“People with OCD are not single by choice. They’re single because no one can deal with their bullshit.”
“But I like her bullshit,” Reece argued, then shook his head. “I mean, the way she acts. It’s not bullshit. It’s cute.”
“You’re seeing it from a distance. Imagine dating it. Living with it. Fucking it. Totally different ballgame.”
They listened for the answers to Round 3. Camden slammed his hand on the table.
“I knew it was iambic pentameter! Why do I listen to you?” he grumbled.
“Have you ever dated someone with OCD?” Reece asked, ignoring the question.
“Never. Because I’m not crazy.” Camden grabbed the plate of cheese fries and pulled it across the table. “No more cheese fries for you. If my calculations are correct, you just cost us the lead, you dumb fuck.”
Reece rolled his eyes. “Then how do you know if they’re difficult or not?”
“Go read up on the disorder,” Camden said.
“Disorder,” Reece echoed with an eye roll.
“It is a disorder. It’s a mental disorder. And it’s fucking crazy. I knew a guy in high school with OCD. He had this weird ass compulsion or ritual or whatever you wanna call it where he had to tap all the desks three times before the start of each class. He told me once that he felt like he’d die if he couldn’t do it. Literally die. Not like how we say, ‘Oh God, I’ll die if I can’t have sex tonight.’ He meant for real. That’s how fucking crazy they are.”
“That’s a flat-out lie,” Reece said.
Camden threw up his hands. “I swear to God. He would walk around the room and tap each desk so he wouldn’t ‘die.’ Everyone knew he was nuts, so they just ignored him and let him do it. And if he was late to class, which was seldom because, well, people like that are scheduled, the teacher would pause and let him tap the desks before she resumed her lecture.”
Reece took a long swig of beer before he replied.
“She’s not going around the office tapping people’s desks,” he said quietly.
“Maybe not, but I’m sure there’s a bunch of other weird ass shit she does. Things she keeps hidden.” Camden leaned across the table and whispered conspiratorially, “I bet she has all kinds of rituals she does at home. Checking locks. Turning lights on and off for no reason.” He grinned maliciously. “Masturbating at 8:37 P.M. every evening.”
“Shut up,” Reece said.
“Counting her steps . . .”
Reece ordered another beer and plate of cheese fries.
“Changing her panties five times a day . . .”
“You’re a jerk.”
“Look, I’m saving you a lot of heartache. Wouldn’t you rather know this stuff now? And anyway, isn’t it against company policy to date your coworker? Why risk your job? Didn’t you tell me it’s the best job you’ve ever had?”
“It’s all right,” Reece said nonchalantly.
Camden smirked. “I recall you telling me it was ‘brilliant.’ And by the way, you aren’t from England.”
Reece half-listened as Camden expounded all the reasons his current job wasn’t worth risking for a “fucking crazy ass girl.”
“Sounds like you’re jealous and you wanna date her,” Reece said.
“Oh, yeah,” Camden replied, his voice laced with sarcasm. “You figured me out, Reece. I want to date your OCD coworker whom I’ve never met because I just loooove the idea of fucking a girl who counts the number of times she bounces up and down on my dick.”
“Camden!” Reece scanned the bar for offended patrons, but no one heard. “Stop being an asshole, okay?”
“Fine. I’m sorry. I’m still sore over iambic pentameter,” Camden muttered.
“I’ll do better,” Reece said. “Just try to be a nice friend for the rest of the night.” It came out as more of a question than statement.
“Hey, I’m not trying to bust your balls, man,” Camden said. “I just know you’re all about these ‘projects,’ and I can’t quite figure out why you’re attracted to women with issues. I mean, remind me again what happened in your past that compels you to go after nut jobs?”
Reece rolled his eyes. “I’m not looking for a challenge. I’m not looking for a problem to solve. I’m not looking for someone to save. I get the coincidence, okay?”
“Coincidence?” Camden echoed. “Um, Reece. Let’s reminisce for a second.”
“Let’s not.”
“Let’s,” Camden pushed. “You’ve dated a shoplifter. A drug addict. A girl who claimed that her roommate kept her locked in a dumpster. She was admitted to Mulberry not too long ago, if I recall, right? They diagnosed her with schizophrenia.”
Reece nodded reluctantly. “For the record, I only dated her for two months. And also for the record, she’s doing a lot better.”
“Hmm,” Camden replied. “There’s the one who put salt on all her food then complained incessantly of bloating problems. Oh yeah! And the one who wanted you to tie her up and beat the shit out of her every night.”
“All right already!” Reece snapped. “I get it. I haven’t had the best of luck with normal women.”
“Well, ‘normal’ is relative. I mean, none of us are ‘normal,’” Camden said. “Oh, shut up shut up. Round 4 is starting.”