Fake Friends - Saxon James Page 0,42
gather my nerves and approach the front door, praying Grandpa Dickwad isn’t the one who answers.
Luck must be on my side, because it’s his mom instead.
Which, you know, is only fractionally better, but I’ll take it.
“Circus?”
“Morning. Rowan home?” I resist crossing my fingers and focus on sending good vibes her way.
“I think he’s still in his room …”
That sounds like an invitation to me. I pull open the screen door and step past her. “Thanks. I remember where that is.”
Then I hightail it up there before she can think to try and stop me.
As I walk down the hall, I’m hit with that awkward moment of déjà vu. A thousand memories of walking this exact same path come at me, and instead of anger or sadness, all I feel is lingering regret that we didn’t make the most of our time together.
I knock lightly on Rowan’s door, and when there’s no answer, I crack it open and slip inside.
He’s still out cold. And given how no one has stormed down the hall to kick me out, I’d say the account hasn’t been discovered yet.
The ball of worry unravels as I look at his peaceful form. He’s under the covers, so I can’t make out much of anything except his bare shoulders and the tops of his arms that are buried under his pillow.
I creep closer to the bed and run my hand over his back. “Wake up, sleepyhead.”
He jerks up and takes a moment to blink the room into focus. “What’s going on?”
“Just your friendly neighborhood wake-up call.”
“Circus …” He looks around as though confirming he’s in his bedroom.
“Can confirm, I have not kidnapped you.”
He smiles sleepily before flopping back down on his pillows. The blanket has moved down farther, revealing his smooth, toned back. He pats the mattress beside him, and unlike his mom, that was an actual invitation.
Don’t mind if I do.
“What’s going on?” he asks sleepily.
I reach over to smooth out the bird’s nest his hair has become. “You tell me, Mr. I’m-going-to-broadcast-my-closeted-ass-online.”
“Argh.” That wakes him up. He plucks my phone from my hand, punches in my passcode—and okay, when did he work that out?—and opens the app. “I really did it?”
“You really did.”
He taps on the photo he posted last night, and it takes him through to his account. “How many followers?”
I start to laugh. “Welcome to crazy town.”
“Wow.” He drags his hand back through his hair, ruining the progress I’d made on taming it. “Okay, so that wasn’t a dream at all.”
“You all right?” I ask cautiously.
“Yeah … I am.”
“What if someone sees this?”
He shakes his head. “I blocked everyone I could find.”
“And if you missed someone?”
“I guess I’ll deal with that if it happens.” He hands me back my phone. “Here, take a photo.” Rowan rolls back onto his stomach and loops an arm around my waist before pressing his face into my side.
My heart thumps harder as I mess up my hair and settle in, like I’ve just woken up too. I aim for a sleepy smile, and when I take the photo and check the picture, I almost don’t want to post it. Because it feels too personal. And it’s a lie.
Rowan takes my phone again, and when he sits up, his shoulder presses against mine. “What do we type?”
“Ooh, go super corny. ‘He’s my dream’ type bullshit.”
Rowan laughs and types it out then posts it. “This is actually kind of fun.”
“Because I’m a fun kind of guy.”
“No arguing there.”
“So …” I tease, reaching over him for his phone. “Gay porn you say?”
“Oh, fuck.”
“You’re going to have to unlock your phone, because unlike you, I have boundaries.”
“Which is why you helped yourself to every one of my drinks last night?”
“Ah, porn. Back to that.”
He chuckles and holds up the phone so it can scan his face.
I settle back into the bedframe and start my search. “Let’s see what’s in your history …”
“It’s cute you think I wouldn’t have deleted it immediately.”
I tap over to the private browser.
“Deleted from there too,” he points out unnecessarily.
I pout. “You’re no fun. I only want to know what kind of freaky stuff you’re into.”
“How horrible of me not to enlighten you.”
He’s clearly not going to change his mind. Fine, then. I hand the phone back as mine starts to vibrate again. I hesitate at Preston’s name.
“So … remember that Gucci offer I told you about yesterday?”
“Sure do.”
“I was supposed to get back to them this morning.”
“Ah, shit. Sorry.”
“All good. But … is it a yes? I