The Art of Faking Straight

Chapter Seventeen

         "Mornin' sunshine," I hear a voice chirp beside me as I finally begin to wipe the sleep out of my eyes. "I sure like waking up next to you, you know that?"

         I don't say anything to this, because I'm afraid what I want to say will make him wonder if he is in fact dating a girl. Happiness tends to make me talk all sappy, and waking up next to Connor makes me completely ecstatic. He doesn't seem to mind though because he soon continues talking, "It's only seven, you can go back to bed, I know you've gotta be tired after last night."

         I've been awake for a good fifteen minutes or so, but laying here, in the warm bed, next to an ever warmer body, well that just seems a lot damn better than doing anything else I could possibly do on a Saturday morning, especially at seven. Even more when I know what I'm going to have to face when I walk out of this bedroom. I know the house will be trashed, I know I'm going to have a headache from hell, and I know that I'm probably not going to be able to do anything I actually want for the remainder of the weekend.

         I open both of my eyes fully now, and notice that Connor's laying there without anything on except for some boxers, which sends a few million thoughts to my brain immediately. Though, they're not bad, just lustful thoughts, happy thoughts, memories.

         "We didn't...."

         I can't seem to find the appropriate words to make this seem less awkward, if that's even possible, so I just trail off and an awkward silence soon follows. I've always heard dreadful and terrifying stories about the morning after, but I've never actually experienced any of them personally. Usually I didn't have to deal with it, I'm a heavy sleeper, and usually the girls are just as well equipped in the sexual department as I am so I don't have to worry about the awkward conversation that is sure to follow a passionate night. Yet here I am, laying on a bed in my best friend's house alongside a guy, almost bare, and trying to remember everything that happened last night. I remember most of it, but it's a bit foggy towards the part where I know I was making odd noises that hopefully went unheard to the remainder of the house.

         "Have sex?" Connor's facial expression turns to one of amusement, and then he leans closer to my ear and whispers, "You bet your sweet ass cheeks we did."

         I push him away from me, making him land on his back. Then I begin to laugh because I know he has to be kidding with a facial expression like that, and a line like that. We couldn't possibly have went all the way, I know I would remember that, but I had just wanted to make sure, thankfully, we didn't.

         "And," he begins to say as he leans back up and props himself up on his elbow, "you were obviously bottom."

         I can't help the shock that is definitely showing on my face when he says that, even though I know he's kidding. Which is when I decide that maybe, just maybe, Connor's a bit delusional. "In your dreams," I tell him, but my voice is so low I can't tell if he hears.

         He smiles, then says, "You're right," then he leans forward again, as if to say something else, so I push him back down again easily, but this sends an intense throbbing to my head so I quickly lay back down.

         What a lightweight I am.

         "Headache?"

         I just give Connor the thumbs up sign, for fear of doing anything remotely stupid enough to cause the ache to worsen. His face turns to one of worry for a second, I have no idea why, then he gives me a sad smile.

         "I think my head is going to split into two," I say softly. "Or explode."

         Connor just laughs as softly as one can, then sits back up, staring at me intently, but before I can say anything he starts talking again, but this time much quieter. "I think I'm going to get dressed, in case anyone else is up."