Pretend With Me - Chapter 3

I swore to myself we weren’t going to do this anymore.

After what happened—after I literally came in my shorts from making out with my best friend—I wanted to dig a hole and disappear. It wasn’t just embarrassing, it was… confusing. Wrong. Or at least it was supposed to be.

So the next morning I looked Elliot straight in the eye and said, “We’re not doing this anymore.”

He raised an eyebrow like he didn’t believe me. Then he smirked. “Sure, man. Whatever you say. You just looked like you enjoyed it, that’s all.”

My face went hot. “Shut up.”

He leaned back on his chair, grinning, hands behind his head like he’d already won. “You’re blushing.”

And maybe I was.

Later that day, I ended up alone with Lila. Which was supposed to be perfect, right? Finally my chance to talk to her like a normal human being.

She was grabbing a script from her locker and I forced myself to walk up. My chest was pounding.

“Hey, Lila,” I said.

She looked up, smiling politely. “Oh, hey, Adrián.”

I had rehearsed something simple in my head—ask about class, compliment her performance. Easy. But what came out of my mouth was:

“Uh—you, uh… smell like words.”

…

She blinked. “…What?”

“I mean—you, uh—like, books. You smell like books. I mean, you read, right? Not that you smell, I mean, you smell good—”

Her eyebrows knit together, the smile gone. “Okaaay…” She grabbed her script and slipped away, leaving me standing there like the dumbest idiot alive.

I wanted to slam my head into the lockers.

That night I texted Elliot: Come over. I need practice.

Of course, he came running.

When I told him what happened with Lila, he laughed so hard he fell onto my bed. “You actually said she smelled like words? Bro, what the fuck does that even mean?”

“Shut up,” I muttered, covering my face. “I panicked.”

He wiped a tear from his eye. “Okay, okay. Let’s fix this. Where’s the wig?”

I groaned. “No.”

“Yes.” He was already digging it out of my drawer. He plopped it on his head and sat across from me, twirling fake blonde strands like it was his real hair. “Hi, Adrián,” he said in a perfect Lila impression. “You wanted to tell me something?”

I sighed. “We’re not touching this time. Just words. Strict practice.”

He smirked. “Fine. No touching.”

So we started. I pretended to walk up to “Lila.” I tried the lines I should have said. Compliment her role in class, ask about her scene. Elliot nodded along, smiling like her, flipping pages of an imaginary script.

But then he started throwing in little comments.

“You’re staring at my lips.”

“You think about kissing me, don’t you?”

My throat tightened. “Stick to the script, Elliot.”

He tilted his head. “This is the script.” His voice dropped, softer, hotter. “You’re nervous because you want me.”

I clenched my fists. “Stop.”

He leaned in closer, batting the fake hair from his face, still in character. “Why? Are you liking this?”

“Elliot—”

“Tell me the truth.” His eyes burned into mine. “Does this make you want to kiss me?”

Something broke inside me. The words spilled out of me, raw and desperate: “FUUUCK! Yes!”

His smirk deepened. “Then do it.”

I snapped.

I grabbed him by the neck and crushed my mouth to his. No hesitation this time. Just heat. We made out hard, lips smashing, tongues tangling. His wig slipped crooked but neither of us cared. He moaned against my mouth, and the sound shot straight to my cock.

We were grinding against each other instantly, cocks straining through fabric, leaking, desperate. I shoved my hand under his shorts, found the thick outline of his dick, and wrapped my fist around it. He gasped, bucking into my grip.

“Fuck, Adrián…” he moaned into my mouth.

And then his hand was in my shorts too, squeezing my cock, stroking me in rhythm with mine. Our kissing turned sloppy, wet, filthy. I could feel his precum smearing against my palm as he pumped me faster.

I broke away just to gasp for air, forehead pressed to his, both of us panting, hips jerking, hands working each other off like we couldn’t stop.

“Shit—Elliot—I’m—”

“Yeah—me too—fuck—”

We both moaned at the same time and then it hit us. Hot and fast. Cum spilling in our hands, sticky, soaking into our shorts. We jerked each other through the aftershocks until we finally slumped apart, breathless, trembling.

I stared at my hand, at the mess, at him. Horror crashed over me.

What the fuck did we just do?

This wasn’t practice. This wasn’t for Lila. Kissing, grinding, jerking my best friend off—that had nothing to do with her.

I tried to tell myself it was all still acting. Just another scene. Training for the real thing. But deep down I knew jerking a dick wasn’t part of any “straight” rehearsal.

Elliot, of course, didn’t look guilty at all. He just smirked, tugging the wig off, hair damp with sweat.

“Man,” he said, wiping his hand on my blanket, “I am so good at acting.”

And I just sat there, heart pounding, not knowing if I wanted to laugh or scream.