Page 79 of Perfect Praise

Maren’s camera falls toher waist, hanging from the strap around her neck. I wrap my hand around her throat and pull her into a kiss.

Her hands grasp my forearm, almost like she’s telling me to squeeze harder.

“God, Locke. That was even hotter,” she says into my mouth, standing on her tiptoes to kiss me harder.

I pull back and whisper, “What?”

“Nothing,” she says, dazed.

“I missed you last night. Your texts aren’t enough,” I say, brushing my thumbs along her jaw. Her lips part a millimeter, a glow emanating from her face. My pulse skips. “You look happy. I should’ve stuck around to watch you take the pictures you love. I’d like to see what you look like when you’re actually enjoying yourself as a photographer. Will you come have dinner with us?”

She blinks, eyes glassy like she’s just woken up.

“I have… want to,” she stutters, “edit these photographs for your aunt.”

“Okay.” My voice sounds more even and nonchalant than I feel. An uneasiness thrums along my veins. “Come over if you get bored or change your mind.”

Maren nods, promises me if she does, she will, and then leaves me standing here alone, wishing I could drag her out of her house and throw her over my shoulder.

The door clicks closed, and I’m left in the setting sun, unsure what to do with myself. So, I guess I’ll just leave my golf cart where it is and walk home—try to exercise out the anxiety in my nerves.

This is what it’s like to lose control of your emotions. I’ve let my addiction to her overshadow rational thought. I cannot have her whenever the fuck I feel like it, and she doesn’t want me monopolizing her time. She isn’tmine, no matter how many times I’ve said it. I’ll obsess over her in silence, suffer through the withdrawal.

When I step back into my living room, my phone buzzes in my pocket.

Maren

I freaked out. I don’t know how to handle whatever your family thinks about me.

Me

What do you mean? They love you.

What I really want to say is:

Come back.

They love you more than they love me.

I’ll protect you.

My phone goes back in my pocket where it belongs before I text something stupid.

“Where’s Maren?” Conrad asks, walking in from the kitchen, beer in hand, and sitting down on the couch.

I snatch the beer and sit in the chair across from him. “Did you say something to her?”

“Okayyyy,” he says, looking at his empty hands and shrugging. “And no, just that we’re happy how much you like each other.”

My knuckles turn white against the brown bottle. “Are you trying to freak her out?”

Conrad clasps his hands together and lets out a breath. “Am I freakingyouout?”

“No idea what you’re talking about,” I say, throwing back the beer and chugging.

He sighs. “You’re going to ruin this, Locke, if you don’t admit it to yourself.”

I glare at him. If he thinks I haven’t recognized the situation I’ve put myself in, then he’s not paying attention. I swipe a thumb over the condensation on my bottle, watch a drop zigzag down and cling to the bottom edge before it falls to the ground.

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