Things Liars Fake: a Novella (a #ThreeLittleLies novella Book 3)(31)

The twins cross their arms and Amelia hmphs. “Are you even listening to yourself?”

Lucy laughs. “All we need to do is go back in the kitchen and tell Aunt Tory you’re—”

“—In here using profanity and talking shit about Daphne.” Amelia’s own use of profanity is not lost on me.

“Maligning her.”

The girls nod. “If you scare her off after we worked so hard to get her here…”

Lucy makes a slicing gesture across her neck with her hand: dead.

“Wait. How do you know the word malign?” Sorry, I can’t help asking.

“Maligning?” The twins cross their arms and roll their narrowed eyes, speaking at the same time. “AP English.”

“What’s AP English?” Elliot probes.

More eye rolling. “Advanced Placement.”

This gives me pause. Because, “If you’re in AP English, why’d you write such a shitty letter to Daphne when you hijacked my email—you know what? Never mind. I don’t want to know. Jesus you two, please just go back to your party.”

Both my sisters stand tall, unflinching. “We’ll wait here while you finish him off.” Lucy gives her chin an encouraging nod in Elliot’s direction.

Finish him off? “Okay tiny Godfathers, bring it down a notch. This isn’t the mob.”

Elliot glances at me with disbelief still etched across his brow. And pity. “Shit man, are they always like this?”

I chuckle, smacking my cousin on the back and moving him towards the party. “Unfortunately, yeah.”

God, I really do love those two.

Crazy little weirdos.





“So, this is me.”

“Yup, this is you.” Dexter taps on the steering wheel with his palm, glancing out the window up at my condo. My little front porch light glows in the dark, illuminating my dark gray front door and the adorable painted snowman leaning up against the brick wall. The light also bounces off the lenses of his glasses, making it hard to read his expression.

Pulling his car neatly into a parking spot in front of my awning, I unbuckle my seatbelt but make no move to exit the vehicle when he shifts into park.

The engine idles.

The radio is silent.

“Are you sure you don’t want to go do something? It’s still pretty early.”

Nine o’clock on the dot on a Sunday night.

“Don’t feel obligated to continue this farce of an evening.” His chuckle is sardonic and patronizing. “Although I do appreciate the sentiment.”

Farce? Obligated?

“Obligated? I thought this was a date.”

Dexter laughs again, pushing his sexy tortoiseshell glasses up the bridge of his nose. The buttoned up collared shirt beneath his winter jacket peeks through, and my eyes travel of the column of his neck to his strong jaw line.

The place where I want to put my lips.

“Dexter, if Elliot said something to upset you, I—”

“—Let me stop you right there.” He twists his body to face me from the driver’s seat. “Nothing—and I mean nothing—Elliot says upsets me; it’s the fact that he says anything at all and there’s nothing I can do about it. He’s not some guy off the street. He’s family. So as much as I want to smash his face in, I can’t. Because my freaking grandmother is usually in the other room.”

He’s pissed off and agitated and passionate.

“Elliot’s always been like this, and thank god it’s not just with me. He’s a dick to our cousin John, too, and Little Erik who’s what—ten years younger than him? What an ass. You don’t do that shit to a kid.” He lets out a puff of frustration. “Anyway. I’d love to deck him, but I never will, and that’s the pisser of it.”

Ass. Punch. Dick. Deck. Pisser.

Oh my god, why is this turning me on?

There’s something wrong with me, I know it. Maybe it’s been too long since I’ve had sex and I’m going through some kind of withdrawal, where mundane words trigger dirty, dirty thoughts.

I watch words and sentences come out of Dexter’s beautifully sculpted lips, but I stop hearing them all, so lost in thought. So lost in the thought of him taking me inside and— My head tips to the side and I study him.

I look up.

“What’s… that look?”

Crap, he’s studying me now, too, but his look isn’t one of desire. It’s one of confusion.

I know, I know, it’s shameful! But he’s so kind and patient and sweet and handsome and I like him and I want... everything. I want everything with him.

I need to know if he wants it too, but…

Guh!

“Why don’t I walk you to the door.”

Of its own volition, my head gives a nod.

Grabbing my purse from the backseat of his Audi while he jogs around to open the passenger side door, I step out, one leg after the next. Put one foot in front of the other as we walk unhurriedly to the front door.

Keys in hand, they jingle in the silent night, but I make no move to fit them into the lock, just like Dexter makes no move to kiss me. In fact, rather than move closer, his hands disappear into the pockets of his navy pea coat, stuffed inside protectively. Whether it’s against me, or the cold, frigid air, is beyond me.