“Yeah, you went there to show your boss that you weren’t lying even though you were lying, and then you started making out with your fake husband, so I don’t think you actually went there for anything other than a bunch of fuckery. So why not fuck around?”
I mean…she’s sort of right. I did come here for a bunch of fuckery. There was no rhyme or reason, just to make it through the eight days. But do I really want to fuck around?
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” I say.
“Why? Are you worried about Mika? Because he was telling me the other day that he’d be shocked if you two don’t end up hooking up. He said his brother would be stupid if he didn’t at least make a move.”
“Mika said that?” I ask.
“Yup. He doesn’t care. He actually likes the idea of the two of you.”
“I…I can’t think about that. And honestly, I’m not worried about Mika. I’m worried about me.”
“Worried about you why?”
“Because,” I say softly. “He’s…he’s too nice, Denise.”
“Um, why is that a bad thing?”
“It’s not. It’s a good thing, but what if, I don’t know, I fuck around and get attached? I could see that happening. He’s really kind and sweet and thoughtful and has a way with his words that makes me feel special. He’s told me time and time again thathe means everything he says, but I still have this thought in the back of my mind, this doubt that maybe he feels bad for me and he’s saying all these nice things and kissing me the way he kissed me because he wants me to see what it’s like to be treated well. And then what? I get attached, and he walks away, unscathed, while I’m left to lick my wounds again?”
“Do you really think he’d do that?”
“I…I don’t?—”
The line goes dead, and I’m tempted to scream, but instead, I take a deep breath and hang up the phone. I take a few seconds to gather myself, put on a smile, and make it seem like my emotions are not completely out of control, even though they are.
“Everything okay?” Wilder asks as I sit down next to him on a bench that overlooks the lake.
“Yup, everything is great,” I answer. “Did I miss anything after I left?”
“No,” he says. “Just that Sanders was very proud of everyone.”
“Good,” I say with a head nod. I watch a duck fly down to the lake and dip its head underwater. “Well, that was a fun experiment, wasn’t it?”
“Very fun. Almost so much fun that it seemed like you had to run away to get your energy out.”
“What?” I say on an awkward laugh. “Run away? Why would I do that?”
“I don’t know,” he responds. “Just seemed odd, because I was over there feeling a certain way, and then all of a sudden, you were gone.”
“You were feeling a certain way?” I ask. “What do you mean by that?”
He drags his hand over his face. “I don’t know, Scottie, I?—”
“Scottie, Wilder, come join us,” Sanders calls out.
We look over our shoulders to where he’s waving us down.
“It’s cocktail time.”
Cocktail time?
As in alcohol?
I distinctly remember him saying there were some nights we’d be allowed to have alcohol. Well, if there was ever a night when I truly needed it—this would be it.
I stand from the bench, but Wilder takes my hand. “Hey, we were in the middle of a conversation.”
