Faker

by Sarah Smith

Blinking is underrated. At least I think so. Not only does it keep your eyes from drying out, it serves as a momentary break from unpleasant sights and sensations. Harsh sunlight, a gory scene in a horror movie, a sudden gust of dust-ridden air. Close your eyes, and for a second, you’re safe and shielded. I blink to protect my eyes from the blinding white figure invading my peripheral vision. Behind the black of my lids, I feel relief. As soon as my eyes open again, the nagging brightness is back, whiter than ever. That whiteness is a pale coworker I don’t particularly care for. I pretend like I can’t see him. It’s no big deal. I fake almost everything else when I’m here.

Ma'am??????

I was a moth drawn in by the glow of his white skin,

You are so weird so early

I froze. I should have plugged my ears or shoved in my headphones, but I couldn’t. “Just looking at her . . .” Disdain dripped from his voice. “I don’t know how long I’ll be able to deal.” So that was it. We would never, ever like each other.

I mean he very clearly wants to bang you

His sleeve slides up his arm, and I catch a glimpse of skin. His paleness never ceases to wow me. Living in Nebraska, I was surrounded by countless white children in school, but Tate puts them to shame. His skin practically glows. I want to ask what SPF he uses, how long it takes him to burn when he’s outside, but that’s small talk, and he refuses to make it with me. I could say his complexion makes him haggard, but it would be a lie. The lack of color actually suits him. Raphaelian-hued skin, blond hair, eyes so light blue they’re almost gray. His photo belongs in a travel brochure for Nordic countries. He’s a living, breathing advertisement for that region.

Wtf is wrong with you

“Do I have to spell it out?” He yanks out his earbuds impatiently and closes his eyes. “I think I should go with you to make sure things get done in a timely manner.” “So this is purely selfish motivation?” “Precisely.” I cringe. Whenever he speaks to me, he routinely pulls out archaic words only a 1950s rural doctor would use.

Where is the archaic 1950s doctor word? WHERE???

Would that meet your standards of conduct in the workplace, Ms. Echavarre?”

You did not give this character your name

When I stare at him, I refuse to blink.

This is weird.

when my best friend Kaitlin rings me.

Goddammit

“You’re flirting with contractors now?” Tate says the moment I pass his open door. When I look up at him sitting behind his desk, he’s flipping through his notepad, not even looking at me. The smile drops from my face. “Excuse me?” “I overheard the meathead chatting you up around the corner.” “Wow. Eavesdrop much?” He is the king of rude today. “I have to say, I never thought of you as someone who goes gaga over office supplies.” “What is that supposed to mean?” “He gives you a special pen and you’re all smiles. It’s a bit much is all I’m saying.” His fingers make air quotes when he says “special.” Sarcasm drips from his voice with a biting undercurrent of contempt.

Sorry, THIS is the love interest?

Her olive skin is even tanner than before.

more tan?

I watch Jamie as he explains how to put on the harness and strap on the safety cord. His mouth moves, but I register no words. A faint ringing noise is all I hear while nerves crackle under my skin.

I hope you fall

“I want to flip out right now.” I speak to the dashboard through gritted teeth. Slowly, he turns to me. “I want to kiss you right now.” “What?” I jerk to face him.

I mean I knew it? But also you're both terrible.

He tastes like nothing. There’s the faintest hint of vodka, but after a few seconds it disappears. Just wetness and flesh

........... nice?

I itch to tell him that the clean taste of his mouth is all I’ve been thinking about,

Do not tell him this.

There’s an intensity behind the gray-blue that I’ve never seen before. Clarity hits for the first time in three days. It wasn’t him who initiated this conversation. I did. I walked to his office. He didn’t dare set foot in mine. If he felt any inkling of what I feel for him, he would have brought it up. He would have come to me. Instead, he walked to his desk without so much as a glance in my direction, like he does every morning. Today is just another day for him. It’s like Friday night never happened. If that’s not indifference to our kiss—to me—I don’t know what is.

This makes literally no sense???

The visual reminds me of Thor decked out in all his superhero costume glory: hard, chiseled mass bulging through every inch of fabric. The shiny gray color is the perfect counter to his glowing white skin. He is the god of thunder dipped in a milk bath.

Please

There’s something hypnotic about Tate’s milky glow,

YOU'RE SO WEIRD

I set up the ladder and make the wobbly climb once more, nerves shooting through my stomach. I should have made sure the ladder was on sturdy ground before I scaled it. I can’t ask Tate to run over and hold it steady, not after rejecting his help. I’d look like a fool. With shaky hands, I adjust my hard hat, take a bunch of quick photos, then scale back down. “Emmie, wait! It’s not steady—” The whine of metal scraping against concrete shrieks against my ear. Then I hit the ground.

