We agreed to meet the following evening at his place to begin what Mitch referred to as “basic boyfriend lessons.” According to him, we needed at least a one-hour rehearsal before we attempted to do anything in front of a camera. We lived a few blocks away from each other, which made an end-of-day meeting convenient. I showered at school after my second practice and grabbed something to eat on campus to avoid traffic and ended up arriving fifteen minutes early. I thought about going home, but it hardly seemed worth the trip. Besides, I didn’t want to chance running into Derek. Not until I had my story down.

I parked my battered Highlander on the street in front of a pristine white stucco house with green shutters and pretty window boxes. A low hedge lined the path to the front door decorated with a giant floral wreath. I didn’t see the garage, though. I pulled out my cell and reread Mitch’s last text message as I stepped onto the front porch.

Park in the alley behind the street. I’ll be home by 8. Come any time after.

I glanced at the time. Seven forty-five. Hmm. I could wait in my truck or—

“Hello, dear. Can I help you?”

I jumped back in surprise and almost landed flat on my ass. “Oh! Yeah, um…I’m sorry. I’m—I’m looking for Mitch.”

An old woman wearing a leopard print tracksuit stood in the open doorway. She had snow-white hair and sinewy, birdlike features that gave her a fragile look. But the mischievous glint in her blue-shadowed eyes hinted at a sense of humor that reminded me of Mitch. She must be his grandmother.

“Mitchell should be home soon. He usually pops inside to say hello, but I haven’t seen him yet. Stay where you are for a sec. The boy’s got big opinions about safety. Let me give him a call real quick. What did you say your name was?”

“Evan. Evan di Angelo,” I said, offering her my hand.

“Aren’t you charming?” She smiled brightly and shook my hand. Then she pulled a huge phone from her pocket and pushed a button before holding it to her ear. “Hello, sweetheart. You have a visitor. A handsome young man named Ivan.”

“Evan.” I corrected her in a low voice.

“Oh. It’s Evan. Evan of the angels. That’s what your name means, dear.” She patted my hand, then refocused on her conversation with a series of “mmmhmms” before addressing me again. “Mitchell would like to speak with you. He sounds flustered. That must mean he likes you.”

I stared at the bedazzled hot pink case for a second before taking the cell and putting it to my ear. “Hi, Mitchell.”

“You’re early and you’re in the wrong place. You were supposed to meet me in the alley, not at my grandmother’s front door.”

“I’m good. How are you?” I replied flippantly.

I tried not to chuckle when he growled in response. I could just imagine him stuck at a traffic light on Pacific Coast Highway with steam coming from his ears. In a way, I understood. My parents were excruciatingly embarrassing whenever I brought friends over. I always worried they’d dig out my baby books. It had happened before, so it wasn’t entirely outside the realm of possibility.

“Ugh. I’ll be there in five minutes or less.”

“Take your time…honey.” I disconnected the call, then handed his grandmother her phone. “Thanks. He’ll be here soon. I can wait in my truck.”

“Nonsense! Come inside,” she insisted.

She held the door open, pausing in the foyer to give me a thorough once-over. “Are you hungry? I made raspberry thumbprint cookies today. Mitchell’s favorite. You can test them out for me and tell me all about yourself while you wait. I’m Maryanne, by the way.”

“It’s nice to meet you.” I returned her megawatt grin and followed her through what could only be described as a time warp.

Plastic runners protected gold carpet in the formal living room. The furniture had an old but well-preserved look as though it had rarely been used. Family photographs covered the walls. She moved slowly enough that I was able to tell most of the pictures were of a younger Maryanne with two boys, whom I assumed were her sons. Once we moved into the adjoining family room, the decor changed to something a bit more modern. A comfy looking sectional and recliner were positioned in front of a large flat-screen television opposite the open family-style kitchen.

And every inch of wall space here was dedicated to Mitch. Baby, toddler, grade school, high school, and college. I moved closer to examine a particularly cute studio pic of a towheaded, blue-eyed Mitch holding a raggedy-looking stuffed rabbit by the ears. Maryanne stepped beside me and pointed at the glass.

