Page 37 of Things We Fake
She was quiet, listening intently.
I went on, trying my best to explain. “OCPD is like… My brain believes there’s one right way to do everything. A perfect order. And if I don’t follow it, something’s off. It’s not about fear of something bad happening—it’s about control, and this internal standard that’s very hard to meet.”
“So it’s not about compulsions, it’s about rules?”
“Exactly. I can’t stop myself from tweaking a design layout until it’s pixel-perfect. Or rewriting a line of code twenty times even though it worked fine the first time.”
I looked at my hands for a moment. “My mom noticed it when I was a kid. She said my need for order got worse after my dad died because it was the one thing I could control when everything else fell apart.”
She let out a long breath. Her eyes were filled with genuine compassion.
“That makes sense. Losing someone messes with your world. OCPD… Is it exhausting?”
I smiled wryly. “Sometimes. Especially for people around me. But I’m learning to catch myself.” I decided to change the subject. “So, where are you planning to take your parents when they visit?”
“I was thinking maybe a carriage ride through Central Park, or the ferry out to Liberty Island. You know, the tourist trifecta.”
I tapped a finger against the table, thinking. “Not sure we’ll manage the full Statue of Liberty tour, but I’m up for trying.”
She blinked at me. “We?”
“Sure. I’m your boyfriend, remember?” My grin broadened at her shocked expression. “Fake or not, I can’t just show up once and ghost your family. What kind of deadbeat imaginary boyfriend would that make me?”
Her eyes were perfectly round now. “You’re really willing to spend an entire weekend playing along?”
“Absolutely. I’m a method actor. I fully commit to the role.”
She gave me a long look. “You say that now. Wait until my mom starts asking about your intentions and dropping subtle hints about grandchildren. You’ll be booking the next flight back to Denver.”
I knew this was supposed to scare me, but for some weird reason I didn’t care to analyze now, it didn’t. Maybe it was the wine, the company, the food, but I wasfeeling invincible, adventurous, and more than happy to rescue my damsel in distress.
I chuckled. “I think I can handle your mom. Besides, I’m curious about the woman who raised you. She must be a force of nature.”
“Oh, she is. Hurricane Elaine.” She drained the last sip of her merlot, looking like she desperately wished for more. “But if we keep them busy enough, maybe they won’t have time to interrogate us. I figured I’d take Mom and Michelle to the Easter Parade. Still haven’t found a hat, though.”
“You don’t have one yet?” I leaned in slightly. “I’m shocked. You strike me as the kind of woman who’d make a statement.”
She scoffed. “Oh, I’ve made statements. Just none that should ever be seen in public. So far, every hat I’ve tried on has looked worse than a fashion crime scene. There was one that made me look like I was being eaten by a swan.”
I nearly choked on my drink. I would have paid big money to see that. “Please tell me you have pictures.”
“God, no. Jesse tried to take some, but I destroyed the evidence. You have to take my word about the hat fiasco. Oh, and there was also a flamingo, a haunted bird nest, and what I think was supposed to be a crow perched in dead branches.”
I was full-on laughing by now. “Okay, I’m officially invested. We’re going hat shopping tomorrow. I need to see this for myself.”
She stared at me, lips parted, as though trying to gage if I was joking or not. “You’re really volunteering for this?”
“I actually insist. I have to—”
“Cameron, what a small world. I just heard you were in town.”
Sue’s laughter was still echoing in my ears when I heard the voice I’d struggled for years to forget. That sultry sound sliced through the air with the impact of a switchblade—smooth, cold, and designed to leave a scar.
I looked up, an unpleasant feeling tightening my chest as my gaze travelled over her long, tanned legs, voluptuous breasts—which seemed even more generous now—and her mane of red hair.
There she was. Brittany Howard. My ex.
The last woman I ever let get close enough to gut me. And still, somehow, the only one who could freeze my blood just by smiling.
