Page 30 of The Fake Out

“Really?”

“Sure. I liked how he was sort of mad all the time and she was optimistic. Somehow, they worked.”

“Ah, the grumpy/sunshine trope.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s a theme you find in stories, especially romances. Grumpy/sunshine is a big one.”

He rubbed a thumb across his bottom lip while he mulled this over. Maybe I watched a little too closely. He had a very nice… thumb. Thumbs don’t get enough credit. They are opposable, after all.

With a smirk, he slid down and flung an arm over the back of the couch. The tips of his fingers grazed my shoulder. “I guess in our friendship, I’d be the sunshine and you’d be the grump.”

“Excuse me?”

He gestured with a hand between us. “You’re the grumpy, and I’m the sunshine. You know, the whole cat/dog thing.”

Then, like they’d secretly met earlier and planned this whole elaborate setup, Kevin sauntered into the room and stood before the couch, surveying his choice of humans. He hopped into the space between us and then regarded me with narrowed yellow eyes before waltzing himself right over to Chris and settling in his lap.

Kevin. The cat who hissed at me this morning because I touched the pillow he was laying on. The same cat who had once so terrified the air conditioner repairman by jumping on his back and clawing his way down that the man had refused to come back. The very one who was at least seventeen years old and so set in his ways he’d been known to sit directly on my face if I was late to get him breakfast.

“I can’t believe you chose him, you furball.”

“Stop. He’ll hear you.” Chris covered Kevin’s ears with his hands. “So grumpy.”

“I’m not grumpy. I am tired.”

Chris arched one dark eyebrow, a cheek dimpling. “Sure.”

“Oh, shut up.” With a huff, I wrapped a blanket around me, ignoring the warm, rankling sound of his laughter.

ELEVEN

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.