Page 116 of Faking It With the Small-Town Bad Boy

hers.

And neither can I.

FAVORS

Leah

I stare at the ceiling for decades, my mind in a constant

monochromatic watercolor of chaos. I feel like I’m floating while laid

out in bed, my chest heavy like someone’s pressing his boot down on

my heart and pinning my back into the mud beneath me.

In reality, I’m in bed trudging through the night with a head full of

lackluster thoughts and a soul that’s old, dry, and flaking off with

every passing hour.

“Hey,” a light voice calls, Percy’s tone like the shuffling of feet on

Christmas morning.

He’s hopeful and upbeat, but I’m not sure if it’s for show or if he’s

just trying to inflict that emotion onto me. Either way, I finally decide

it’s time to sit up in bed, and I pull the blankets with me in my strain.

His hair is slightly damp, his body reclothed in some pajama pants,

while his shirtless physique whips my focus.

Percy is the breed of charming that deserves to be admired by the

masses, but I’m too entranced with his beauty to think about anyone

else obsessing over him. It’s a weird place to be. I want him to whisk

me away to another world at times and be alone with me forever, but

then I deflate back down to reality and realize how different we are,

how this interaction has a time limit.

Tick, tock.

The time limit feels like it’s closing in on me slowly, just another

pressure I can’t address right now, and that I may never want to

address again.

I’ll add to the list of things I’ll deal with later.

“You look confused to see me,” Percy points on, hands in his pants

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