Faker

by Sarah Smith

I’m floored by how many random things we have in common. We both have sisters who lived with us. We both live in duplexes. We’re both terrible decorators.

A list of Ilocano words are printed on it, along with their English definitions. Manang (older female sibling or cousin). Ading (younger sibling or cousin). Wen (yes). Escuela (school). Ubbing (child).

“So this guy does it for you, then? Like, downstairs?”

God really? “Downstairs”? Christ almighty

Somehow the starkness of the dark hue against his pale skin isn’t harsh. It makes his skin glow

“Scotch with water is the only way to pregame for a high school reunion.” He walks to the kitchen, and I follow. “That’s my go-to de-stress drink,” I say. He lets out an amused hum while taking a long sip. He sets down the empty glass, and a gentle smile crawls across his face. “My girlfriend’s a Scotch-drinking badass.

Really? Watered down scotch? Give me a damn break

Her light skin glows,

He’s a totally different person with you.”

To call it grinding would be dirty and inaccurate. This isn’t a club, and he isn’t shoving his body into mine like a clumsy oaf. He’s pressing ever so slightly with purpose. It’s a strange way to describe it, but it’s true. There’s care in the way his body is making contact with mine. The rhythm is steady and slow, but deliberate.

No honey that’s still grinding

I wonder if we’ll be one of those work couples whose productivity suffers because we’re too busy fooling around in the supply closet. I hope so.

What a professional girl boss 🤡

All I see is gray against a cloud of creamy white.

Tate’s broad, pale form saunters up behind her, a smile on his face. And then it happens. Tate’s hand on her arm, his fingers caressing her skin. He leans closer, pressing his lips to her cheek. Then his mouth is on her mouth.

He likes tall, tan Asian girls. I’m just a fetish, a kink for him to satisfy.

“Yes. It’s what a fucking decent person would have done.” I dig my nails into the palms of my hands. “But you’re not a decent person. You’re with me one minute, and the next I find out you’re still screwing your ex.”

Are you fucking KIDDING ME? If he did that you’d call him a freak!!

“Do you have some sort of fetish for Asian women?” It sounds ridiculous spoken out loud, but I need to know. I don’t want to be anyone’s weird fixation, not even Tate’s. His eyebrows knit. “What? Of course not.” “You can see how it would be hard for me to believe you.”

👀

Plain with no decorations save a lamp and a giant map of the world tacked on the wall above his bed. The bed rests on a simple steel frame with no headboard. The cotton sheets are a light slate color. The walls are the same sandy brown shade as the walls downstairs. No accent furniture; just a dresser and nightstand, both made of hardwood.

Plain and boring just like Tate and Emmie 🤡🤪

“Kind of. It’s difficult not to be when the only hard body in the room still has his pants on.” I hope my joke conceals my dash of insecurity. My physique is a poor companion to his chiseled glory. I’m healthy for sure from consistent jogging, but I’m nowhere near as defined. He frowns with renewed intensity. “Hey.” He grabs my chin gently, tilting my head up to look up at him. “Knock it off. You’re beautiful.”

I truly hate this so much. Emmie is fit, but god forbid she’s not “defined”. Way to play on the whole “if you’re not stick thin/have a defined bod, you can’t be hot and should be insecure in your own skin!”

He’s pale as milk; she’s tan as caramel. Her jet-black hair spills across the pillows like ink. The mess of ebony tangles with his snowy white curls.

“Are you cool with using my toothbrush? I might have an unopened one in a drawer somewhere.” He starts to reach for the nearest drawer, but I grab his hand to stop him. He spins around, encircling my waist with his arms. “I’m more than happy to use your toothbrush.”

I know y’all fucked but that’s gross and so unhygienic

“I can be professional,” Tate says. I raise a doubtful eyebrow.

Says the queen of unprofessionalism

press a kiss to the inside of his milky wrist.