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Isaiah’s gaze kept dropping to their hands. “I think I might have missed a few texts.”
Nico eyed him hard, silently begging him to drop it. “Later,” he mouthed, and Isaiah grinned and let it go.
“Enjoy the show; we’ll catch up after.”
Nico
Isaiah: What are you doing tomorrow? Darren wants to go out before I go home Sunday.
Nico: Can’t. Luke’s company picnic is tomorrow.
Isaiah: You still pretending you’re pretending to be boyfriends?
Nico: We’re not boyfriends.
Nico growled, frustrated as much with himself as with Isaiah. Of course people thought they were dating; whenever they went out together, they played fake boyfriends. And then they came home to eat their meals together and sleep in the same bed.
And even after a week of ramping up his flair for the dramatic, Luke still smiled at him brightly. Hell, maybe even more brightly.
Those smiles were screwing with him. Made him so close to admitting he wanted to drop the fake boyfriend act and do the true boyfriend act.
Except.
Luke still asked him to attend company things to make Kent jealous.
He poked a fork into his cold lemon chicken. The green beans and rice were cold now too. Cold like his appetite.
He’d cleared away Luke’s place setting. No sense having it out when he had to stay late to deal with some Kent nonsense.
At least he’d texted to say he wouldn’t be home for dinner.
Another bite, and his stomach revolted. He couldn’t eat anymore.
The hand-holding business and snuggling at nights . . . those smiles.
Luke acted like he wanted Nico, but he couldn’t wean himself away from his ex.
If only Nico could pull back, become more detached . . .
If only pigs could fly.
Tomorrow he was expected to don a happy face and put on a show again. Part of him wanted to, because he was addicted to imagining what it would be like for real. The other part told him to go out with Isaiah and Darren. Stop setting his heart up for another beating.
Nico wrapped up the food and stared at the pans. When Luke cleaned, Nico didn’t mind helping. It didn’t feel like a chore. Alone, it sucked. With each pan he set out to dry, the hope that Luke would get home before he finished dimmed.
Was Luke enjoying dinner with Kent tonight?
Fuck.
The last pot clean, Nico dried his hands on the dishtowel. Growing up, there was always someone around. Loud, noisy, demonstrative family. Without Luke, the silent apartment left him anxious.
He took a quick shower and readied himself for bed.
At nine forty-five. On a Friday night.
He rarely went to bed this early on a weekday, but on a weekend? Fuhgeddaboudit.
Nico flopped back onto his pillow and lay there in the silence of their apartment.
What was wrong with him? Normally he was good at bottling his feelings. Those who weren’t available, were unattainable, or didn’t want him, he simply left alone.
Then Luke bowled into his life.
Nico rolled over and stared at Luke’s empty space in the bed. The stupid bed they shared.
“Stupid fucking Amazon.” If they’d had the mattress, they’d never have crossed the line. Nico would never have known how intensely compatible they were.
And he would not be fretting about play-acting Luke’s boyfriend—again—at the picnic tomorrow.
Chapter Fourteen
Luke
Luke: Nico’s acting weird today.
Coury: Can’t imagine why.
Luke: You’re not helping.
Coury: Maybe if you told him you’re not faking anymore it might help.
Luke stood in the shade of a large oak tree, watching his colleagues clumped together eating, drinking, schmoozing, flute glasses in their hands. Less like a picnic and more like Sunday brunch outside. Or a cocktail party with food.
Breezes washed over his face. Fresh, but not fresh enough to clear his pounding head. He leaned against the knotty tree trunk and grumbled at his phone. At Coury’s messages.
Coury was right. Luke wasn’t faking it anymore. Hadn’t been for a while.
The guy pushed every one of Luke’s buttons. Every. Damn. One.
Problem was, every time he thought he and Nico were getting closer, Nico pulled back. Since the charity event, he’d distanced himself even more.
Nico might have spent the day smiling and tossing out quick comebacks but there was a rigidness to his expressions, his posture.
Had Luke’s forthrightness made Nico uneasy? Did Nico know how Luke felt? Was he letting him down quietly?
Or was Nico still processing it? Still deciding what he wanted?
God, Luke just wanted to haul him aside and talk through this.
But he got it. Living together made things awkward. Nonverbal communication kept everyone’s pride intact.
Sure, Luke would love it if they talked and Nico said he was into him too.
But what if Nico rejected him? He’d be mortified. He’d have to live with Nico and accept his worst fear that he was too boring for anything serious.
Nico curved around a picnic blanket, two wineglasses in his hand. He smiled as he approached and passed Luke a drink. “Not sure this merlot is as nice as the riesling we had at the game, but it’s not bad.”
