Page 5 of Things We Fake
I took off my shoes and set them neatly on the shoe rack, straightening the other pairs I found there. Then I went in search of the bathroom to wash my hands. I tried to focus on the relaxing things, like the fact that Sebastian had set out fresh towels. I allowed myself the brief luxury of folding the hand towel over the bar with precise edges. A small comfort in an otherwise visual train wreck of a place.
My obsession with order was normally mild, nothing that ever needed medication or therapy, but change wasn’t easy for me. And I was going through a lot of changes in a short amount of time. Adjusting to new things was more challenging right now.
Sebastian only had one bedroom, so I dragged both suitcases into the living room and laid them out along the wall. The couch would be my temporary battleground—sleep surface by night, suitcase-wrangling station by day. I had no idea how long it would take to find a suitable apartment, so I might as well make myself at home. I could have handled the living situation from Denver, but I clung to the familiarity and comfort of staying with an old friend. My mom called it a coping mechanism.
I unzipped the first suitcase and got to work. I placed my shirts and slacks on hangers, folded the jeans, stacked the pajamas by color. All my socks were sorted by type and folded into tight, identical rolls. Everything had its place.
Sebastian had cleared his coat closet for me, which was a minor miracle. I used every inch wisely. His idea of organized storage was stuffing things into whatever cubic inch of space would hold them. I wiped down the shelves first—twice—then started placing things where they belonged.
I was arranging the contents of my toiletries bag in the bathroom with surgical precision, when the sound of running water drifted through the thin walls. Pipes gurgled, then settled into a steady flow. My hot new neighbor was taking a shower, or maybe a bath.
I told myself not to picture it, not to be a creep, but failed spectacularly. The image shot into my brain before I could stop it—Susanne slipping out of that robe, the pink fluff pooling around her feet, her bare skin illuminated by the muted bathroom light. A body straight out of a vintage pin-up calendar: all curves, all invitation. And somehow, the damn bunny slippers stayed on.
I didn’t know what it was about that combination—sweet and sexy, innocent and seductive—that made my blood reroute south so fast I nearly groaned aloud. I’d noticed it before in women, that contradiction men never quite recover from: the urge to protect and corrupt in equal measure.
I turned the faucet on cold and splashed water over my face. What the hell was wrong with me? What made me act so disrespectfully toward this woman, even if it was just for a few seconds in my head? I wasn’t some horny teenager; I was a grown-ass man. I had built a company from the ground up with my best friend, navigated two acquisitions, closed six-figure contractswhile jetlagged and sleep-deprived. I could resist the pull of a beautiful woman in bunny slippers.
Besides, Susanne didn’t know that I existed, let alone that I had a mild crush on her for years. Well, maybe crush was a strong word. I’d noticed her several times when I visited Sebastian, but somehow never got the nerve to talk to her. The one time I might have tried, she was with a guy. No surprise there. A woman like that wouldn’t be single for long. She was gorgeous, petite and feminine, with shiny blond hair, round brown eyes, and a body like Marilyn Monroe’s.
Water sloshed behind the wall. My jaw clenched. She was taking a bath, probably hot and fragrant, pampering that creamy skin. I imagined her easing into the tub, the steam rising, bubbles climbing her body, curling over skin I had no business thinking about.
The thing was, this wasn’t just physical attraction. There was something about Susanne that made me want to meet her. I wanted a chance to get to know this woman who’d haunted my peripheral vision for years. She had an irresistible glow, even covered in face mask gunk and wrapped in an old, fuzzy robe. There was something unpolished and real about her, something that felt like warmth and honesty in a world full of façades. She was so different from Britt.
The thought of my ex had the effect of cold water—instant and deflating. Because of her, I didn’t do commitment anymore. I had spent years avoiding drama, avoiding closeness, sticking to clean exits and clear boundaries. Britt had smiled and nodded through all my careful rituals, right up until she used them against me in an argument about why I was “too exhausting” to love.
The bath water shut off. The sudden silence made my attention jump back to Susanne. I imagined her lying back in the tub, sipping a glass of wine and reading a book. I pegged her as a book lover even before Sebastian had mentioned she was a teacher. What kind of books did she like? Maybe the romance novels my sister Becky swooned over and that had filled her head with unrealistic expectations?
I scoffed and scrubbed a hand over my face. My thoughts started to sound like the inner monologue of a stalker. I had no right to picture Susanne naked, or wonder what books she liked. It was rude and intrusive. It was forbidden.
My phone rang and I gratefully reached for it.
“Hey, man, you made it?” Sebastian’s voice was always upbeat, like the man himself. Probably one of the many reasons why women found him appealing.
“Yeah, just got in.” I headed back to the living room. “When will you be home?”
A wide grin glowed in his voice. “Don’t think I’m going to make it home before midnight. Can you handle yourself? There’s plenty of food in the fridge and you have some restaurant flyers to order in.”
I smirked. “I’ll manage, don’t worry. Just play safe.”
“Always do. I’ll catch you for breakfast tomorrow.”
“Not sure about that. I have some things to deal with early in the morning. My sister-in-law asked me for a favor.”
“Then I’ll see you afterward. We’ll have plenty of time now that you’ve moved the company here.”
“Makes more business sense. Denver was getting claustrophobic.”
“And you thought New York would be better? I heard Britt lives here now.”
“Britt’s old news, but I’m grateful for a new start.”
He didn’t press. He knew Britt was a closed chapter. A complicated, toxic shadow from my past. I should’ve noticed sooner how she made me feel, as though I had to apologize constantly for my routines, for checking locks twice, for caring if things were crooked. With her, I had always felt too much, and somehow not enough.
I rubbed the back of my neck. “Listen, your neighbor, Susanne… Is she seeing anyone?”
Sebastian chuckled. “Oh man, you’re still into her? Dude, you need to say something! No, I don’t think she’s seeing anyone. You’ve got to make your move.”
“Maybe I will. Thanks for letting me crash here until I find a place.”