“My Mitchell was four years old here. I’ve never seen a more beautiful child in my life. And I’m not just saying that because he’s my grandson. Look at that face. Gorgeous, isn’t he?” She turned to me with a radiant grin and winked. “Let’s get you that cookie.”

She pointed at a round dining table situated between the living and kitchen areas and instructed me to sit while she rustled up a few goodies. She reappeared a minute later with a plate and a stack of napkins.

“Thanks,” I said as I reached for a cookie.

“Enjoy. I put water in the kettle for tea for you boys too. Green tea. No caffeine to mess with your slumber. Unless you want that. You can choose. I have plain ol’ Lipton’s too. Or coffee. Would you prefer coffee?”

“No, thank you. Wow. These are delicious.”

“This is an old family recipe. My grandmother made these for me many moons ago,” she replied with a laugh. “She lived three blocks away from this very house—if you can believe that.”

“Oh. That’s cool. So you’re from Long Beach originally?” I asked politely.

“Yes. I’ve lived here almost all of my life. I raised my own family in this house. It didn’t always look like this. The kitchen wasn’t as fancy, and a few rooms were added here and there. But I’ve been here for forty-odd years. Let me tell you…time flies!” she chuckled.

I smiled and nodded in agreement. “Is Mitch your only grandson?”

“Yes.” Her eyes took on a faraway look as though she was bracing herself against something painful. “I had two sons. Calvin died far too young, and the other is Wyatt, Mitchell’s father. I don’t see him often. He’s a busy man. An important chef in Hollywood. Mitchell looked a bit like his dad when he was a child, but now I think he resembles his mother’s side of the family. She’s a cracker for sure.”

“A cracker?”

“Oh, yes.” Maryanne rolled her eyes and huffed. “I suppose we’re all some kind of a cracker, aren’t we? Some people are Ritz crackers or plain ol’ Saltines, and others like to think of themselves as one of those artisan brands that you can only buy in specialty stores.”

I grinned. “And what are you?”

She leaned forward and patted my hand. “I’m not a cracker at all. I’m a cookie. A raspberry thumbprint cookie, I reckon. Depending on the weather and how they’re stored, these cookies can be soft or hard on the outside, but they’re always sweet in the center. Mitchell is the same way. Don’t let that boy fool you, dear. He’s the kindest soul you’ll ever meet and very sensitive. When Mitchell was three years old he—”

“Oh. My. God.” Mitch entered through the kitchen and cast a wide-eyed look between us before zeroing in on his grandmother. “You fed him cookies?”

“Well, of course. We’re just getting to know each other. I like your new boyfriend. He’s a nice young man—and so handsome too,” she gushed, patting my hand affectionately before gazing up at Mitch. “How was your day, dear?”

“I—it was fine. But it just got weird,” he groused. “Grams, Evan and I are gonna head upstairs now.”

“All right, then take your tea with you. And the cookies,” she insisted.

She was up and out of her seat before either of us could argue. Mitch flopped into the chair she vacated and gave me a lopsided smile. “This is what happens when you’re early.”

“I don’t mind. I like her. She fed me cookies and told me I’m handsome,” I said.

Mitch’s smile grew. “She’s pretty awesome. But she talks a lot. I hoped to avoid a prolonged family history lesson. Nothing scares guys away faster than your grandmother whipping out your naked baby photos one minute and pledging her support for gay marriage the next. Whatever. You aren’t likely to fall in love with me, so I guess it doesn’t matter. But if you don’t mind, it’s easier if she thinks we really are boyfriends. She’s a serious romantic and it would take a lot of time to explain why—”

“Here you go! I’ve assembled a few snacks for you boys.” Maryanne sailed into the room, carrying a tray overladen with a teapot, cups, and cookies.

I stood to grab the tray before she tipped it against the table. Mitch hiked his bag on his shoulder and hugged his grandmother. “Thanks, Grams. Did you take your medicine?”

