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Riggs: My balls shaking, I’m so scared.
Emmett: I’ll need to see that marriage certificate at some point, Bates.
Riggs: It’s okay. I’d be obsessed with me too, if I were you.
Since I didn’t have any assignments outside New York for the next few months, I took the train to Jersey. If I thought visiting another state would cure my claustrophobia, I was sorely mistaken. If anything, I felt even worse. Jersey was unapologetically, depressingly ... well,Jersey. They didn’t call it the Armpit of America for its buzzing nightlife, cultural significance, and stunning views. It stank. I wandered aimlessly on Atlantic City’s boardwalk, taking pictures, knocking back a few beers. The place was about as inspiring as a used panty liner. The entire reason why I got into photography was because I wanted my job to take me to wild, exotic places.
Two things New Jersey definitely wasn’t:
Wild
Exotic
But what were my options? Go back to Duffy’s apartment and watch her fuss over work and salad dressings?
Then there were my friends. While I enjoyed their company, they also had their own lives. Said lives were boring, anyway, so sticking around during the daytime felt futile.
Somehow, I managed to stay out of the apartment until nine that night. By the time I went up the flight of stairs, I was sure Duffy was past her organic, healthy dinner, either working on her laptop in her room or hitting one of those late-night SoulCycle classes she was fond of.
I was about to slide the key into the keyhole when the door next to hers opened and a man in his late fifties emerged, a manila folder tucked under his arm. It was the man who’d opened the building’s door when I’d ambushed my fiancée the other day. Intense Asshole Guy.
He wore a seventies-style tweed jacket and a baseball cap and was about my height. A hoboGQtype. He took one look at me and groaned.
“You again. Tell me Duffy hasn’t moved in with her rebound.”
“Duffy hasn’t moved in with her rebound,” I said, deadpan, as I unlocked the door. “She moved in with the love of her life.”
Hey, why the fuck not? We needed to make this thing believable in case the government came knocking on this guy’s door. Plus, I knew Poppins would be horrified if she found out I’d said those things to her neighbor, and the banter alone was going to be the highlight of my day.
“‘Love of her life’?” The man rubbed the back of his ball cap. “She just broke up with her boyfriend. Plus, you’re definitely not her type.”
Was this guy competing for the Nosy Bastard Award?
“Are you writing her autobiography?” I pushed the door open with my shoulder. “Actually, don’t answer that. I’m going to respect her privacy and let her fill you in if she feels like it.”
If this man was creeping on my fake fiancée, I was going to for real strangle him.
“She will,” he confirmed, frowning at me like my very existence disturbed him. “In a couple days, when we have our weekly drinks. I’m Charlie.” He stepped forward to shake my hand.
“Riggs.”
“Briggs?”
“Without the B.”
His eyebrows shot up. “That’s not a common name. What does it mean?”
“No clue. Parents fucked off before I had a chance to ask.” I slid my hand from his before things got even weirder.
“Sorry to hear that.”
