The Fake Out: Chapter 37

“This is weird.”

“I told you I’d sleep on the floor,” Chris said.

He had, several times. But I wasn’t mean enough to do that to the guy. Still this bed was only a double. Chris and I, we weren’t double-bed-sized people. His shoulders seemed to take up more than half the width of the bed alone and he had to curl up or dangle his feet off the side to fit.

“You know, if you didn’t insist on this pool noodle divider, we’d have more room.”

I patted the stack of noodles at my side. “No, thank you. You might take advantage of me.”

Or vice versa. Because I’d seen things today I could not unsee—Chris without a shirt on, all wide shoulders and lean muscles, that tiny little scar on his back that fascinated me. I closed my eyes and shivered.

Chris grunted. “This bed is ridiculously uncomfortable.”

“Maybe we should try to sleep.”

“Good idea. Night.”

“Night.”

I turned to my side and faced the wall. I’d gotten stuck on the inside, and with the metal headboard and footboard on the bed and a giant football player on the other side, I was basically boxed in. Good thing I wasn’t claustrophobic. Or scared of the dark.

Because it was dark here. Real darkness. There were no streetlamps or passing cars or soft glow from the neighbor’s house. Outside was nothing but lake and trees and grass and probably some other living things I didn’t want to think about.

I sat up. “Are there frogs out there?”

“What?”

“Frogs? Are there frogs?”

“Do you want the truth?”

“If the answer is yes, then no. Lie to me.”

“Fine. There are absolutely no frogs in and around that large body of water mere feet from this shed.” His fingers brushed my arm and trailed down to my palm, leaving goosebumps. He squeezed my hand. “Better now?”

“No.” But I laid back down and tried to think about happier things. Like mice or rats or the plague. Anything but those green, slimy things. I shuddered and turned to face the pool noodle divider.

After a long moment, Chris sighed. “Why frogs?”

“Because they’re gross.”

“Alright.” He waited a beat or two. “But frogs? It seems a little irrational, doesn’t it?”

“That is the definition of a phobia.”

“It had to have started at some point.”

I huffed. “Fine. In seventh grade, we had to dissect frogs in science and one of the boys thought it would be funny to throw frog guts at me. Some of it landed in my mouth. I puked. The end.”

More silence.

“I did promise to protect you from them. I am a man of my word.” I could hear the laughter in his voice.

“Shut up and go to sleep.”

I spent the next few minutes trying to find a comfortable position. After a while, I gave up and pretended there wasn’t a spring digging into my hip.

“Are you asleep yet?” I whispered. When he didn’t answer right away, I asked louder. “Hey, are you awake?”

He grunted. “I am now.”

“Oh. Sorry. I’ll let you get back to sleep.”

“It’s alright. Go ahead. Did you think of something else you’re afraid of?”

“Ha. Ha.” I pushed up and rested on my elbow, head cradled in my hand. “I really like your family.”

He said in a quiet voice, “They like you, too.”

“I’m worried about what happens when we’re done with this. It’s not just affecting us. My mom, your mom. They’ll be hurt.”

A long pause. “I know.”

“Plus I’m pretty sure your sister will put a mob hit out on me.”

“Millie?”

“Yes. She’s kind of scary.”

The bed shifted. I could just make out the shape of his face. We were only inches apart. Thanks for nothing, pool noodles.

“Sometimes I think all her medical problems make her brave in strange ways. She’s been through surgeries, weeks in the hospital at a time, close to death more than once. She’s fearless.”

“She’s going to hate me when this is all over. They all are.”

My words hung heavy in the air. I wished they weren’t true. But I’m pretty sure my fake fiancé got to keep his real family in the breakup.

“What if…” he said, his voice soft. My breath stalled when I felt his fingers move a piece of wayward hair from my face and tuck it behind my ear. His hand lingered and I had the strangest desire to lean my head into it like a cat.

I waited to see if he’d finish. I wanted him to finish. It seemed of the utmost importance that he finish, in fact. “What if what?”

The bed rocked as he moved away. “Nothing.”

“They love you a lot. Millie told me all about you paying for everyone’s college and her medical bills and the house for your parents. They’re so proud of you.”

Another long, heavy silence.

“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.”

He mumbled something I couldn’t quite hear and, just like that, he was quiet again. I forced my eyes shut and tried to take slow, deep breaths, maybe trick myself into falling asleep, but it didn’t work. I flipped over on my stomach to get more comfortable. I wished I had my phone. I could call Ali, who was usually up at all hours of the night. Just to hear a familiar voice, something that hadn’t changed in my life recently.

More tossing and turning. My brain began churning.

How had this become my life? Two months ago, I was a librarian with an angry cat and a second job at Chicky’s. Now I was sleeping in the same bed with my fake fiancé.

I had not had that on my BINGO card this year.

How would the next few months of my life unfold? With the money, I’d pay off Mama’s medical bills, set aside some for things Iris might need for college. Maybe we could find her a decent, inexpensive car.

With a grunt, I turned on my side.

“Stop,” Chris groaned. “Every time you move, the bed moves. It’s like trying to sleep on a trampoline during a kid’s birthday party. Go to sleep.”

I winced. “I’m sorry. I’m not great at sleeping. My brain keeps going and going even when I’m exhausted. At home, I have a routine. I take melatonin and use a weighted blanket; even then it doesn’t always work. I’ll just lay here silently, won’t move a muscle, I promise.”

Chris sighed and began to toss pool noodles across the room.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Helping you sleep.”

“How are you going—?” I squeaked when he hauled me across the bed.

“I don’t have melatonin, but I can be a stand-in weighted blanket.” With that, he circled my waist with his arm and sort of wedged me under him, his leg over mine. Suddenly he was everywhere.

I froze.

“Relax,” he said, his mouth close to my ear.

“Sure. No problem.” It should be noted, it was a problem. A big one. A big, huge, jumbo-sized human problem. My one free hand flailed around for someplace to lay. Tentatively, it settled on Chris’s arm.

“You’re heavy,” I breathed.

“That’s the point, isn’t it?”

I turned my face into him and inhaled. I might never be able to smell sunscreen again without equating it with Chris now. I wondered if they made sunscreen-scented candles.

Slowly my body relaxed. My eyelids grew heavy. It was getting hard to keep them open.

“Are you okay?” Chris whispered, his voice soft.

“Yes,” I whispered back.

“Good. Now go to sleep.”

“Okay.”

And to my amazement, I did.