She knit her brow thoughtfully and pulled a small box from her pocket. “What day is it?”

“Tuesday. If the box is empty, you’re okay. Remember, we’re just doing one day at a time now,” Mitch said gently.

She shook the box and then opened it.

“Empty. Now go on and have fun. It was nice to meet you, dear. We have so much more to talk about,” she said to me before stepping backward. “Such a handsome couple. You look like salt and pepper shakers. One light, one dark, but you sure go together nicely.”

“Right. Good night, Grams.” Mitch kissed her cheek and waited for me to say good-bye before ushering me through the kitchen, out the side door, and into a courtyard.

A giant oak tree dominated the space. We walked around the perimeter to a set of stairs next to an unattached garage. I adjusted the tray in my arms before following him to his studio. Mitch hurried ahead to unlock the door. He held it open and then gestured for me to set the tray on the mini standalone island next to the kitchenette. I obeyed, glancing at my surroundings while Mitch poured tea for us.

The apartment was the size of a semi-generous hotel room with a queen-sized bed on one end under a window and a kitchenette on the opposite side. I couldn’t see the bathroom, but it was probably located where the wall cut off next to the sink. The decor was mid-century modern or a perfect blend of his grandmother’s formal living and family rooms…minus the personal photos. The walls were white and the funky art over his bed complemented the primary color palette of the duvet.

“Nice place,” I commented as I perched on one of the barstools at the tiny island.

“I like it. It’s close to school, the beach, and…family. Sometimes a little too close to family but that’s okay. She needs me now. I don’t mind. I’m giving you green tea, by the way. Lipton sucks.” Mitch pushed a white teacup toward me, then skirted the island and sat down. “Help yourself to another cookie too.”

“Thanks. She’s cool. You’re lucky to still have grandparents around. I only have one. My grandmother lives in Italy. We used to visit once a year when we were kids, but it got expensive for a family of four to travel. I haven’t been since the acci—it’s been a few years,” I finished quickly before stuffing a cookie in my mouth.

“So you’re Italian?”

“Half Italian, half Irish.” I brushed my hands on my jeans and narrowed my gaze. “Is she okay? You seemed kinda worried about her.”

Mitch shot a surprised glance at me. “She had a heart attack last year. She’s fine now, but she fell a few months ago and suddenly, she’s forgetting things she shouldn’t. Like taking her medicine. I’ve started separating her pills daily instead of weekly, but it doesn’t always help. She’s pretty spry for eighty-three and sharp too, but the doctor said it wasn’t unusual for mild dementia to be a side effect of a fall at her age. So yeah…I worry about her.” He waited a beat and added, “And I really worry when I think about what she said to you in the ten measly minutes you were alone with her. Grams has no filter. That’s not new, though. She’s always been that way.”

“She didn’t say much. She talked about your parents and—”

“What?” he asked, widening his eyes comically.

“Don’t freak out. She didn’t tell any big secrets.”

Mitch sighed wearily. “We don’t see my parents often. They divorced about ten years ago. Mom went to New York to see if she could make it on Broadway. I see her once a year. Maybe. And Dad is a so-called celebrity chef. If I’m lucky, I see him less than that. It’s just Grams and me. She’s been taking care of me for a while now, so it’s my turn to take care of her. What about you? I should probably know where you’re from and how many siblings you have for this project.”

“I’m from Pasadena. I have one younger brother, Eli. He’s a junior at Pepperdine. My dad teaches biology at the city college and my mom is an astrophysicist. She works at JPL.”

He cocked his head curiously. “What does that stand for again?”

“NASA Jet Propulsion Lab.”

“Whoa. You’ve got some smart folks in your family,” he drawled in a hick accent.

“And then there’s me. I didn’t get any of their science or math smarts. I took my time in college so I could play football, but I have no idea what comes next.”

“I don’t either. Grad school, I hope. But the future is a mystery. You have to take it one day at a time and work hard to make good things happen.”

