The Fake Out: An utterly hilarious and totally heart-warming romantic comedy
The Fake Out: Chapter 11

There’s only one thing I want to change about you: your last name.

—MELANIE K.

I woke up to Iris laughing, low and devious.

“Go away, I’m sleeping,” I grumbled and snuggled close to the warmth wrapped around me.

“Leave her alone,” my mom whispered. “You know she doesn’t sleep enough.”

“I’m taking a million pictures,” Iris said. “Then I’m putting them all on Instagram.”

“Please don’t do that,” another voice said, deep and rumbly. So deep and rumbly, it was like I could feel it through my whole body.

“She won’t, I promise,” Mama said in a reassuring tone. “Thank you for coming to check on her. I knew she wasn’t feeling well. She works herself to death.”

“She’s kind of bitchy when she’s sick,” Iris said.

That pierced through my sleepy brain fog.

“Iris Marie, watch your mouth.” Mama said. “Go and get my chair, please.”

My heart thudded against my ribs as I tried to work out exactly what was happening here. I was laying on my couch. Except I wasn’t laying on the couch exactly. Unless the couch had started breathing and grew an arm to wrap around me and smelled clean and…

My eyes snapped open.

I was laying on a couch made of Chris. How had this happened? I took a shaky breath.

“I’m sorry. Do you need some help?” Chris said from very near my ear.

“Oh, no, honey, you stay right there,” Mama said. “I just overdid it today.”

“Here, Mama,” Iris said, presumably returning with her wheelchair. There were a few seconds of rustling after which Mama released a long sigh.

“Young man, I didn’t realize you and Mae were friends.”

“We’re good friends,” he said. That’s when I felt the hand he’d had resting on my back slide under the blanket. It made its way down my arm, raising goosebumps, where it landed on my side. Then he pinched me.

With a yelp, I rolled off the couch and fought my way out of the blanket. “Why did you do that?”

“Do what?” Chris asked, all dark innocent eyes, but I saw the teasing twinkle.

“Mae, honey, how are you feeling?” Mama asked.

“Yeah, Mae, how are you feeling?” Iris repeated, not even bothering to contain her amusement.

I stood and wrapped the blanket around me like a cape. “I’m fine, thank you. I had a little headache, is all. And”—I pointed at the couch—“this is not what it looked like. I must have… have…”

“She fell asleep. Just tipped right over against me and fell asleep,” Chris said. “I figured it was better to let her rest than wake her up.”

“That’s very kind of you,” Mama said.

“You’re a real prince,” I snapped and pulled the blanket even tighter around me.

“She’s not very nice when she doesn’t feel good, is she?” Chris asked Mama, his smile amused.

“Oh, she’s terrible,” Mama replied. “Been that way since she was a little girl. Too busy to be sick.”

“Excuse m—” I tried to interrupt and was ignored.

Chris nodded sagely. “That, I can believe.”

“That’s my little Maebe-Baby.”

“Maebe-Baby,” Chris repeated and shot me a half-grin.

“One time in high school,” Mama said, “she insisted on going to school and ended up passing out in the middle of gym class because she was so feverish and dehydrated.”

“You remember that time she broke her arm and refused to tell us?” Iris said.

“Took me two days to realize what was wrong.” Mama’s smile was a little sad.

“She really needs to slow down,” he said.

“I agree. Rest is important.”

“Are the three of you done gossiping like church ladies at a quilting bee?” I cut in.

Mama appeared to be holding back a smile when she nodded.

“I’m going to bed.” I stood as tall as I could and turned to Chris. “Thank you very much for your help, however unnecessary it might have been. I’m sure you can see your way out.”

A grin crawled slowly across his face. “That’s alright. I’m not in much of a rush. I could tuck you in.”

“You are incredibly irritating,” I said, and trudged to my bedroom.

I was halfway there when he called out, “See you later, Maebe-Baby.”

Later, much later, hours in fact, I lay in my bed, tossing and turning because I couldn’t get comfortable. I punched my pillow, kicked the blankets off, and annoyed Kevin so much he moved off the bed to my laundry basket.

I had cuddled with Chris. Cuddled. It wasn’t my fault. It didn’t count because I was sleeping. It was gravity, really. That’s right. It hadn’t been purposeful cuddling. Accidental cuddling meant nothing. There, see?

I groaned and pulled a pillow over my face. Cuddles aside, Chris was a puzzle I couldn’t figure out.

At first, he’d seemed like any other pretty boy I’d had an acquaintance with—flirty, a little arrogant, used to getting his way with a smile. But his actions were an entirely different story. There was a solidness to him, not physically—although, yes, that was also solid—but a solidness of character; he’d shown himself to be thoughtful, understanding, trustworthy. This, more than big, strong muscles or twinkly eyes, was scarily attractive.

In all, it was hard not to like the guy. As a friend. Only as a friend. There was no room in my life for any other messy feelings.

After another twenty sleepless minutes, I tossed the covers off and stomped (but not too loudly as to wake up anyone) into the kitchen for a glass of water and promised myself I would not think about What’s His Name again. Good plan, Mae.

Under the soft glow of the light above the stove, I leaned against the counter, taking sips of water. That was when I noticed it: the dishwasher.

Someone had fixed it.

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