Page 86 of The Fake Out

“I want them to be proud of me.” He sighed. “I hate all this lying and twisting words.”

“You’re kind of good at it though.”

He sat up. “I’m a good liar?”

“I’m just saying you are very convincing.” I pushed myself up too.

“That is not a compliment,” he said, his voice clipped.

I winced. He was right; this was coming out all wrong. “I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just… I don’t know… you’ve even made me believe we’re in a real relationship sometimes.”

He threw himself back on the bed so hard the headboard slammed into the wall. “I’m going to sleep now.”

And he did. Without another word. Rude.

I flipped on my side and curled around my pillow, which was almost comfortable. But my arm started to tingle from being in a weird position.

It was hot in there. Chris had opened all the vents and there was the tiniest of breezes, but I was so far away from it. I hated being hot. I kicked off the sheet.

I drifted to sleep for a little bit only to wake with a start, heart pounding as I sorted out where I was and who was next to me. Somehow I’d breached the pool noodle divider enough that my arm now rested on Chris’s chest, his big hand curled around it. When I carefully tried to extract it, his fingers tightened.

The steady beat of his heart lulled me back to sleep.

The next time I woke up I was almost kissing the wall, my back screaming about how unhappy it was going to be tomorrow. Looking for some relief, I flipped so my head was at the foot of the bed and tried to think happier thoughts. Like Chris without his shirt. That was nice. Another of when we were in the water, and he’d snuck up on me and grabbed my legs. I emitted such a scream I was sure Margot heard it back at the house.

Then he had popped out of the water, all laughs and wet, warm, golden skin and I almost forgot to be angry. The urge to touch him had been overwhelming. Instead, I swam away in a huff.

What if…?

What if I had reached out and touched him? Would he have pulled me against him, whispered something sweet? Maybe his lips would start at my jawline, tiny, sweet kisses, creeping closer and closer to my mouth and…

Yes, it was entirely too hot in here and now I had to pee.

Moving slowly, I climbed over Chris’s feet and felt my way to the bathroom. Returning to the bed was harder. I pointed myself in what I hoped was the direction of the foot of the bed and shuffled along.

A hand reached out and grabbed me, stealing my breath. One second my feet were on the floor, the next I was on the bed, flat on my back, and Chris was looming over me.

My words came out in bursts. “I’m sorry. Did I wake you?”

“Why are you up?” he asked, his voice all grumbly with sleep.

“I had to go to the bathroom.”

“Oh.” He didn’t move.

Heat radiated from his body and my breath went a little… wonky. “Um, can you let me go?”

“Sorry. I was having a dream about you. Kind of blended into reality for a minute.”

I made a choking noise. “You were dreaming about me? What was it about?”

“You were yelling at me.”

“Oh, well, sorry for yelling at you.”

He released his hold on me and I scrambled back to my side of the bed. “I’m pretty sure you can’t control someone else’s dream.”

“Go back to sleep. Maybe you’ll get to yell back at me.”