“Don’t apologize.” He comes around to my side of the bed and takes me by the forearm. “I signed up for this. I’ll do whatever you need me to do to make it work. And I’m not sneaking out the window like we’re in high school.”

I can’t drag my eyes away from where he’s holding on to me. That itch is gone. “I’m sorry I’m such a mess.”

His grip tightens, and my eyes jolt up to meet his. “What did I say about apologizing?”

I figure it’s a rhetorical question, but he continues to stare at me imploringly until I swallow the lump in my throat and answer him. “You said don’t. But—”

“Nope,” he cuts me off. “Stop.” He moves to sit on the edge of the bed, tugging me gently so I sit beside him. “You’re not a mess. Lying to May’s grandparents about having a boyfriend probably wasn’t the best thing to do, but for whatever reason, you feel like you can’t tell them the truth now. So we’re doing this.”

He pauses and squeezes my arm. “Personally, I think if you gave them the chance, they’d accept you for who you are, and they’d realize that being in a relationship doesn’t make you somehow a better person. But you asked me to be your fake boyfriend, so I promise I’m going to do a good job at it. If you want me to stay the night, I can stay the night.”

When he lets go of me, I immediately mourn the loss of contact. It’s as if I’m suddenly touch-starved or something. Which is weird. I’m not usually like this. May’s always been available for cuddles whenever I need them.

But Travis’s touch is different. It’s solid, steady. Like him.

It makes me feel like I can be solid too.

“If you’re sure you don’t mind, then you should probably stay so they don’t suspect anything,” I concede. “We should go over the details of what faking this relationship is actually going to look like anyway, and what we’re each comfortable with doing. And then I can sleep on the floor.”

“You’re not sleeping on the floor,” he argues, angling himself toward me so his knee presses slightly into my thigh. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“You’re my guest. I can’t let you do that.”

His smile is teasing. “I’m not your guest. I’m your boyfriend, remember?”

“Fake,” I remind him.

He shrugs.

“Is it...” I clear my throat. “Is it maybe okay for fake boyfriends to share a bed?”