Page 31 of Fake Dating the Prince

“I mean, we were children. I suppose it’s possible he didn’t grow up to be the Antichrist.” That got a soft smile, but not the laugh he’d been angling for. Brayden could already read him too well for that. “I was a shy teenager. Miles was one of the ‘in’ group. Everyone liked him. Everyone wanted tobelike him.”

Somehow Flip half expected Brayden to saybut you’re a prince. But he didn’t. He just shifted his body some and drew his legs closer to his chest. “And you?”

Flip shook his head slightly and tried to play it off, though he had a feeling Brayden would see right through him. “I fancied myself in love with him, of course. When he started wanting to spend time with me, I felt….”

Brayden waited.

“Included,” Flip decided. Until then he’d felt so conspicuous—few boys at his prestigious school came from any parentage other than white—and his innate shyness made it difficult enough to make friends. Add his sexuality on top of that…. “Miles was out and proud, defiantly so. When he wanted to be my boyfriend….”

“You were pretty pumped, huh?”

“I’m surprised my teachers didn’t have to scrape me off the ceiling.”

“So what happened?”

Flip shrugged. This part of the story hurt the worst. “Oh, we dated for a little while, and then he got tired of me and sold his story to a tabloid.”

Brayden inhaled a sharp breath. “Oh, Flip.”

He suddenly felt the urge to turn away. “It’s nothing near as awful as what happened to you—”

“What, because nobody died means it didn’t hurt to be betrayed like that?” His voice was as soft as the pillowcase beneath Flip’s head. “Come on. It’s not a contest.”

Flip inhaled through his nose, held it for a moment, and then let it out slowly. “I know that. In theory.”

Brayden gave him a wry twist of a smile. “It’s always the application that’s the trick.”

“Did you study psychology?” Flip asked a bit accusatorily, smiling a bit in spite of himself.

“Just the freshman 100 course. I majored in modern languages.”

Of course he did. Of course Flip had been too blind to see how perfect Brayden was for him until he’d committed to pretend to date him, and trying to change the rules now would be not only awkward but inexcusable. “How many do you speak?”

“Six.” He yawned and snuggled into his pillow. “Why, how many do you speak?”

“Five.” Now he felt like he should be picking up Spanish in his spare time.

Brayden had closed his eyes, but he opened them again and smiled sleepily. “Hey. Something I beat you at. Imagine that.”

Flip made a face at him, prompting a sleepy snort. “It’s not a contest,” he said, mimicking Brayden’s line from earlier.

“Yeah, yeah.” He yawned again, and it struck Flip how young he looked like that, wearing a T-shirt from his youth, curled up in bed and almost hugging his pillow. He was obviously exhausted.

“Go to sleep,” Flip murmured, feeling suddenly protective.

“Mmm,” Brayden agreed. “Turn off the lights, then.”

With a quiet laugh, Flip turned to do just that. The room plunged into darkness. If not for Brayden’s quiet breathing, he might have been alone.

“Good night, Brayden.”

That steady breathing was his only reply.

Chapter Seven

BRAYDENwoke to the distant sound of running water. He stretched and opened his eyes, but with no light spilling from behind the heavy drapes, he couldn’t guess the time. His body told him to keep sleeping, even if Flip wasn’t, but he was overheating. In search of cooler sheets, he rolled into the middle of the bed and kicked the coverlet down. Perfect. Oblivion claimed him again.

The next time he opened his eyes, Flip was walking past from the bathroom, wearing only those ancient flannel pajama bottoms that clung to Flip’s ass and hips—and nicely framed his cock, which Brayden discovered when Flip turned thirty degrees to grab something from the wardrobe. It wasn’t Brayden’s fault. The bed was at cock level.

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