You deserve this.

He’s crouched down, staring at me. His entire milky forehead fills with a half dozen concerned creases.

Deceased

“What time is it?” He checks the clock on the wall. “Almost six.” I mouth, “Wow,” silently to myself. I should have known from the dark orange sunlight shining behind the concrete tower crowding my window view.

You should have?

“You’re impressively pale,” I say. “So I’ve heard.” “I love it.” “You do?” His cheeks turn a gentle shade of pink. He sounds genuinely surprised. “You remind me of the Scandinavians who travel to the Big Island for the Ironman race. When I was a kid, I’d see them jogging and swimming all over the island to practice for it. They were milky white and ripped to hell, just like you.”

Stop talking.

I zero in on the thickness of his skin,

This is also weird

Soon I’m covered in pineapple-scented body wash. I breathe in, eyes closed, and for a minute I’m back on the beach. My wet skin pebbles, and I open my eyes. No. This is even better. I’m bathing next to my coworker.

Dying for a laughing emoji

“Okay,” he says. “I’m deathly afraid of spiders. Whenever I see one, I freeze.” I smile. “I would have never pegged you for an arachnophobe.” “It’s not a phobia,” he says sternly.

That is what afraid means

He places a giant orange and green papaya into my hands. My jaw drops at the sight of my second favorite fruit.

I'm confused, can she not find fruit herself? It's a sweet gesture but she reacts like she's not seen a papaya in years? And he just keeps bringing it?????

This is what he meant earlier in the stairwell when he said he would make it up to me.

He meant a papaya and not sex???????

He nuzzles my neck, wetting my skin with his breath.

Ew

Heat climbs up my face when I hand the loaf of Ezekiel bread to him. “You’ve given me so much fruit, and I love it. I wanted to give you something too.”

Why are you guys like this

“You’ve already done some excellent wooing with those evening cuddles and surprise fruit deliveries.”

So. Weird.

Going out, meeting new people, it’s exhausting. I’d rather get a prostate exam.

Same babe

Twelve seconds in and the world around me is forgotten.

You're counting?

My finger hooks over the neck of his shirt and I gently pull, exposing more of his stunning skin. A small tuft of curly white-blond hair peeks out. I nuzzle it with my nose.

Why?

With my index finger, I swipe a lump of the frosting from the bowl. Under the sunlight filtering through the nearby window, it glistens. Just like Tate. I pop it in my mouth, taking my time licking it off. My cheeks heat. It’s perverse what I’m doing, allowing his childhood memory to fuel this naughty moment.

This is deeply weird

“I was an imbecile,” he says. “We both were.” I can’t ever remember hearing a person in our age group use such an old-timey word. It makes me smile, despite the serious topic.

Ma'am.

When I open my front door, I get another jolt. Tate is halfway up my driveway. His face blank, he holds three yellow, lemon-sized fruits. “Lilikoi delivery.”

This is getting out of hand

Hard, bulging muscle peeks through milky skin.

Actually begging you to stop

Somehow the starkness of the dark hue against his pale skin isn’t harsh. It makes his skin glow even more than it normally does.

-.-

My tan fingers pop against the whiteness of his complexion. I adore how beautifully our skin contrasts.

Girl.

I spin around. “You kiss your ex in front of me and expect me to just shrug it off?” He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. He stands, lips bitten into a thin line. Another tear falls, and I scrub it away. His words, his feelings for me, it’s all been a lie. If he’s someone else’s—his ex’s—then everything between us is tainted. He clearly doesn’t care about me the same way I care about him. If he ever cared about me at all.

Okay you should absolutely be mad but you're mad about the wrong thing????? He wasn't cheating on you, HE CAN'T TELL YOU APART.

“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.”

Sorry this miscommunication trope is way too much

Tate called me a sweetie to his sister all those months ago? Something next to my heart thumps.

NEXT TO????

Now I know for certain how he feels about me. I want to show him with my kiss how I feel about him.

I mean, you made him say it.

“Women must throw themselves at you. How did you fight them all off?”

You have asked this like 4 times

No matter the challenge, I will throw down. Air gliding. Applied mathematics. Three-dimensional origami.

Isn't ..... all origami three dimensional?

He’s pale as milk; she’s tan as caramel.

-.-

“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.”

Y'all are disgusting

“I was hopeful.” He huffs out a sigh through smiling lips. “I love your weekend surprise more, though. It’s the bee’s knees.” “There you go again sounding like you’re from another era.” He lifts a single knowing eyebrow at me. “I seem to remember a beautiful dark-haired woman saying on Saturday evening that she likes the way I talk.” My head falls back as I laugh. “We’re something else, aren’t we?”

I hate you both.