Page 37 of The Big Fake


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“You’re worried about catching feelings for me?”

“I don’t know,” she said, sounding frazzled. The people at our feet had moved on to a weird little punching massage that went up our calves. “But I’ve never treated sex like some kind of casual thing to just do for fun.”

“Oh, you’re actually considering it?”

“I didn’t say that. No,” she added after a second of thought. “I’m just saying your suggestion is stupid. Because feelings could get involved, and then it would turn this already huge mess into an even bigger one.”

“You’re worried you couldn’t sleep with me without falling for me. Got it. That’s all you had to say, Pearl.”

She turned her gaze back to the ceiling and folded her arms. “I’m done with this conversation.”

She wasn’t bluffing, because all my attempts to strike up conversation during our spa treatment were stonewalled.

We got some kind of creamy mud rubbed all over our faces. Then they led us to a blue-lit room and brought out IV treatments. Apparently, it was a vitamin infused drip followed by cryotherapy. To wrap it all up, we were finally led to a sauna and left alone for the first time all day.

Pearl sat across from me in her towel. I found myself watching the spaces above her chest and the smooth shape of her thighs as sweat began to bead across her skin. “How did you and that guy even get together in the first place?” I asked. “Eric, right?”

At first, I thought she was planning to ignore me some more. But she let out a long breath. “My family knows I have anxiety issues. That means things like dating and approaching guys can make me feel like I’m about to have a panic attack. So, usually, the ones I actually like slip away. The guys I end up dating are the ones my friends and family set me up with.”

“Have you been anxious your whole life? Or did something trigger it?”

“I’ve always been this way. I went to therapy a few years ago and it got a lot better. But I still have my moments.”

“My little sister is like that, too. When we were kids, she’d freeze up if we were in social situations. She used to cling to me all the time. I’d tell her if she got nervous, just give my hand a double squeeze. That’d be my signal to step in and cover for her. I’d get her out of conversations or keep an extra eye on things to make sure she was doing alright.”

Pearl raised her eyes to mine. “That’s surprisingly sweet.”

“Hey, I’m not a bad guy. Don’t look so shocked.”

She flashed a rare smile. “You’re not. No. But you are bad for me.”

“You wouldn’t know. You haven’t given me a chance.”

“Because neither of us wants that. Remember?”

“We can be friends. It doesn’t have to be a relationship.”

“Friends who want to sleep with each other?”

“So she admits it!” I clapped my hands, smiling. “And yes. We wouldn’t be the first. Friends who wouldn’t mind sleeping with each other. Friends who are willing to help each other out of a sticky situation.”

“That wouldn’t be terrible. The friend part, I mean. Because I never actually admitted I wanted to sleep with you.”

“That’s fine,” I said. “Your eyes are saying it, even if you won’t.”

The corner of her mouth twitched and then she looked away. “It’s really hot in here.”

“I’m told that’s the point of a sauna. Though, I’ve also been told feeling hot is a side effect of arousal.”

“The only thing you’re arousing right now is my annoyance, Dean.” She leaned her head back, closed her eyes, and seemed to give off the impression that she was done talking.

I made myself comfortable in the silence, but then my thoughts began to wander. Why was it so hard for me to give her what she was asking for? After all, my job was certainly on the line if this blew up in our faces. Maybe the Pollards would simply cut their contract with me and move on, or maybe they’d go scorched earth and try to make sure they brought my reputation down until nobody would work with me.

Both were possible, because my experience in the professional world told me people didn’t appreciate being lied to. Maybe my lie about Pearl had nothing to do with our business, but it would undermine their trust in me, which was everything.

Technically, I could lose the job and be fine. It wasn’t the income I was worried about.

After all, I had money. Plenty of it, in fact. I had “fuck you” levels of money, except I preferred to think of it more like “here you fuckin’ go” money. Sometimes, I’d take large cash withdrawals from the bank, stick them in paper bags, and leave them around the city. It let me skip all the awkward gratitude and attention I’d get if I handed people the money directly, but it felt good all the same.

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