Page 65 of Things We Fake
Jesse sighed dramatically. “Fine. So, this was about four years ago. My dad was really sick, and I was staying over to help him out. One night, it’s frigging midnight, and suddenly, Sebastian’s music starts blasting through the floor. So I stormed up the stairs in my pajamas to tell him to cut it out. I pounded on the door, which, it turned out, wasn’t locked.”
“Oh no,” Lily breathed.
“Oh yes. I called out—no answer. The music was coming from the back, so I headed down the hall. And that’s when I walked into the most cursed scene of my life.”
Nikki’s eyes went wide. “Please tell me it was porn.”
“I wish it had been porn. No. I stepped into the bedroom, and there he was. Spread-eagle on the bed, buck naked, handcuffed to the headboard with fuzzy red handcuffs, his junk covered in whipped cream with a frigging cherry on top.”
We erupted with laughter, probably louder than Sebastian’s music blaring on that faithful night.
“Stop it!” Lily clutched her side. “You walked in on him naked?”
“I only wish he’d been naked in a normal way,” Jesse added dryly. “He started begging me to pass him the key to the handcuffs that had fallen on the floor. I yanked the stereo cord out of the wall, dropped the keyright into the whipped cream sundae zone, and walked out.”
“Oh my God,” Ange wheezed. “You just left him there?”
“He was still yelling when I shut the door.Don’t leave me like this! It’s not what it looks like!”
Nikki was crying actual tears. “This is the best thing I’ve ever heard.”
“So where does Cam fit in?” I managed between gasps.
“I bumped into him on the way out. He gave me a once-over and this slow grin, clearly assuming I’d just finished redecorating Sebastian’s manhood. So I gave him the finger and marched back downstairs to my dad’s. Thank God he never heard a thing.”
That broke us all. Even Jesse was doubled over laughing by the end.
I wiped a tear. “Okay, your story totally beats my porn night. And now I want dessert. Let’s order something with whipped cream.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Cam
I was probably one of the very few people in America who was working on a Sunday night at nine, but I had a lot of work to catch up on. Hours ago I’d heard Sue’s friends arrive, and judging by the loud voices and giggles coming from next door, they were still there. I was grateful for this time to myself. Sebastian had left for Houston that morning, and I appreciated having the place to myself for the next four weeks. The first thing I’d done was to clean the place, change the sheets and move into the bedroom. Sebastian’s couch had wrecked my back, which was already sore from too many workouts. I needed an outlet, and since I wasn’t getting laid, I spent an hour in the gym every day.
I’d installed my laptop at Sebastian’s desk and had done a decent couple hours of work. I was beyond excited by the current projects I was working on.
My focus was on one in particular: ReadNest, an AI-based reading companion for kids who didn’t have parents hovering over them with bedtime stories and homework checklists. I knew that kid. I had been thatkid, and later that teenager who lived in the public library, who taught himself to code by sneaking hours at an internet café while his mom worked two jobs and his dad slowly faded away. I’d spent months refining its framework. ReadNest wasn’t just software, it was a lifeline. A friendly flashlight in the dark.
I toggled through the beta feedback. Most of it was basic—UI glitches, translation bugs—but then I saw a comment from a school in rural Oregon: “My student didn’t speak in class until she read with the AI raccoon. Now she won’t stop asking questions.” I grinned from ear to ear. A deep string in my heart vibrated, the way it did every time I knew I’d changed someone’s life for the better. Roscoe the Raccoon had been modeled after a mangy stuffed animal I’d had as a kid. He only had one eye and looked like he’d survived a bar fight, but he was mine. My dad had bought it for me when I was five, which turned it into my most prized possession. I still had him in one of my many boxes back in Denver. I never imagined he’d end up a literacy hero.
A knock on the door jarred me out of my reverie. When I went to open it, Sue was standing there. She was glowing, her cheeks flushed, her smile sunny. Her presence was always like a blast of sunshine and happy music.
I opened the door wide. “Finished with the girls?”
“Yep.” She stepped inside, carrying the scent of wine and candlelight. “How was the conference call?”
“Productive.”
“I brought food, if you’re hungry.”
She set a takeout bag on the coffee table. “Pasta and tiramisu. I kept the pasta in the oven so it’s still warm.”
I placed a hand on my stomach. “Thanks, you’ve read my mind. I’m starving. Didn’t realize it until now.”
“See, that’s why you need a fake fiancée to take care of you.”
She plopped down on the couch, and I sat beside her, stretching out my legs. The cushions dipped slightly beneath us, narrowing the space between our shoulders. Up close, I spotted a dusting of freckles on her nose that softened her features and stole the edge off her usual teacher-serious expression. In the low light, she glowed effortlessly beautiful—the kind of face you’d see in a skincare ad and wonder if it was real.
