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Still. Walking into Gil’s holding hands? We agreed it would be good practice, but it feels super weird.

On the way into brunch, my phone buzzes.

Daddy: Please call me. We need to talk, son.

“Problem?” Mike raises his right eyebrow at me.

Shaking my head, I hurry and stuff my phone in my pocket. Mike only visited the falling-down my father had moved us to in high school once, and my daddy didn’t exactly make the best impression. Even if it’s all an act, the two of us are finally almost getting along, and I’d rather not start trouble.

It’s not as if I’ve answered the texts, anyway. And Mike and I aren’t an actual couple. There’s nothing to discuss.

The big table in Gil’s back room is already full of escorts (or former ones) and partners and family members when we arrive. So many folks we’ll eventually need more tables.

Everyone’s so busy chatting and clinking glasses of mimosa, no one seems to notice anything different about me and Mike. Sighing in relief, I skirt the room and find one of the few remaining seats at the table. When I let go of Mike’s hand to pick up my menu, all he does is move it to my upper thigh.

The way his hand is so close to my confused dick is messing with my head. Good thing I’ve got the menu memorized.

“Hey. Dean, right?”

When I turn to see who’s talking to me, I have to do a double take. Even though I remembered from before that Simon’s younger brother had somehow transitioned from farm boy to goth in training, it slips my mind at first. His smile is full of mischief, which is what finally makes it click.

Simon worked for Brennan almost as long as Mike and I have. And I’ve seen that smile plenty on my friend’s face.

“Oh. Hey. Hi.” I clear my throat. “Sorry, didn’t recognize you for a second.”

Is it just me, or does he have more piercings in his ear this time around? He and Simon were raised in a situation that made my upbringing look downright domestic. If I hadn’t been busy learning to care for a newborn, maybe I would have made some changes to my appearance after leaving home as well.

“Yeah, I’ve been working on changing up my look,” the kid says with a grin. None of us are old, exactly, but he’s what? Eighteen? So, by comparison, at twenty-five, I’m ancient.

“His looks are stupid,” Simon pipes up. “Almost as stupid as him working odd jobs under the table for Brennan.”

Bold words for a guy who used to dance at parties in nothing but sparkly booty shorts before getting himself a rich boyfriend, but who am I to judge? I’ve got an entire drawer full of those glittery shorts.

I shrug. “I think you look fine.” The part about working for Brennan, I will not touch. Almost everyone around this table is on our pimp’s payroll. Or was.

Mike leans over, bumping his shoulder against mine. He slides his hand up and down my leg. I’m half-dizzy, the way my head is spinning from this change between us.

Getting hard in the middle of an escort family brunch was not on my bingo card today. Or any day. But when Mike’s fingers stroke me through the fabric, I can’t seem to help myself.

Especially when he murmurs “Good boy” into my ear, so soft under the din of the surrounding chatter, nobody else can hear. This game we’re playing may be dangerous, but I realized a long time ago that I’ll willingly hoard every single crumb of praise Mike sends my way.

For better or worse.

When Mike told me he could fake being in love with me, I didn’t realize it would be so easy. For me, it’s confusing. When he’s sweet like this, as if we’re actual boyfriends, I forget everything else.

Which is not too bright, even for me.

Here’s the thing, though: Mike touches me, that ache in my chest melts a little. The fear I wake up with every morning whispers instead of shouts. Some days, his odd brand of comfort feels like the only thing that can get me through.

The only thing that ever has.

I’m broken out of my thoughts by Gabe turning to me again. “Hey, so I didn’t realize you two were a couple. How long has that been happening?”

Mike casually pulls his hand from my lap, sipping his coffee as if he wasn’t nearly jerking me off under there. How can he look so unaffected when I’m sitting here losing my mind?

Everyone around us goes quiet. Even the two servers who were putting plates down at the other end of the table seem to be aiming their ears toward us.

Simon’s the one who speaks first. “Wait a minute…”