I stared at him in awe for a moment. It was like he read my mind and was reciting my daily mantra back to me. Although some days, mine had a more desperate edge to it. You’ve got this. Don’t fuck it up.

“Positive thinking helps,” I replied lamely as I lifted my cup to my mouth. I sipped the green tea and winced. Yuck. No wonder I never drank tea.

Mitch snickered. “Do you want water or coffee instead? I have ginger kombucha too. But since it’s basically fermented tea, you won’t like that either. And that stuff is expensive. I’m not sharing if you don’t love it.”

“Keep the tea. I’ll take you up on that water, though. Please,” I added.

“You got it.” He stood gracefully and moved to the other side of the mini island. He grabbed a water bottle from an open shelf and slid it toward me. “This is actually a very helpful exercise. It ties in neatly with what I wanted to go over tonight. Likes and dislikes. I figured we could play a quick game of Either Or, take a few selfies and…I think we need a signature move.”

“Signature move? I don’t like the sound of that.”

“It’ll be fun,” he insisted.

“Keep talking.” I uncapped the water bottle and took a healthy swig.

“Okay. Here’s what I’m thinking.” Mitch tapped his fingers rhythmically, then paced the two feet to the sink and back again. “An icebreaker game is perfect for an opening episode. We get to know each other a little more, and our audience gets to know us. We’ll keep it simple. Chocolate or vanilla?”

I frowned. “That’s not even a question. Chocolate.”

“Cat or dog, Netflix and chill or party, beach or pool, tropics or mountains?”

“Dog, Netflix, beach and…hmm, both,” I replied quickly.

“Look at us! Already we’re so compatible! But I say tropics over mountains. I’m dying to go back to Hawaii. Anyway, you get the idea. I have more interesting questions, and obviously we can ad-lib too.”

“Sounds easy. And the signature move?”

Mitch put his hands over his mouth as though holding back a bubble of laughter. “Yes, a dance.”

“I don’t dance,” I deadpanned.

“Of course you do! Football players are great dancers. You’ll be awesome.”

“No, thanks. I’m awesome enough as is.”

“This move will make you triple-awesome,” Mitch assured me with a Cheshire cat grin. “Check it out.”

He stepped backward and swung his arms over his head. Then he brought them down low and shook his ass. He repeated the sequence and ended with an “air” high five.

“I’m not doin’ that.”

“Try it. Just once. Pretty please,” he singsonged.

I held his sugary stare with an unfriendly one that should have made him drop the subject instantly. When he didn’t look away, I sighed dramatically and stood. “Fine. Once. That’s it.”

Mitch whooped and hurried to join me on the other side of the island. “Super easy. Hands in the air like this. Oh, wait. We need music.”

“No, we don’t.”

Mitch ignored me. He pulled his cell from his pocket, pushed a few keys, and set it on the counter before standing in front of me. “Okay. Hands in the air, then bring ’em down, back up again, shake your booty, high five.”

I followed his instructions with a scowl firmly in place. I was about to lift my arms a second time when Miley Cyrus’s “Party in the USA” blasted through his home speaker system.

“Are you kidding me with this song?”

Mitch danced around me, bopping to the beat and humming along. “This song is perfect! It’s happy and fun, and it makes you want to dance. We can’t play it on the video for copyright reasons, but it’s a good song to have in your head when you’re shakin’ your ass. Come on, Ev. Don’t give me the monster mash version. Shake it like you mean it!”

He did his “hands up, down, shake it” dance, adding a sexy grind and snap and signaled for me to join in. I played along for the duration of the song for a couple of reasons. One, it seemed kind of dickish not to participate and two, his silly sense of fun was contagious.

When the song finally ended, I gave him a bro-style shoulder nudge and laughed. “Don’t tell me we’re doing that for three minutes.”

“God, no! We’d lose our audience within fifteen seconds. The itinerary is short and simple. Intro, content, closing song, done. The intro will go something like this…” Mitch cleared his throat and stared into the distance, then said, “Count me in.”

