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.
“What, you want me to throw you a pride parade for figuring out you like dudes? I don’t give a shit who you fuck, so long as it’s not me.”
“Why?” I croak. Damon takes a small step back. “Honestly? I’m waiting for the memory of you kissing me to go away so I’m not tempted to do it again.”
Why explore the rest of the world when the person who makes it go ’round is the man standing in front of me?
The telltale sound of the lube cap opening has my cock leaking precum. Hmm, interesting. I’ve developed a Pavlovian response to lube.
“Babe,” Damon whispers. “Gothefuckaway,” I slur. “We fell asleep.” “Then why are you waking me?” I grumble. “Shower, then work. It’s morning.” “You fucked me into a coma.”
I think I knew I loved you weeks ago.” “You didn’t say anything.” “Uh, you were fucking me with a dildo when it happened. Didn’t think it was the best time to bring it up.”
“That should be a tourism slogan. It’d work for anywhere. ‘Come to West Shittyville, Ohio. There’s nothin’ to do, but at least it ain’t Canada.”
I kiss him again. “You remember when we first met and I told you I felt like I don’t belong?” Damon nods. “I found it—where I’m supposed to be. It’s with you.”
“Sarcasm isn’t good for you, you know.” “Lies. Sarcasm is great. You can say anything and pretend you’re joking. People think I’m hilarious when in reality I’m just an asshole.”
