Things Liars Fake: a Novella (a #ThreeLittleLies novella Book 3)(10)

Daphne: You were on a date. Plus, I repeat: it was Stargate—you hate SciFi.

Tabitha: Like that matters. I hate when you go to the movies alone. Plus, I would have sacrificed Collin. He loves that crap.

Daphne: I do love you for that offer <3 Anyway… the news is that I ran into Dexter Ryan. He was alone, too, so…. (dot dot dot)

Tabitha: Shut. Up. He is such a dork.

Daphne: Don’t call him a dork! He’s really sweet and he saved me from myself. And my giant bucket of popcorn.

Tabitha: What is it with you and popcorn? I can never figure it out…

Daphne: It’s delicious.

Tabitha: Alright, so you saw Dexter. I take it you sat with him? Was he as dull as he looks? He’s nice and all, but kind of boring, don’t you think?

Daphne: No. He wasn’t dull. He was sweet and adorkable.

Tabitha: You know, I should write a book about a hot nerd with a dirty mouth and a hot bod. Would you read it?

Daphne: Shut. Up.

Daphne: And yes. Yes I would read it…





“Halyard Capitol Investments and Securities, Dexter Ryan speaking.” My brisk voice is clear, crisp, and to the point.

“Dexter Ryan, why are you answering your own phone?” My mother’s demand shouts at me from the other end of the line. “Where’s your secretary?”

For some reason, my mom loves boasting the fact that my firm appointed me my own secretary. Drives me crazy.

I sigh, swiveling in my desk chair towards the window and stare outside at the pond. “She’s at lunch, Mom. Occasionally I unchain her from the desk so she can eat.”

“I’m going to ignore your sarcasm young man, because I know you’re at work and don’t have time for a lecture.”

I know there’s a reason she’s calling…

“Who’s Daphne?”

And there it is.

“She’s a friend.”

Just a friend; a beautiful, vibrant, and funny friend.

“That’s not what your Aunt Bethany said. She said you had a girlfriend. Why haven’t we met her yet? Quite frankly, when she told us she ran into you, my feelings were hurt.”

Another thing my mother loves? Guilt trips.

“Your feelings were hurt? Come on, Mom. Bethany was totally over exaggerating to get a rise out of you.” I pick up a pencil and start doodling circles on a notepad. “Wait. Who’s this we? What we are you talking about? Who did Aunt B tell?”

My mom hesitates a heartbeat, then drives home the kill. “Your sisters and I, Aunt Donna and Aunt Tory. We all happened to be together when B called.”

The Gossip Network of Ryan Women: once those five catch a whiff of chatter, you might as well rent a billboard in Times Square to broadcast your secrets.

Fuck.

Exasperated, I run a hand through my hair, tugging at the thick strands and releasing a loud puff of air. I can feel the ends sticking up in several places, but I’ll worry about that later.

“Mom. I’m sorry you’re upset, but I’m telling the truth. Daphne is just my friend. In fact—we’ve only met twice. I don’t know what B told you, but we’re not dating.”

My mom makes a sniveling sound, and I know she’s digging deep for a tear. “Dexter Phillip, don’t lie to me. It hurts my feelings.”

I lean back in my desk chair, balancing on the back wheels, and stare up at the ceiling. Breathe in and out. “Mom, what reason would I have to lie?”

Another sniffling sound, followed by a scoff. “You tell me.”

Drama, drama, drama.

“I—”

“B tells us you’re bringing her to Grace’s engagement party; she was rather pleased to rub the news in. You know I hate when she finds things out first; and about my own son?”

“Mom—”

“It would have been nice if I’d meet your girlfriend first, don’t you think?”

Resigned, another long puff of air leaves my throat, and I blow it out into the receiver. “Technically, yeah.”

“Bethany said she’s just stunning. A petite thing with the sweetest little Southern accent.”

A Southern accent? Jesus Christ.

My mom continues. “I’m not pleased you kept this from us and I had to find out from B, but Daphne does sound lovely.”

“She is,” slips out before I can stop myself.

Mom sighs one of those wistful, breathless sighs woman breathe when they’re overcome with joy. I roll my eyes and watch as the landscapers outside walk back-and-forth across the parking lot with leaf blowers. Another drives a riding lawn mower so fast through the grass it’s like he’s vying to race Danica Patrick’s NASCAR.

Grass flies everywhere.

“Come a little early, please, so she can meet us before we head into the party. I won’t get the chance to talk to her when we’re there. Gracie’s invited over a hundred people. Tory told me it’s turned into quite the circus.”

My cousin Grace has always been high-maintenance, so this news doesn’t surprise me in the least. Her brother, Elliot, is the dickhead who stood me up at the Wine Bar last weekend.

“Come early? Uh… that might be hard to swing. I’m pulling extra hours next Saturday.”

Mom sighs loudly, long-suffering.