“Uh…one, two—”

“No, no. Always count backward in show biz and in this instance, start at five.” He waited for me to comply. When I reached “one,” his smile grew and lit his handsome face. “Hi, I’m Mitch and this is my boyfriend, Evan. Or is he? We’re starting a new game on my channel called ‘Faux or No?’ Make sure you hit the ‘subscribe’ button so you can weigh in. Over the next couple of months, we’re going to give you a teensy glimpse into our relationship. Nothing too kinky. We won’t be filming in bed…unless Evan says so.”

I frowned when he pointed at me with an expectant look. “What do you want me to say?”

Mitch rolled his eyes. “If I told you we were filming in bed, how would you respond?”

“Fuck, no.”

“Exactly. Except…no swearing. Let’s try it again.”

“But that’s what I’d say. Why censor it?”

“Because I love the F-word as much as anyone else, but it doesn’t translate well on these kinds of videos. It’s not a problem to say it once in a while, but it can’t be everyone’s first impression of you.”

“Why the fuck not?” I challenged.

Mitch scoffed. “Now you’re just being a real fuckhead. Cooperate, please. This is your intro. Oh, and maybe you should put your arm around me and kiss my cheek.”

“Now?”

“Yes. This is a rehearsal, so…go for it.”

I moved to his side, slipped my arm around his waist, and kissed his cheek. His scruff threw me off stride. It wasn’t noticeable because his facial hair was blond, but I could feel it. He smelled and felt different from anyone I’d ever kissed before. Sure, I’d kissed male relatives. I was part Italian. No one in my family shied from physical contact. But a hug and kiss on each cheek from my Uncle Gianni was different from kissing an attractive man. I caressed his cheek impulsively and then leaned in to sniff him the way I’d wanted to since the party. “Mmm.”

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“You smell good. I’ve never kissed a guy I wasn’t related to who had a five o’clock shadow.”

Mitch gave me a funny look. “You kissed me yesterday at lunch.”

“Yeah, but you haven’t shaved since this morning, right? The texture is like sandpaper…but in a good way. I like it,” I assured him.

He looked flustered for a second but recovered quickly. “Well, that’ll make the real kiss easier then.”

“Right. When do we kiss, and what’s the intensity level supposed to be? G, PG, PG-13? Or are we going straight to the nasty?” I teased.

“Ha. G is peck on the cheek, which we just covered. PG is peck on the lips. That should be fine.”

“Got it. Maybe we should practice first,” I said.

“Um…sure.” Mitch turned around and gestured toward the bar stools at the island. “We can sit there, and I’ll set up the tripod a foot or so from where you’re standing now.”

“We don’t have to be in exact position. I just need to get used to touching you. It would be the same with anyone. Guy or girl.”

Okay, fine. I wanted to do it again. I’d thought about him nonstop since the party last weekend. And that throwaway kiss yesterday at the restaurant had opened a Pandora’s box. I was consumed now. I didn’t want to practice kissing him. I had to or I’d go crazy.

“Maybe you’re right. Um…okay. You can kiss me,” he said in a low voice.

“Well, you have to participate,” I chided as I stepped into his space.

“I’m…yes. Do you want to go first? Like…” Mitch set his hand on my hip and inched closer still. “…this?”

I lifted my right hand and hovered it above his ear for a moment before threading my fingers through his hair. He suddenly looked nervous, which somehow worked in my favor. I held his gaze, then moved forward and gently pressed my lips to his. And fuck, it felt amazing to be here again. I tilted my head slightly, loving the intoxicating contrast of his soft lips and scratchy chin. Mitch closed his eyes and hooked his arms around my neck so we stood toe-to-toe and chest-to-chest. All the ways this felt different no longer applied. I knew what to do here. I was practically a fucking expert.

