Something warm touches my forearm. Travis’s hand. I’m sure it’s supposed to be a gesture of comfort, but somehow the contact sizzles through me like an electrical current. Which is wrong on so many levels.

It’s not like he’s never touched me before, and I don’t normally react like this. It must be because I’m feeling vulnerable right now. Maybe some wires got crossed in my brain, making sadness and horniness go hand-in-hand.

I don’t want Travis like that. He’s my friend.

And he’s straight.

Not that I’ve ever seen him dating anyone. I would think he’s a monk if it weren’t for the fact that this town is full of nosy (but well-intentioned) people, and I’ve heard stories of how he “sneaks out of town to get his rocks off, thinking no one will find out.”

I don’t know why he doesn’t date. He’d be excellent dating material.

“It’s too bad you’re straight,” I say, letting something absurd fall out of my mouth without thinking for the second time in fifteen minutes.

He studies me, eyes a bit narrowed, like he really doesn’t know what to make of me. Like he’s torn between offense and confusion. And I remind myself that, right, he’s not inside my head, so he couldn’t follow my train of thought.

“If you weren’t straight, I could ask you to be my fake boyfriend,” I tell him, chuckling awkwardly.

Travis blinks at me. Once, twice. Then—“I’m not straight.”

CHAPTER FOUR

TRAVIS

“You’re not... You... What?” Brenden stammers.

And what the hell is wrong with me? Did that really just come out of my mouth?

It’s the truth, but still. He didn’t need to know that. No one in this town knows about my sexuality. Especially my dad.

For a moment, I panic. But if there’s one person in this town I trust not to blab things, it’s Brenden.

“Are you serious?” he asks, when I say nothing to clarify for him.

I glance around us. Two little old ladies are playing a card game at another table, but they’re too far away to overhear. A handful of workers are setting something up out on the lawn, also too far away and probably too busy to eavesdrop.

“Look, why don’t we talk about this later?” I say, avoiding Brenden’s curious eyes. They’re a bright ocean blue, and I could easily sink into their depths if I’m not careful. “Somewhere more private?”

“But—”

“I’ve got to get back in the kitchen before Addison comes out to yell at me.” I’m deflecting, but it’s a fair concern. “I already pressed her buttons by suggesting a cherry-apricot muffin would be better than her strawberry rhubarb.”