Fake Out (Fake Boyfriend 1)

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.