Page 76 of Perfect Praise

Hottie Icicle

6. And in the last two months I’ve done a million things I never would’ve done before. One of which is telling you I miss you.

Me

We can do other things.

“Having fun?”

I look up into Camille’s smirking face, now acutely aware that I’m grinning too wide.

My smile falls as I toss my phone down beside me. “Yeah,” I sigh, “but I need to stop.”

“Why?” she asks, exasperated. I busy myself by opening a bag of screws. “Maren, you’re allowed to have fun. You can do things for yourself sometimes.”

“Something happened last night,” I admit.

She folds her lips into her smile and raises her eyebrows in mock surprise.

“I mean, something different,” I add. “On top of that.” I can’t look Camille in the eye, so I crawl back to the pile and start sorting identical pieces together. “I pretended it was real. I imagined that Locke actually liked me, that I was his girlfriend. Itfeltreal, Camille.”

“It’s okay if it’s real,” she counters.

“It’s not. I said I wouldn’t let my feelings get in the way, and now, here they are. I couldn’t even last a month and a half. I’m pathetic.”

“It’s not pathetic to care.”

I scoff. “It is when you set out to do the opposite.”

Camille opens her mouth, hesitates, then closes it.

“What?” I question her.

“You obviously haven’t cared about looking at the internet lately,” she says, “or watching that stupid reality show.”

“Is there something on the internet I should be aware of?” I ask, narrowing my eyes. “Did something happen on the show?”

She shrugs. “I mean, yes and no. The usual. There are pictures.”

“Of?”

“Things.”

“Like?”

She waves her hand airily. “You and Locke in the car. You and Locke talking, walking on the course, smiling and laughing with each other. You and Locke playing golf together. You and Locke kissing. Was he taking pictures of you?”

I blink. My mind flip-flops, wondering who was taking photos of us (not that it really matters), then one harsh laugh comes out of my mouth. “People are nuts. People thought we were dating when I’d literally had one conversation with him. People thought we were dating when we went to dinner together professionally. People thought we were dating when we kissed once and he walked away, when I moved into his guest house, when we became friends with benefits. And guess what? We’restillnot dating. No one is right, and no one knows anything. I literally don’t care. People can think whatever they want because they’re all wrong. It’s not like they have any idea what is actually happening in my life, but sure, let them pretend like they do. I’m tired of worrying about other people.”

“My point exactly!” Camille exclaims. “You don’t care about the right things. Maren, you’ve been this carefree human the last few weeks, and I love it. But you should still care about the things that matter. It’s okay if you like him.”

“I can’t,” I say, trying to convince myself mostly. “That was the deal. He doesn’t want a girlfriend, but then he’s suddenly opening up to me like I am one. He’s telling me things. Personal things I don’t think people know. He’s asking me about myself like he wants to get to know me. He knows how to keep his sex life separate. And now I’m left wondering if he’s messing with me, playing me like a game.”

I’m the mouse—dangling from his paw by my tail as he watches me wiggle and fight for my life helplessly.

Camille stares at me while I try to fit the wrong screw into a hole. “What ifhelikesyou?”

“Ha,” I sputter. “You think I have imposter syndrome about being a photographer? I wouldn’t even know what to call myself as Locke’s girlfriend. A joke?”

---