I cradled the back of his neck and licked his bottom lip. He let me in immediately, gliding his tongue alongside mine in a slow, sexy maneuver that made my pulse race. My instincts screamed for me to keep going. I owed it to myself to see where this led. I deepened the connection, twisting my tongue with his in a building frenzy. Then I lowered my hand down his back and pulled him against me, so my half-hard cock grazed his—

Oh, fuck.

I released him quickly and swiped my hand across my mouth as I tried to think of how to defuse any potential awkwardness. The best method for dealing with uncertainty was humor, but nothing seemed particularly funny at the moment. My heart was pounding, my brain felt fuzzy, and the longer I stared at his swollen lips, the more I wanted to pull him close again and see what might happen next.

Mitch looked like he felt the same. A little shell-shocked but definitely curious. I started forward but just as my momentum shifted, I lost my nerve.

I gulped and let out a strained half chuckle. “Was that what you had in mind?”

“Uh…y-yeah. Um, let’s just go through a few questions.” He bit his bottom lip and fuck, that was hotter than it should have been. “I flagged fifty good ones that—”

“Fifty?” I asked incredulously.

“Well, yeah. There are a lot of categories. Food, music and…sex.”

“Oookay.”

“I know…weird. But sex sells and if we really were a couple, we’d be thinking about it constantly. Didn’t you say it’s practically part of our DNA at the party?”

“True. I’m thinking about it right now,” I said unthinkingly.

“You are?”

“Yeah, but…”

“But what?” he prodded.

“That kiss…” I paced to the door and back. “That was fucking hot. If you ask me one sex question, I might actually come in my jeans.”

“Are you sure you aren’t bi?” he asked, furrowing his brow.

“I never said I wasn’t,” I countered.

“Right. You said ‘fluid,’ which probably means ‘curious.’ Okay, I can work with that,” he said with a naughty lopsided grin before picking up his cell and perching on one of the barstools. “Let’s continue, shall we?”

“Bring it on.”

I flopped onto the stool next to him and studied his profile as he scrolled through his phone, aware that I was sitting closer than necessary. My leg was less than an inch from his. But that would be normal if we really were a couple. In fact, we’d be in constant contact. Lovers touched unconsciously. Didn’t they? Of course, I was no expert. I hadn’t been in a relationship that lasted longer than three months in a while.

My theory was worth testing, though. I rested my knee against his and waited with my heart in my throat to see what he’d do.

Nothing. Hmm. Interesting.

“Pretty Little Liars or Real Housewives?”

My gaze shifted from our knees to his mouth and all I could think was, Damn, I want to kiss him again. And touch him and—I refocused when I caught his expectant look. I ran the question he’d asked through my head and scowled.

“No stupid questions allowed.”

Mitch snorted. “It’s not stupid. It’s—”

“Just move on to the sex.”

“Are you sure?” He snickered when I rolled my eyes; then he sat up tall on his barstool and crossed his legs so we were no longer touching. I didn’t like the loss of contact, but it was probably for the best. My awareness of him was freaking me out.

“Positive.”

“Would you rather have sex in a public bathroom or library?”

“Bathroom,” I replied immediately.

Mitch squinted at me. “Have you ever?”

“Yeah, have you?”

He pursed his lips and nodded. “Yes. Um, next question. Lights on or off? Missionary or doggie? Sex toys or—”

“Hold on. You’re moving kinda fast there, cowboy. Let’s see…if I can only choose one, lights on, missionary, and yes to sex toys. You?”

“Missionary?”

“Yeah, I’m a visual person. You can’t tell if your partner is having as much fun as you are unless you can see for yourself,” I said.

“You can see if your positions are reversed too.”

“Obviously.”

“No, I meant like…if your partner is riding you, ya know?”

I gave him a sly sideways grin and nodded. “Yeah, I know what you mean. Giddy up, cowboy. I prefer being on top. Maybe that’s something you should know.”

Mitch snorted in amusement. “Right. Thanks for sharing. I guess what I’m trying to say is that if you’re with the right person, you can tell without seeing their expression.”

“What does that have to do with your favorite position?”

