I throw the covers off us and gesture wildly at our clothed bodies, which only succeeds in making Drew shift again. This time, his leg slides between mine, and I have to bite back the moan that wouldn’t help my case right now.
“If that’s true, then explain that.” Ryan points directly at Drew’s crotch.
I follow his finger and immediately wish I hadn’t. Drew’s gray sweatpants are tented impressively at the crotch. He’s hard.Veryhard. And I’m eternally grateful that Ryan didn’t point tomyboner.
“I—that’s—” I sputter, my face burning hot enough to set off the smoke alarm. My toes curl involuntarily, and I resist the urge to pull the blanket over both our laps to act as some kind of modesty shield. “That’s morning wood! Or middle of the night wood. It doesn’t mean anything!”
“Mm-hmm.” Ryan’s expression suggests he’s cataloging this entire incident for future blackmail. “And I suppose the way you’re still staring at it doesn’t mean anything either?”
I don’t know what expression I’m wearing, but based on Ryan’s smirk, it’s probably something harrowingly revealing. Because the truth is, Drew looks perfect like this. Sleep-rumpled and soft, with his walls down, trusting me enough to be vulnerable.
I want to run my fingers through his messy hair. I want to press my lips to his forehead. I want to wake up beside him every morning for the rest of my life.
And that’s the problem with this whole fake dating thing. Every moment is real to me. Every touch, every smile, every time he calls me his boyfriend—even with the “fake” implied—carves out another piece of my heart.
“I’m sleeping in your bed,” Ryan announces. “Try not to defile mine any further.”
“We’re not defiling anything!” But my protest falls on deaf ears as Ryan crosses to my side of the room.
He climbs into my bed and pulls the blanket up to his chin with a satisfied sigh. “Your bed’s quite comfortable. I might keep it.”
Drew chooses that moment to shift again. His palm slides across the hem of my shirt, fingers dipping beneath the fabric. Five thick fingers skitter across my skin, resting just below my navel. My stomach muscles jump and tighten at his touch. Goosebumps race up my sides. A soft “mmm” vibrates from his throat as he nuzzles closer, his nose brushing the underside of my jaw, and his breath warming the hollow of my throat.
Fuck me five ways from Sunday. I’m in bed with the guy I’ve been crushing on since freshman year. He’s hard against my hip, his hand is on my body, and I can’t do anything about it because it’s all fake. We’re friends playing boyfriends. Friends who don’t notice each other’s erections or think about touching them.
“Drew,” I whisper, gently shaking his shoulder. “Hey, you need to wake up.”
“Mmm, five more minutes,” he mumbles into my neck.
I suppress a shiver as his lips brush my skin. “Drew, seriously. Ryan’s back. Wake up.”
That gets through to him. His eyes flutter open, unfocused and confused. Then reality crashes back in, and he jerks upright.
“Shit! Fuck!” He’s scrambling backward, face flushing as his hands immediately drop to his lap.
“It’s fine,” I say quickly, even though nothing about this is fine. My skin still tingles where he touched me, and I want nothing more than to pull him back down and sleep for a few more hours. “Ryan’s in my bed now. We should probably…”
“Yeah. Yes. Definitely.” Drew stands up. “I should go. It’s late. Or early. What time is it?”
I check my phone. “4:17.”
“Right. Cool. I’ll…” He edges toward the door, still covering his crotch with his large hands. “Thanks for the movie. And the practice. For the roller disco thing.”
“Drew—”
“Bye!”
He’s out the door before I can respond, leaving me sitting on Ryan’s bed with my shirt rucked up and my heart racing. The room is too quiet without him, too cold without his warmth.
I flop back onto Ryan’s bed and press a pillow over my face.
I should get up. I should brush my teeth, change into actual pajamas, and try to get some shuteye. But Ryan’s bed still smells of Drew, and if I close my eyes, I can pretend he’s still here.
21
DREW
BSU is a ghost town at this hour, which is perfect because I’m speed-walking across the frozen quad with an erection that could cut glass. The last thing I need is some drunk freshman asking for a selfie.
