Page 15 of Fake As Puck
Shit.
I put the flowers back and head to the checkout, trying to look like a normal person buying normal groceries for a normal weekend. Not like someone whose entire life is about to become an elaborate lie.
The cashier is the same teenage girl from the shampoo aisle. She looks at my cart, which now contains two types of bread, three different shampoos, fancy cheese, organic everything, and accent pillows, and gives me a look that clearly says“yeah, this guy’s definitely a serial killer.”
“Find everything okay?” she asks, scanning the Greek yogurt.
“Yep. Just getting ready for my girlfriend to visit.”
“The one who doesn’t bring her own shampoo?”
“That’s the one.”
She nods slowly, like she’s humoring a crazy person. “Cool.”
The total comes to $247.83, which seems excessive for a weekend’s worth of groceries, but I hand over my card anyway because at this point, what’s another bad financial decision?
I drive home with my car full of what Tessa would definitely call “panic purchases” and try to rehearse my story for tomorrow.
Okay, so details.
Liv and I have been dating for four months. We met through Tessa, which is true, and realized we had feelings for each other, which is absolutely not true. We’ve been keeping it quiet because we wanted to make sure it was serious before telling everyone, also not true, but believable.
By the time I get home, I’ve worked myself into a full anxiety spiral. I unload the groceries, trying to remember Tessa’s advice about keeping things normal, but somehow I still end up arranging the throw pillows on the guest bed.
They look good. Welcoming but not try-hard. Comfortable but not presumptuous.
I step back to admire my work, then immediately feel ridiculous. They’re pillows. On a bed. For someone who’s going to sleep in this room for exactly two nights before flying back to her real life.
My phone buzzes again. Group chat.
Hurley:Is West’s girlfriend hot?
Reed: Dude.
Hurley:What? I’m asking for research.
G:You’re asking because you’re a caveman.
Hurley:I’m asking because I want to know if West found someone out of his league or below his league.
My fingers hover over the keyboard. How do I answer this? Liv is objectively attractive. I’m not blind, but saying yes feels weird. Like I’m rating my fake girlfriend for my teammates’ entertainment.
I type: She’s beautiful.
Which is true. And also completely inadequate. Liv isn’t just beautiful; she’s the kind of beautiful that makes you forget what you were saying mid-sentence. The kind of beautiful that madeseventeen-year-old me walk into a glass door because I was too busy staring at her in a bikini.
Not that I’m thinking about Liv in a bikini.
I’m definitely not thinking about Liv in a bikini.
Fuck.
Reed:Can’t wait to meet her.
G:Same. I want to see who finally tamed the West Carmack.
Tamed? I’m not a wild animal. I’m just... selectively social.
