Page 14 of Perfect Praise

I switch to her contacts and save my number before I text myself without her noticing. Then I let my irrational instinct to protect this woman overpower my brain for a split second. “From where I’m sitting, you’re incredibly beautiful, and Russell doesn’t deserve you.” When she looks back at me with narrowed eyes, unsure what my motivation is, I hold out her phone to her. “Delete them.”

“The apps?”

“Yes, the apps.”

She pauses, unsure of what to do, and then lets out a sigh. “How am I supposed to know what people think?”

“Why do you care?” I scoff. “You think you can please everyone?”

“I try,” she says with a shrug.

“That is literally impossible. Delete them.”

Her eyes drop to her phone and back up to mine, debating with herself, before she nods.

I watch one by one as she holds down and presses delete three times for each app. “They really want you to be sure,” I joke.

“I feel lighter already,” she laughs under her breath, but I don’t think she believes it. “And thanks for saving me earlier.”

“Don’t get the wrong idea. That was unintentional,” I clarify.

She laughs again, louder this time. “Right, Locke. I know. Still, thanks.”

I cock my head to the side to study her. “And did you watch your little show last night?”

“Ugh,” she says. “It’s notmyshow. Stop saying that.”

“Did you watch it?” I repeat, full well knowing the answer is yes. “Don’t lie this time. You’re not very good at it.”

She tips her chin up. “I promise I won’t anymore. I already decided last night.”

“Good,” I say.

“They didn’t even show it, you know. The cheating,” she says. “I stupidly thought Russ had something to do with it. Which is why I went out searching for him. To say thank you. Can you believe that? Why did I believe that in the first place? Something is wrong with me.”

My eyes bounce around her face trying to decipher her emotions as she blinks back happy or sad tears—I can’t really tell. I don’t have the heart to tell her he would never do something that wasn’t for his own benefit. Suddenly, a smile so wide blooms across her face that I instantly relax.

“But,” she drawls, “now that I’m going to always be hanging out with you,friend, hopefully they’ll have less footage of me to use.”

I frown. “Always is a huge exaggeration. See you in San Diego. I hear it’s sunny.”

But when she turns to hop off my golf cart, I can’t help myself. Just a second longer won’t hurt. “Hey, Maren,” I say, wrapping my hand around the back of her arm. Her skin is like silk, and I’m already missing the feel of it in the future version of me who will eventually have to let go.

She looks back over her shoulder. “Hm?”

“Being happy is the best revenge.”

Locke wasn’t lying—San Diegois sunny.

As soon as I check in to the hotel, I putz anxiously around doing nothing, waiting for nothing. So, I find myself wandering down to Torrey Pines State Beach with my personal Nikon, that I splurged on with part of my I-signed-my-life-away-to-a-reality-show check, in my tote bag. At least one good thing came from it.

Sure, I see the beach and the Atlantic Ocean almost daily in Florida, touch the sand almost weekly, but something about the entirety of the Pacific feels different.

The air smells fresher and less salty. The shore is jutted with rocky cliffs. And it’s freaking bright.

I fluff out a blue striped towel I borrowed from the hotel pool (which I promise myself to remember to return or I’ll think about it for a week) and sit down in the center.

A hang glider launches off a cliff to my left, the purple and white triangle soaring expertly in front of the clouds. I watch in amazement until a group of children’s laughs brings my attention to their sandcastle.

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