Fake Out (Fake Boyfriend 1)

My sister, ladies and gentlemen—saying the shit that could get her bitch slapped if she said it to anyone but me. And now Maddox, I guess.

“You don’t like it because Big is your spirit animal,” she says.

I rub my temples. “How is a character from a shitty TV show a spirit animal?”

Stacy waves her hand dismissively. “You know what I mean. They’re both commitment-phobic manwhores.”

I nudge Maddox with my elbow. “There’s a hockey game on. You should be a supportive brother-in-law and watch it.”

Maddox sighs. “I don’t know what’s worse—Sex and the City or hockey.”

“Ooh, sexy hockey players with missing teeth. I’m sold.” Stacy grabs the remote and flicks it over.

Maddox throws himself on the couch and puts my sister’s feet in his lap. He gestures for me to take the single armchair, but I can’t stop staring at his hands on Stacy’s feet.

“Another shot?” Maddox asks me.

Definitely. “Sure. Studying hungover is always fun. Getting back to SoHo tonight will be interesting.”

“Crash here,” Stacy says. “I sleep on Maddox’s couch all the time.”

“She’s right. And it’s not like we haven’t shared a bed before,” Maddox says and hands over the shot glass.

I forgo the salt and lemon this time and throw it back. Then Maddox fills the same glass and slams it down his throat.

“I thought you were making margaritas,” Maddox says through a wince at the afterburn.

“Effort,” Stacy says. “Shots were easier.”

Despite Maddox’s protest of hockey, that doesn’t stop him from yelling “That’s my brother” every time Tommy’s on screen. And every time Tommy takes a shot on goal, Maddox pours us a shot each.

I tell him that the game is to drink when they actually score a goal, but he argues that will take way too long and hockey is a lot more fun when he’s buzzed.

Stacy bows out in the third period and falls asleep, which means I have to keep my yelling at the TV to a minimum.

Maddox and I watch as Detroit tries to take down Boston, but the game ends up tied and heads into overtime.

“Oh my God, there’s more of this?” Maddox whines.

“We can watch something else.” Totally empty gesture. The game is tied 2 – 2 and all that’s left is for one team to score. He won’t really make me change it, right?

“It’s cool. I can see how into it you are. I’m gonna head to bed, but as I said earlier, you’re welcome to stay.”

My cock likes that idea, but I don’t think I can handle being in a bed with him without touching him. I’ve tried not to think about him for the last two weeks, but my distractions have only taken the edge off.

While Maddox goes into the bathroom to brush his teeth, Tommy sinks one and the lamp lights up. I can’t even get excited about it, because I’m freaking out about staying.

My brain goes from telling me to go for it and forget about Eric to getting angry at myself for letting Eric affect my decision at all. But if I were to start something with Maddox, I’d always wonder if I was manipulating him somehow. I have a theory that homophobia stems from two things—guys who are confused about their own sexuality and are afraid of it or people who are literally dicks for the sake of being a dick. In the beginning, I believed Eric was the second type, but after he kissed me, I realized it’s because he doesn’t want to admit that a part of him—even if it’s a small part—is attracted to males. What happened between us not only ruined our friendship but also made his attitude drop the passive from passive-aggressive. And while Maddox seems fine with his realization, I don’t want to screw him over. Not that I plan to. But I never planned to screw over Eric either. I don’t want to pressure him or push him into something he’s not ready for and then have him freak out on me.

“You okay?” Maddox asks, reappearing from the bathroom. Guess I was staring into space.

“I should go. I’ll catch a cab home.” I stand to leave.

Maddox’s face falls, but he tries to hide his disappointment. “I’ll walk you out.”

“It’s not like it’s far to the door.”

His lips quirk. “True. Are you sure you’re going to be okay getting home? How drunk are you?” He gives me a playful shove, but I don’t budge. “Okay, not that drunk.”

“I’m sure I can handle fifteen minutes in a cab.”

“Okay.” He looks at his feet and leans back on his heels.

“What?” I stupidly ask. Leave already.

“You going to go back to ignoring me?”

I rub the back of my neck. “No. I don’t think I can anymore.” Shit, not what I should be saying.

Maddox steps toward me, and I stumble backward.

“But, uh, I … umm.” Great time to forget how to talk.