Page 41 of Perfect Praise

Locke places a hand to his chest where I’m staring. “I’ll be on my best behavior.”

I nod—certainly not wanting to be onmybest behavior. “I need to talk to Camille.”

This is crazy. This isreallycrazy. Also, it’s crazy that this entire house has never been lived in. What a waste.

He steps to the side and holds his arm out. A smile stretches. “Take the stairs up to the bedroom. It’s even better up there. Text me when you’ve decided.”

Don’t touch him, I tell myself, sliding by him in the tight space between the sink and island.

While my phone rings, Locke exits out the front door, and I climb the staircase.

When Camille answers, balancing her phone on her stomach and her face all up in the screen, she scrunches her nose and examines my background. “Where are you?”

I pan the phone across the first floor so she can get a good look. “I’m in Locke’shouse,” I whisper like he can hear me. Maybe he can because I would assume there are security cameras in here, and he’s probably watching me on an app or something. I hear his car start as I sit on a step midway up. “Well, guest house, I mean.”

“No fucking way!” she screams and shimmies her boobs at me. “Maren, what did you do?”

“I didn’tdoanything,” I say. “I’m still dumbfounded how I’ve ended up here. He wants me tolivehere.”

Her eyes bulge, and she drops the phone. The screen goes black when she says, “Back way the hell up and tell me everything. You said he was avoiding you like a few hours ago.”

“I don’t know. I don’t think he was.” Camille comes back into view with a chocolate chip cookie in her hand. She takes a bite and waves at me to continue. “My car wouldn’t start, and I was supposed to go see all those apartments, and he brought me because he refused to let me take a taxi like an annoying man.”

“A swoony man,” she interrupts. “He’s protective and didn’t want you to get murdered.”

I roll my eyes. “Not that I could afford it anyway, but I didn’t want him to know that, and he lured me into his car with promises of a ‘talk,’ and I’m a sucker because it’s Locke and Locke doesn’t talk. So, he’s driving me around West Palm Beach, and he’s finding things wrong with all the places.”

“They were shitty, weren’t they?” she lectures.

“Of course, they were shitty, but that’s beside the point. I didn’t need him to tell me, I already knew, and he’s giving me his opinion anyway.”

“Like a swoony man,” she interrupts again. “He’s sticking up for you.”

I roll my eyes again. “Then I’ve finally got him lukewarm on one, and…” I trail off, realizing that his mother’s situation—whatever that might be—is something that Locke obviously holds close to his chest. “And of course, he finds black mold in the bedroom, so I’m out of options. Now I’m sitting on the stairs of his guest house, and he’s negotiating the terms of my lease—which happen to be ‘do whatever the fuck I want.’” I take a deep breath. “What do you think?”

“I think I need to see your bedroom to decide.”

I stand, flip the camera around, and climb the remaining steps. We both gasp at the same time.

The modern king-size bed to the left sits in front of a black accent wall and the sun is starting to set, bringing in a gorgeous blend of pinks and purples across the room.

“Fuck yes,” Camille says delightfully. “When do I move in?”

“I don’t know what to do with myself,” I admit, falling on the bed like an angel. I sink. “Wow, this bed is soft.”

“Did you get your talk he promised you?” she asks.

“Yes,” I sigh. “I told you it wasn’t a good idea. He didn’t want me to think he was using me to get back at Russell for something that happened between them. Before you ask, I don’t know what it was. And he acknowledged that I’m a relationship girl and he’s a fuck-buddy guy. Oh, and I can’t forget that golf is more important than everything combined in the entire world. So, yeah, we talked. We’re mature adults. We’re friends. The end.”

Camille nods. “So mature.”

“Do any of us ever mature?” I joke. “I still feel like I’m figuring myself out. I don’t think my thirties are going to be any different.”

“Figure it out while you live there. Also, if your car is broken down and you’re stranded there, at least sleep on it. Locke is too much of a gentleman to drive you home anyway, and you’re not welcome here tonight.” She winks and yells off to the side. “Parker! Change thelocks!” Her eyes go molten, I suspect in response to something sexual Parker has done off camera. I’m tired of being in their way, all up in their space. They deserve at least tonight.

“Goodbye,” I say.

She grins. “Goodnight.”

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