Page 55 of Perfect Praise

“Yes,” Locke says, “but please, continue.”

I’m too stunned to move. To think. My heart is beating wildly in my chest, unable to return to baseline until the next six questions Locke has been asked are answered.

Back in the comfortof my closet, I fold my tripod up and lean it against the wall before I detach my lens from my camera and crouch down to lay them both in their respective slots of my black camera suitcase.

When the door opens, I expect to see Locke coming to tell me his meeting is over, but I find Russell looming over me instead.

His blue eyes are deep,wild-looking.

“What do you want?” I sigh.

He crosses his arms. “You won’t answer my calls.”

“Yeah.” I fake gasp. “I don’t want to talk to you.”

“Whatever you’re doing, it’s working. Dating him, fucking him,livingwith him?”

“I’m not doing anything,” I seethe, sitting back on my calves. “And how do you know where I’m living?”

“You thought you could both show up here this morning in the same car and people wouldn’t talk?” He crouches too, lowering his voice to pillowy soft. “I’m jealous out of my fucking mind, Maren. Is that what you want? Is that what you want to hear? That I want you back? Because I do.”

Weeks ago, I would’ve fallen into his arms and cried tears of happiness. I would have been happy for the earlier “girlfriend” Freudian slips. I was that pathetic, but not anymore.

“Well, I’m sorry, but I don’t want you,” I say before I change my mind. “Actually, never mind. I’m not sorry. I just plain don’t want you back, without the ‘I’m sorry.’ Because I’m not.”

His eyes hold steady on mine until they drift down to my waist and back up. “It’s just sex for him,” he says plainly, his eyes flickering over me as if I’m a disgusting fleck of dust.

It’s just sex formetoo, I correct him in my head, and technically, we haven’t even had sex.

I pretend like I’m Locke at a press conference. “It’s not your business if we’re having sex or not. Maybe I am. Maybe I’m not. I don’t owe you anything, and I certainly don’t have to tell you what I’m doing in my personal life or who I’m dating or where I’m living.”

“Maren, it’sme,” he says, tone sincere like that alone should sway me. But I don’t see him the same way anymore. “This entire thing has made me realize how crazy things were getting. The camera always filming us, nothing was personal anymore. Maybe I let it get a little bit into my head. Opened up my life too much.”

I laugh and cough out a deep scoff at that, but Russ curves a hand around the back of my head.

“I bought you a ring, Maren. Before you moved out. I wanted to marry you, and it was going to be filmed for the show.” He smiles softly, and his blue eyes hold onto me with purpose. “But now they can film us getting back together. We can get back to that place, be in love, engaged, married. I’ve only ever wanted that with you.”

Tears burst out of me. Those same eyes used to make my stomach flutter—while they looked at every other girl. I’m not sure this man has ever truly cared about me, and the realization is crushing. He used me just to use me—just because he could, because I was there at his side smiling and trusting him. And I think he wanted to marry me because I went along with whatever he said, ignorant enough to let him get away with whatever he wanted.

“I’m not getting back together with you,” I manage to say in a blubbering whisper. “Locke or no Locke.”

I don’t even know why I’m crying—maybe it’s for the version of me who was too weak and fell for this.

He slides his hand across my thighs and lowers his voice, laced with concern. “You know his mom is a drug addict. He’s probably addicted to something too. I don’t want you living there. Come home.”

“You’re disgusting,” I say, pushing his hands off me.

“I’m looking out for you.”

My back straightens, but I’m still whispering. “No, I don’t think it’s about me at all. You want to take me from Locke just to say you won.”

Russ narrows his eyes. “What did he tell you?”

I open my mouth to tell him it doesn’t matter just as the closet door opens.

Locke’s eyes fall on me first, bounce to Russ crouched down in front of me, and then back to me in panic, assessing my tear-stained cheeks and the situation he’s just walked into.

I jump when Locke lunges and yanks Russ up by the back of his shirt. “What the fuck are you doing, Russell?”

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