“I don’t know,” he said, sounding flustered. “Let’s move on. Do you—”

“Wait. I have another question. By ‘right person,’ do you mean a soul mate? Have you ever had that?”

Mitch cocked his head and then shook it. “No. Have you?”

“No. Not even close.” I paused for a moment before continuing. “What about Rory?”

“No. I liked him a lot, but we didn’t connect on a deep level. Too much fear in the way. People at school probably guessed he was bi, but he wasn’t ready to be truly out. I wouldn’t have even asked him to do this show with me. He would have felt too exposed. Rory couldn’t handle the possibility of anyone thinking he might be attracted to a guy. When I realized he was always going to fixate on how others saw him and how it made him feel, I knew we were over. It’s too bad. The sex was amazing.”

His saucy smile went well with his flippant delivery, but I was too unsettled to appreciate it and I couldn’t say why. Okay, that was a lie. I was jealous again. Very, very jealous. An ugly green haze clouded my vision and made it difficult to see straight. And why? Because I didn’t like that he had sex with his boyfriend? That didn’t make sense. Nonetheless, the thought of him riding Rory cowboy-style made my blood boil.

“Hmph. Well, Rory’s an idiot.” I stood abruptly and hooked my thumb toward the door. “I’m gonna go. When do you want to film this?”

“Next week is good,” he said with a frown. He joined me at the door but tugged at my belt loop before I could open it. “Hey, are you mad or something?”

“Why would I be?”

“I don’t know. You brought up Rory, not me.”

I winced. “I know. I just—the Rory thing is…weird. I don’t like the guy.”

“It’s over, so don’t worry about it.”

“Yeah.” I nodded and put my hand on the doorknob. Then I turned to face him and shook my head wildly. “That’s not really it. I—that kiss was intense. Or was that just me?”

“It was very intense.” Mitch went still and licked his lips. “PG-13 for sure. It doesn’t have to be like that on the post. We can tone it down a bit or even take it out altogether.”

“No. I liked it. I’m…” I let out a rush of air and then shrugged awkwardly. “I’m gonna tell you a secret. No one knows this. And I mean no one. Not even Derek.”

“You can trust me.”

I studied him for a moment thoughtfully. “I lied about kissing a guy.”

“Okay…”

I inclined my head and rambled on in what had to sound like the world’s longest run-on sentence. “When I was thirteen, I was at a party and a group of kids decided to play Spin the Bottle. I didn’t know how it worked, so like a true dumbshit, I volunteered to go first. I spun the bottle and said a silent prayer it landed on Emily Korbel. I had a mini crush on her. We kissed once at the homecoming dance in a dark corner of the gym. One of those lip to lip things. No big deal. I was hoping for another shot but instead…it landed on Brian Markus. Everyone went crazy. They hollered for us to ‘kiss, kiss, kiss’ and I didn’t know what to do. I froze. But Brian seemed okay with it. He whispered something to me like, “Do it fast and get it over with.” So I did and…it wasn’t so bad at all. I actually kind of liked it. His lips were soft, and he smelled like peppermint. I thought about it nonstop for years. That kiss fueled a few memorable jack-off sessions. I always wanted to tell him that but I didn’t dare. Do you understand?”

I went quiet and willed Mitch to intervene and tell me he got what I was trying to say. Of course, I didn’t really understand myself, but…that didn’t have to mean anything.

“Evan, you were in junior high,” he said patiently. “No one’s going to hold a Spin the Bottle gay kiss against you. It doesn’t mean you’re more like me either, so if that’s your big secret, don’t let it keep you up at night.”

“That’s not it at all,” I huffed and pushed my fingers through my hair in frustration. “Look, I-I’ve done it more than once with another guy too.”

“You did?” he asked, clearly confused.

“But…it never felt like this. I liked kissing you. I liked it yesterday at lunch, and I liked doing it a few minutes ago even more. Your lips are soft and sweet, and you smell better than peppermint. That’s all.”

Mitch opened his mouth and closed it twice. “Thank you.”

