Page 115 of Darling Obsession

“And how do you know that?”

She shrugs. “My roommate in college had it. You know, when I was in culinary school. That was the most hyper-organized kitchen I ever worked in. She’d get mad if I put a cereal box back in the cupboard ‘backward.’ Let me guess. Orderliness and Symmetry OCD?”

“Correct.”

“That’s the same as my roommate. I wasn’t sure if you were just, I don’t know, controlling and perfectionistic.”

“I also have Perfectionism OCD.”

“Oh. Wow.” She considers this for a long moment. “So, I imagine it probably really bothers you when I do this.” She takes a scoop of her pink buttercream and blobs it on the counter.

I stare at it, and draw a deep breath. It’s not so much the blob of buttercream that’s irritating me. It’s her conscious attempt to irritate me.

Actually, it’s both.

“The rule was,” I remind her in a low voice, “that you keep this kitchen clean.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll clean it up. Of course. But first, I want you to taste this.” She picks up the cupcake she just iced and holds it out to me.

“You’re feeding me cake, now?”

“It’s a cupcake, Harlan. And I’d like you to taste it, and tell me if it’s good.”

“I can already tell you it’ll be too sweet for my liking.”

“Just taste it.” She puts it right in front of my mouth.

I eye her suspiciously.

Then I open my mouth to take a small bite.

She smooshes the whole thing in my face. Half of it sticks to me, and half of it falls to the floor.

I suck in a breath through my nose and glare at her.

“Whoops. My hand must’ve slipped.” She bites her lip.

“Are we doing this?” My voice is dark with warning. “How old are you?” I grab a dish towel, and swipe buttercream and cupcake from my face. “And I thought you wanted to build trust.”

“It’s exposure therapy,” she says innocently. “My roommate did it for her OCD.” She picks up another iced cupcake and offers it to me. “You want another one?”

“Don’t you dare.”

She starts backing up, but she doesn’t put the cupcake down.

“Put the cupcake down, Quinn.”

I advance toward her and she whips the cupcake at me. It hits me in the chest.

I stop abruptly.

“You just got that buttery shit on my shirt. That’ll leave a grease stain.”

“Good thing you can afford a new one.” She scoops up three more cupcakes, and dives behind the island.

“Quinn,” I warn.

She whips another cupcake at me, but misses.

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