Page 20 of The Wrong Brother

“Sure. It’s not as if I’m going to be trying to spend time with them before then.” Her mouth is pursed and twisted and she tilts her head to one side, looking at me. “What am I missing?”

“I think I’ve spotted an issue but I’d like to be sure first. Tell me about them. The assholes. And your relationship with them before.”

She folds her hands in her lap, twisting and untwisting her fingers together.

“Pressley was my college roommate. Her parents are wealthy and she was always throwing money around: expensive clothes, buying drinks when we went out, lavish outings, stuff like that. She included me in everything, but it always had a weird edge to it. I don’t know how to describe it,” she pauses, looking like she’s trying to think it through before she shakes her head and continues. “It felt like our friendship was transactional and I was always in the red. I didn’t have other friends though, so I stuck with her. I guess part of me thought she would soften up and become more genuine with time. Like, maybe she had a lot of walls, growing up with so much? I guess it’s no surprise I gave her more chances than she deserved. Appearances seem to be my downfall even though I should know better than most that the majority of the time there’s a lot of mess under a perfect, shiny surface.” She sighs, twisting her fingers harder. “Her parents were so good to me. I spent a lot of time at their house and grew to care for them, like family. Anyway, Pressley had this habit of spotting a guy like a new trinket and obsessing over him until she got him, then she’d throw him away and start again. She was all about the chase. I never understood why she did it. She was smart, had money, and she was super pretty with killer curves,” she looks down at her own body, pinching her lips together. What I wouldn’t give to convince her, with my body, how perfect hers is. “She could get any guy she wanted, easily. Why only pursue guys that were unavailable?”

I reach out, gently pull her anxious fingers apart and hold her hands in mine. Her shoulders visibly relax. It feels amazing that I do that for her, whether she realizes it or not. I wish I could always be a source of calm and comfort for her.

“She confided in me, took me with her, included me in the evenings when she’d go out to ‘accidentally’ run into them. It made me feel special—like I was her one true friend, the only person that got to know the real Pressley. Looking back I think she wanted me to watch. She wanted someone to witness her conquests, her victories. The summer before junior year I met Connor. He ticked all the boxes of what I thought I was supposed to want in a boyfriend. He was studying business management; he looked the part of the buttoned-up conservative with tidy blonde hair and a dazzling smile; he was charming; he took me to nice places. I’ve always had this idea in my head of how things were supposed to look, the idea of who I was supposed to be, this goal that I can never seem to reach but work so hard to. I was immature and inexperienced enough to think that was all it takes to be a good partner. He appeared good enough so if I was with him, I could be good enough too. And with my track record…Well. It’s all embarrassing to admit now.”

She looks at me earnestly, her kind blue eyes searching mine for assurance. Fuck, I want to give it to her, but I can’t fathom how she could ever for one moment think she wasn’t good enough. For anything. She must see what she needed because she continues, still holding my gaze.

“With Connor, it was all for show. He was like a politician, showing everyone what they wanted to see. Nothing was real. There was no substance. He wanted me on his arm but never seemed to want anything deeper. All of this is what I realized, after the fact, though. At the time I simply convinced myself that he was busy, I was too needy, my expectations were unrealistic, I didn’t know much about being a girlfriend, at least this one wasn’t cheating on me,” she makes a forced amused face that hurts to see. She shouldn’t have to make light of such things. “I made a lot of excuses and figured that’s what real relationships were like. At least until I came back early to get a jump on studying for finals and found them having sex on MY BED. Connor was all apologetic and embarrassed. He said he didn’t want me to find out that way, that he had never wanted to hurt me or some other BS. Meanwhile, Pressley was staring at me with triumph on her face. Like she wanted Connor because he was mine. She wanted to hurt me and she wanted me to see.” She shakes her head, teeth clenched tight. “I wrote a letter apologizing to her parents but explained, without giving any embarrassing or painful details, that I would miss them but I could no longer allow Pressley in my life. I moved out of my dorm room and that was that. Whatever. They deserve each other.”

I think it over, still holding her hands. “That’s what I was afraid of.”

“What?”

“Your Saturday-only plan won’t work.” She starts to protest but I shake my head and continue. “Hear me out: Pressley sounds like an awful person, but you have to be able to read people fairly well to manipulate them the way she does. She lived with you for years. If we show up Saturday morning, pretending to be a couple, she’s going to sniff the lie out like a shark honing in on blood. I don’t care about her opinion of me but I don’t want her using it to hurt you or humiliate you in front of the rest of her party.”

“Shit. She would do that for sure. She’s usually looking for that kind of opportunity. What do we do then? Not go and pretend I don’t care that she’ll be bad-mouthing me and my bosses might be mad?”

“No, that’s not what I meant. You don’t have to let her win. We just need more time, so that we’re convincing. If we’re a believable couple, she can’t hurt you and you get to rub your good life in her face.”

“I do like the sound of that last part. What does this entail though? I didn’t pro/con any of this.” I want to laugh but I know she’s dead serious and it would hurt her feelings. It’s make-or-break time.

“We need to start now, not five weeks from now.”

“Start what?”

“Being together. If we’re not comfortable together, no one will believe it, especially not Pressley. We can even test it out, in front of people that don’t know about our arrangement, to see if they buy it.”

“So we would start pretending now?”

“Practicing,” I correct her. I can’t lie to her. And it could never be pretending for me.

She’s nibbling on that rosy bottom lip again and it’s doing things to me, stirring up how much I want her and how much it sucks that this isn’t real. “What would it mean? What are our parameters?”

“I’m not sure what parameters you need but I want you to be comfortable. Just tell me what you need.”

“Well, it would be only us, ya? We wouldn’t be very convincing if you’re out dating when we’re not together.”

“There’s no one else, Catherine. You don’t have to worry about that. As for what it would mean…What would Pressley expect?”

Her eyes get wide. Now she’s catching up. “So…casual touching. Affection. Like that’s normal for us. Holding hands.” I’m nodding along. She licks her lips and mine tingle in response. “Kissing…”

I’ve been so concerned with what she might need, the practicality of looking like a couple, I didn’t even consider the benefits. Now it’s all I can think about. How much “practice” can I feasibly suggest for us to look like a legitimate couple without crossing over into taking advantage of the situation? Catherine is watching me and I realize I’ve been staring at her lips instead of responding. I probably look creepy as fuck.Answer her moron!

“Right. It won’t be enough for there to be the implication that we’re together. I imagine a little PDA, particularly if we happen to ‘not notice’ that she’s standing right there, would go a long way toward showing her you don’t care that she stole Connor. But it would have the exact opposite effect if we stumbled into it, looking awkward and forced.”

“True, true. And awkward is very on-brand for me. We don’t want that.” I wish she would stop casually putting herself down. She stands and brushes her hands down the front of her clothes, as if smoothing out wrinkles that aren’t there. “Did you come over to talk about the arrangement?”

“Yes, but I was also hoping to use your shower if you don’t mind.”

“I told you I don’t, Rafferty. You’re welcome anytime. Have you eaten?”

“Nah. I’ll figure something out later.”

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