“Next week, same day?” I asked, turning the doorknob.

“Um, Tuesday won’t work. Let’s say Thursday. I have to cheer at the men’s volleyball game that night, but I should be home by eight. Fair warning, if you get here early, you risk having tea and cookies with my grandmother again.”

“I don’t mind.”

Mitch’s smile morphed into a radiant grin that poured from him like sunshine. I stared for a moment, admiring his golden hair and pretty eyes. Fuck. No, that adjective wasn’t strong enough. His eyes were beautiful. Hell, he was beautiful and…

And I was seconds away from creeping myself out. What was wrong with me?

“You’re a good guy, Ev. I’ll see you next time. You can get to your car through the side gate. It’ll lead you to the street. Park in the alley behind the garage next time. Oh…and wear black,” he said as I stepped onto the landing.

“Why black?”

“So we can coordinate,” he replied matter-of-factly.

“No way. If we were a real couple, I’d go out of my way not to match with you,” I huffed.

Mitch chuckled. “Not matching. Coordinating. It’s a lighting and general aesthetic thing. We want to look visually pleasing on film. I can always change when you get here, but it’s already going to be late and I don’t want to waste any time.”

“Hmph. I’ll probably forget.”

“I’ll remind you.”

“How long can it possibly take to film a ten-to-fifteen-minute segment?”

“A couple of hours.”

“What? How?” I asked incredulously.

“There’s a lot to it! Okay, maybe it won’t take that much time. I’m not sure. I’ll try to set up the lighting ahead of time, and we can rehearse a little so we’re both comfortable. But once I press record, it’s pretty free-flowing, which means we’ll make mistakes, and I’ll have to do a lot of editing. In this case, more is better. I don’t want to be left with five minutes of nothing exciting.”

“All right. Whatever you say.”

“God, you’re already a dream boyfriend,” he commented in a swoony tone, batting his eyelashes. “Are you going to kiss me goodnight too?”

I barked a quick laugh and started down the steps. But halfway to the bottom, I turned back and met him at the door. Mitch cocked his head curiously, but he didn’t flinch when I held his chin and kissed him. It was supposed to be lighthearted. Almost a joke. But when I pulled back, we stared at each other and smiled and…I had to do it again. The right way. I leaned in and hovered my lips over his and then licked the seam. He let me immediately. He hummed appreciatively, wrapping his arms around my neck and raking his fingers through my hair. I glided my tongue alongside his in a sweet, slow exploration that made me weak in the knees. I didn’t pull back until we were breathless and in danger of heading someplace we couldn’t easily navigate back from. I pulled away and then stepped aside.

“See ya,” I said huskily before heading down the stairs and out the gate.

I hurried to my SUV, jumped inside, turned on the engine, and sped down the block. I came to a screeching halt at the stop sign at the end of the residential street. Adrenaline coursed through my veins. I felt oddly energized yet freaked out at the same time.

I knew why. I’d been here before, and I told myself I’d never do this again. And I’d been doing just fine until Mitch came along. I loosened my hold on the wheel and ran my finger over my bottom lip.

Fuck, I wanted him.

I wasn’t mildly curious. I was consumed. I burned with a feverish intensity I’d never felt off a football field. Everything in me wanted to turn around now and tell him the truth. Explain who I was, what I wanted, and why I was so fucking afraid. Selling myself as a good guy who was willing to help a friend of a friend was dishonest. But the truth…that shit was scary. I’d been through hell and back five years ago because of my so-called truth. I had physical and mental scars, broken dreams, and a host of issues I never talked about anymore.

And if I did this project with Mitch and jumped into cyberland, pretending to be his boyfriend, I’d reveal myself. My friends, family, and teammates might not believe the boyfriend story, but they’d wonder what I was thinking. Eventually, the truth would come out. Was I ready for this?

I glanced into my rearview mirror when a car pulled up behind me. I nodded to myself and then shook my head ruefully. Fuck, no. But I wasn’t backing down or bowing out. Not this time.