Fake Out (Fake Boyfriend 1)

“So, that’s my birth mom.”

“Crazy,” I say absently, still staring at the door.

“What’s that look for?”

I school my features into passiveness. “Look? I didn’t realize I was doing a look.”

“She’s trippy, huh? I’m surprised she’s going for treatment. She always came across as the hippie I’ll-do-it-naturally type. Like she could cure MS with acupuncture.”

“I’m guessing that was the family drama you mentioned?”

“Yeah. I was so pissed I had to get out of the house. That’s why I ended up in Matt’s motel room.”

“But you’re cool with it now? I notice she just said she’s been to New York plenty of times, but I’m guessing she never came to see you when she was here.”

“It’s weird. After my freak out, I no longer saw my hometown as the thing that held me back all those years. It was the place that adopted me and welcomed me as one of their own. Without sounding like a pretentious douche, it changed my whole perspective on that place. I used to see a dead end, small town, and I never understood how the people there could see it as a home. But I do now. I mean, I don’t want to move back there or anything, but the thought of going back doesn’t induce claustrophobia anymore.”

“Getting clarity isn’t douchey. Sometimes a punch to the gut is what you need to gain real insight.”

“When I’d had time to cool down, I went back to the house to talk to Cheri, and she wants to be more active in my life and get to know me. I don’t know how I feel about it yet, but I want to take the chance while I have it.”

“I guess she had her own sense of clarity with her illness. How are your parents dealing with this?”

He pauses in thought. “I don’t think they’re happy with the way it came out. Cheri kind of blindsided us, and she didn’t talk to them about it first. But Dad told me not to hold a grudge against the three of them for too long. I told him I wasn’t gay to see if he’d do the same.”

“You what?”

Maddox shrugs. “It was the right time.”

“Are you sure you want to stay with me the next few days? You could stay with Cheri and bond or whatever. We can catch up next week when she’s gone. I only offered because your couch looks seriously uncomfortable.”

“It really is. Besides, choosing between staying with a woman I hardly know who I happen to share DNA with or sharing a bed with a really hot guy while I continue to explore my newfound love of sucking cock, it’s really no contest.”

A laugh-slash-shocked noise comes from beside us, and we turn to meet the waitress’s amused, if not slightly taken off guard, stare.

“For fuck’s sake,” Maddox hisses under his breath.

“I’ll get this,” I say. I throw a credit card in the check holder and hand it to the waitress. When she disappears, I laugh. “Seriously, babe. Maybe you should scan your surroundings before talking dirty.”

“Wanna go back to my apartment so I can do all the dirty talking I want?”

“As tempting as that is, I really need to go home and get some studying done. If I get a full day in, I can give you all of my focus tonight.”

“Okay, but how am I going to get through all of today with this?” He grabs my hand and pulls it into his lap under the table.

I groan as my own cock twitches. “Well, now thanks to you, I’m going to be in a similar state.”

“You’re welcome.”

“You tease now, but for the next three days, you’re mine.”

***

It’s been longer than three days. Almost a week, to be exact. It turns out Cheri had a bad reaction to the clinical drug, so they’ve had to keep her in the city longer than anticipated.

Having Maddox in my bed at night is great, and normally, I wouldn’t complain, but—

“If I’d known you were going to make me watch this crap, I might not have invited you to stay with me,” I say.

“Shh.”

I know he did not just shh me.

No joke, the guy likes cooking shows. I mean, I get he likes to cook, but if I have to sit through any more of this, I want to be stabbed in the eyes with a paring knife. The reason I even know what a paring knife is, is because I’m watching the fucking cooking network. I’m rarely home as it is, and when I am, I have to endure this?

With our feet up on the coffee table, only wearing boxers, and our thighs flush against each other, I know I shouldn’t complain. I get to come home to a hot guy, who—if I make it home before he’s asleep—is eager to suck my dick. The least I could do is endure watching a little cooking.