Faking Perfection

21|Rocket

２１|Ｒｏｃｋｅｔ

When Mason arrived at my parent's house ten minutes earlier than he was supposed to get here, I knew for a fact he was going to win them over.

I've been telling myself that I've been nervous the entire day because I want this plan to work between us, but the more time Mason and I spend together, the more I start to feel like this thing we have going on is the furthest thing from fake. This is real whether I'd like to admit it or not, and the truth is, I desperately want my family to like him.

The doorbell rings, and since I've been sitting like a lost puppy waiting in the hallway, I dart around the corner to warn my parents. "Mom, Dad, he's here!" I'm not surprised when I catch them making out in the kitchen. My Dad is grabbing her ass, and I wrinkle my nose up in disgust. "Do you guys ever get a room?"

My palms are sweating profusely, and my heart is racing when I rush back down the hallway to answer the door. Mason is standing on the other side in slacks and a white button-down dress shirt with a suit jacket over top. My parent's haven't arrived in the foyer yet, and I watch his eyes rake down my body, darkening slightly before he clears his throat and says, "Iz, wow. You look stunning. Is that the dress you texted me a picture of when you went shopping?"

The same dress I also sent him a nude in? Yes. The pink chiffon fabric and balloon sleeves cling to my body as I lean in to give him a hug, and my heart swells at the fact he noticed. "Yeah. I can't believe you remembered that. Uh, come in. You can take your shoes off right here."

He pulls me in closer before I pull away, leaning into my ear to whisper, "Don't forget I saw what you had underneath that dress in that photo, Isabelle. What are the odds I convince your Dad to let me take you out tonight after this?"

I'm too short of breath from his lips against my ear to answer. Footsteps clatter down the hall, so I quickly pull away as he slides his dress loafers off and places them by the door.

My Mom enters first, followed by my Dad. My Mom, toned and beautiful as ever, not looking a day over thirty, instantly wraps Mason in a warm embrace. "Mason, it's so nice to meet you," she gushes. "I hope you like chicken."

"I do," he replies. "It smells amazing."

And then, the moment I've been dreading, his eyes meet my father's.

Cameron Holden is an intimidating man. Almost six-two and jacked, he towers over Mason's six-foot self, and the look in his eyes is terrifying. He can't honestly think this is an appropriate way to greet a boy I like. But when my father's eyes meet mine, he reads something in my expression that causes his aggressive stance to shrink back, and with a reluctant nod, he turns back to Mason and extends a hand out to him. "Good to meet you," he says with a gruff voice. Not completely accepting, but we're getting there.

This is the man Mason has looked up to his entire life, so his eyes are wide when he leans over to shake it, and he gulps, shifting his weight from one foot to another. "Sir," he replies.

Everett comes barreling down the stairs seconds after in a pair of basketball shorts and a t-shirt. I'm so tempted to roll my eyes at his obvious attempt to boycott what I'm doing with Mason. For whatever reason, he likes him. He's never cared about what I've done to boys like Zane, but Mason is different, and he hates that I'm messing with his head. He hates that this is fake.

"Hey, Everett." Mason sends him a warm smile and sticks a hand out for a fist bump, but of course, my attitude-stricken brother just looks at his hand in disgust, completely ignores him, and strides into the kitchen. I'm mortified.