Deke (Fake Boyfriend, #3)

by Eden Finley

I’m her baby—the youngest—and also the gayest. My whole family has been overprotective of me ever since my mom outed me to myself when I was fifteen.

“I’m not a serial killer if that’s what you’re worried about.” “Well, I wasn’t, but now I am. What kind of person introduces themselves as not a serial killer? Like, you’re not gonna meet one who goes around saying ‘Hi, I’d like to wear your skin as a suit.’”

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.

My parents were there telling me they’ll love me no matter what but they couldn’t help thinking my girlfriend was a phase.” My gaze flies to theirs. “But … why? I mean … how …” Ollie’s mom smiles. “Telling us at four years old that he likes boys was the biggest tip-off, but there was no one certain thing he did or said.

His smile has the ability to break hearts and light up the goddamn room, and if I could, I’d write an entire article on how pretty he is when he’s not scowling.

“I’m a grown-up.” “You know who never has to point out they’re an adult? Actual adults.”

“Practice what?” “Touching.” I swallow the imaginary gravel in my throat. “Kissing.” My hand reaches for his cheek. “Other stuff to make us look like real boyfriends.” “Other stuff? Are you telling me your family is expecting us to put on a porn show for them or something to prove our relationship? Because that’s all kinds of fucked up.” I chuckle. “Can I lie and say they’re expecting it? I don’t care if you think they’re fucked up if I get to do this.”

“I dunno. I don’t wanna corrupt you.” “You dragged me into your childhood treehouse to blow you. I think the corruption has already begun.”

“So.” I breathe heavily. “Neil Patrick Harris in a harness?” “Sweet Neil Patrick Harris in a harness.” “Care to explain?” He faces me, his blue eyes shining in the dark. “Sometimes fuck doesn’t cover it.”

That all turns to shit when one of Ollie’s brothers knocks on the bedroom door. “Hurry up. Some of us need coffee thanks to being awake half the night listening to your fuck session.”

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.

Seems Ollie’s goal all day today has been to drive me crazy. Or try to make me come without him even touching me. He’s exceedingly good at both, and if he’s not careful, I’ll have to go back to my hotel room, but it won’t be to fool around; it’ll be for a new change of pants.

he starts rattling off hockey stats, and it takes a minute for me to realize he’s trying to distract himself.

“Then we’ll do everything we can on our end to make sure this is as smooth and painless as possible for you.” So hard not to blurt out “Just like losing your virginity,” but now’s not the time for jokes.

“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.”

“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.”