Deke (Fake Boyfriend, #3)

by Eden Finley

Sweet Neil Patrick Harris, I’m fucked. Ollie looks like he’s going to throw up, and I’m kicking myself for not recognizing him sooner. I should’ve known he was a jock with the way I immediately wanted to climb him like a tree. If he really was waiting in the bathroom for a hookup, I wouldn’t have hesitated. Closeted meatheads are my kryptonite, and apparently, I don’t even need to know that fact anymore before being drawn to them.

“Don’t sweat it. It’s not every day I have a hot guy’s hands on me.” The corners of his mouth tip up ever so slightly. The quick response is on the tip of my tongue. “That can’t be true. You’re hot.” Fuck, I shouldn’t be doing this. Why the fuck not? a little voice says. I think it’s coming from my dick.

When Noah told me Jet was Matt’s little brother, I expected a mini, younger, broody Matt. Turns out, he’s an adorable twink with attention deficit disorder.

The burn of staring follows me to the line at the bar, and I know exactly where it’s coming from. Ollie’s gaze is locked on me, as if trying to kill me with the Force. I’m tempted to fake choke, but I don’t want to make a fool of myself when no one will understand what I’m doing. This crowd doesn’t seem like the Star Wars type.

“Shit … how old are you again?” I ask. “Twenty-one.” I eye him warily. “Ish.” I hesitate but relent. “Don’t tell your brother. Matt could snap me in half with one hand.” “I’m a grown-up.” “You know who never has to point out they’re an adult? Actual adults.”

“Your mouth’s going to get you into trouble one day.” “I’m betting on it.”

“When are you going to tell them the truth about me?” he whispers. I shrug. “At our engagement party?” Lennon shakes his head. “Don’t even.” “Fine. The announcement of the birth of our first child.”

“Orgasms and getting high. It’s better than birthday cake.”

I’m legitimately beginning to worry that topping for the first time means he lost a severe amount of brain cells when he came. Sex makes you dumb, people.

“Legs jelly. Brain broken. Sleep now. Bodily fluid cleanup later.” “I love it when you’re romantic.” “Sunshine, flowers, candy, semen … it’s allllll romantic.”

“By the way, welcome to the club.” “Club?” I turn back. “The everything’s gay club. Meetings are weekly, and on Wednesdays, we wear pink.” I laugh and shake my head. “Sorry to disappoint, but I’ve been a card-carrying member since I was fifteen. And I look wicked hot in pink.”

“Even if Sports Illustrated is my dream job, you’re my actual dream. Giving us a real shot is what I want.”

“Until I can afford the entire world, I’ll give you whatever the fuck you want.” He stares up into my eyes, and with the most serious voice, he says, “I want you to kidnap the president. And the Declaration of Independence. National Treasure style.”