Things Liars Fake: a Novella (a #ThreeLittleLies novella Book 3)(28)

My green eyes become slits. This guy is certifiable.

“What are you doing after this?” He wonders aloud, blatantly ignoring his cousin. “It’s a Sunday night but we should still do something.”

“What a great suggestion; we should.” Just not with you, *. “Dexter sweetie, let’s do something after this.”

The patronizing bastard scoffs. “Come on now, get real. You don’t think I know what’s going on here?”

My mouth falls open—actually falls open at his audacity—the anger inside me beginning its slow roll up my throat, past my lips. My claws come out. “Wow. Just…wow. You know something pal, you are seriously one shitty—”

“Cousin!” The twins announce, appearing out of nowhere, their lithe arms going around Elliot’s shoulders. For once, their timing is impeccable.

Amelia gives her brother a quick peck on the cheek. “Dex, mom wants you to run upstairs and grab that picture of you and Dad from the Vacation from Hell of 2010. You know the one—where Lucy and I are both crying in the background—”

“—and you and Dad are smiling at the camera—”

“—and Mom looks like she’s about to lose her mind—” Amelia giggles.

“—She says it’s in your closet.” Lucy finishes.

“Daphne, you should definitely go with him,” they say together, grinning their identical grins. Their eyes are wide. Calculating.

They know exactly what’s going on and suddenly… I adore them. I adore these perfect, weird, sassy human beings.





“So, this is your childhood bedroom, huh? The room you grew up in? I didn’t get a tour when I was here baking cookies with your sisters.”

“Yup, this was my room for eighteen years. Where all the magic didn’t happen.”

Yeah, it’s not exactly a babe magnet: shocking blue stripped wallpaper with an orange basketball border. Vintage Sci-Fi poster of 3,000 Leagues Under the Sea. A poster of Doctor Zvago. Academic Decathlon trophies shining on an oak shelf. His High School diploma and medals hanging from blue and red ribbons.

It’s sparse; clean. Slightly juvenile—but then again, it is the room from his childhood.

“Give me a minute to find the picture my Mom wanted, okay? Sit tight. I know it’s in here somewhere...” Dexter disappears into the closet, and the sound of shoes, totes and clutter being shifted ensues. “Shit, there used to be a box in here with…” Clatter. Bang. “Where the hell is it…”

His muffled voice fades in and out of the walk-in closet, where I hear the distinct sound of a box being pulled open as he hunts for this elusive, lost photograph. I wander to the far side of the room, trailing a hand lightly over the Star Wars comforter laid out over the twin bed, my fingertips gliding along the course cotton fabric.

Darth Vader occupies the entire bed.

“I wonder why your mom hasn’t redecorated in here. You’ve been moved out how long?” I ponder out loud, more to myself than anyone else.

His voice filters into the room from the deep pit of his closet, loud enough to be heard over the chatter and laughter of his rambunctious family floating up the stairs and through the vents in the floorboards.

“Uh, I moved out eight years ago?” Dexter sticks his head out, peering at me from behind the doorjamb, holding a tiny action figure towards me. “Hey, I know I said I didn’t have many of these, but check this out! I totally forgot about this collection! I wonder where the rest of them are…”

I bounce on the bed, excited, extending my arms to take it. “Whoa! You have a Battlestar Galactica Cylon Centurion action figure! Where did you get that?”

He holds it towards me, faltering mid-step. “Wait. You actually know what this is?”

He looks suitably impressed.

I roll my eyes. “Dexter. I was at StarGate alone on a Saturday night—of course I know what a Cylon Centurion is.” I grab at it, turning it this-way-and-that to examine it. “In perfect condition, too.”

Dexter pauses in the doorway of the closet, pupils dilating, the figurine all but forgotten as he watches me, eyes blazing. “Shit Daphne, you’re kind of turning me on right now with all this geek talk.”

“Is that so?” I lean back on his pillows, channeling my inner Tabitha, the Cylon still in my hand. “In that case… Did you know the starship that became the Blockade Runner in Star Wars: Episode four was the original design for the Millennium Falcon?”

His nostrils flare and he takes a step closer.

I press on, willing him towards me. “Did you know,” I start slowly. Very slowly, each word pronounced barely above a whisper. “That they still haven’t named Yoda’s species?”

Oh my god, where is all this random trivia coming from?

Dexter removes his glasses, setting them on a nearby dresser. Unwavering, the brown irises practically sizzle as he focuses every iota of his attention on me.

I stare holes into those glasses.

“Can you see without those?” I tease quietly as he stalks forward.

He chuckles then, the sound low and deep against the silence of the bedroom. My teeth bite down on my lower lip to hide a shy smile. “Can you?”

His moves closer, closer still. “I see you, if that’s what you mean.”