Page 79 of Fumbled Into Love

“Stop that,” I grumble.

“I’m serious. You need to get up.Right now. We have two hours to hide your things and move the restinto my room.”

The panic in his voice shakes something inside of me, and I jolt upward. I flail, and my fist lands in Deon’s gut. He releases a deep groan. “What?Oh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“I woke the sleeping beast. I know the consequences.”

“Beast?”

Did he call me a beast?He can’t be serious. I sit up in bed, ready to defend nine a.m. as a respectable time to wake up on the weekend, but pause when Deon's eyes dart down to my chest, and then he rapidly spins away.

“I—uh, I can give you a second.” Deon blubbers out. I watch as he rubs at the back of his neck, shifting on his feet.

“Why are you acting like a madman?”

First, he barges into my room, spewing nonsense about moving, then he calls me a beast, and now he’s all flustered and unwilling to look at me. This is a new level of chaos for Deon.

“Your uh…your boob…is out.”

“What?!” I look down, where one of my breasts is soaking up the morning rays. My muumuu must have shifted while I slept, and now I’ve flashed Deon. I choke out a laugh. He has had a personal experience with my boobs. “Deon, you’ve seen my gals before.”

I re-adjust my muumuu, placing my boob back where it belongs. She can bask in the glory of the morning sun tomorrow when Deon doesn’t look like he’s one wrong move away from vomiting.

“That was different.”

“Different, how?”

“You agreed to that. You didn’t agree to it this morning.”

“Oh.”Oh.

What he told me last week has lingered in my mind, ever-present and so heartbreaking. I can’t forgetthe way his voice cracked when he asked for what he needed, like I would turn him down or tell him no.

When it comes to Deon Adams, it seems the one thing I can’t do is say no.

“Deon, will you look at me?” There’s a blush creeping on his cheeks when he faces me. “I trust you completely. I have no issue with you seeing me naked. But if I did, I would tell you, okay?”

He nods, fingers fidgeting with the things he collected from the floor. I rise from the bed, taking the clothes that hang loosely in his grip.

“Why are you freaking out?” I ask, registering the slight sheen of sweat on his forehead.

“My mom and sister are coming.” The words tumble out of his mouth. “I forgot about Thanksgiving, and now they’re coming, but you’re in the guest room.”

My stomach plummets. He can’t be kicking me out, right?

“A-Are you kicking me out? My apartment won’t be ready until January,” I croak.

I can stay with my family, but I don’t want to move back into my childhood bedroom. I may not have told them my apartment flooded. Maybe. Who’s to say?

“What? No.” His nose crinkles in confusion, and my finger itches to reach out and boop it, but I gracefully fight the urge and keep my hands to myself. “I never told them it was fake, and my sister called this morning to tell me how excited she was to meet my girlfriend.”

His eyes frantically fly around the room, cataloging the disaster of space. Boxes are piled in the corner, my suitcases are half unpacked, and clothes are draped over every piece of furniture.

“Your stuff has to be in my room or hidden by the time they arrive or…” he gulps, “Nathalie,they cannot find out we’re lying about this.”

His words sit sourly in my stomach.Lying. The way my chest bubbles with joy and warmth when he smiles at me doesn’t feel like lying. But ultimately, that’s what we’re doing: lying to the people we love.

I don’t like the realization one bit.

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