Things Liars Fake: a Novella (a #ThreeLittleLies novella Book 3)(6)

Good lord he smells freaking fantastic. Like a fresh shower and fresh air and wintergreen toothpaste.

The truth blindsides me: I’m insanely attracted to this guy.

He’s such a dork.

But so, so cute.

I stuff a handful of popcorn in my mouth to occupy myself—it weighs down my tongue like sandpaper—and when I crunch down, the speakers in the theater choose that moment to go dead silent, filling the silence around us with the sound of my chewing.

Mortified, I pause.

Chew.

Pause.

Oh my god, I’m so loud.

Chew.

I give Dexter a weak, popcorn-filled smile before my head falls back on the headrest and I smother a groan by shoving more popcorn in my face.

I hate myself right now.





Daphne Winthrop.

The woman I spent half my weekend stalking on social media after meeting her at Ripley’s Wine Bar because—let’s face it—she is beautiful.

She’s also way out of my league.

Outgoing, charismatic and sweet, I try not to watch as she nervously shovels handful after handful of buttered popcorn into her gullet from that giant bucket, and ignore the sidelong glances from her piercing green eyes.

The brightest green eyes I’ve ever seen in person.

God, she must think I’m a freaking loser.

I mean—coming to a movie alone, on a Saturday night? And StarGate of all things.

Christ.

Why couldn’t it have been something cool, like Star Wars or Planet of the Apes?

For a split second I want to lean over and ask Daphne what she’s doing here alone, but think better of it; she looked mortified when I approached her at the condiments counter, but really—I did need those napkins.

In front of us, the movie previews roll on. Holiday, comedy and zombie Coming Attractions quickly flash on the two-story mega screen below but I’m not paying one goddamn bit of attention. Nope. Instead of being riveted on the digital display, my traitorous eyes spend their time stealthily sneaking peeks at Daphne.

They trail her movements when she finally sets the large tub of popcorn on the hard, concrete floor at our feet. They watch as she unzips her puffer vest, shrugging out of it then twisting her body to drape the vest over the back of her seat. Even in the shadowy theater, I notice her breasts strain against the fabric of her fuzzy lavender sweater when she arches her back.

Her breasts, her breasts.

Shit, what am I doing staring at her breasts?

Getting turned on, that’s what.

I haven’t gotten laid since I broke it off with my ex-girlfriend Charlotte eighteen months ago, and haven’t had a real date in over ten months; in case anyone wanted to fact check the math, that’s roughly three hundred and four days of missed opportunities. Give or take.

And yes—I counted.

Daphne leaves her gray winter hat on, her long brown hair frames one of the prettiest f*cking heart-shaped faces I’ve ever seen, and shines glossy beneath the changing lights of the big screen.

Black framed glasses she hadn’t had on the other night lend a stark contrast to the sexy, confident Daphne who was out with her friends at Ripley’s Wine Bar. Don’t get me wrong; she was nice enough—but that Daphne wouldn’t ordinarily give me the time of day.

This Daphne… she’s better.

Casual. Soft. Approachable.

Plus, she came to f*cking StarGate alone on a Saturday night. Who does that?

I mean—besides nerds like me.

Not beautiful girls like Daphne, with full social calendars. Girls with great bodies and better personalities. Fun loving. Girls who have guys lined up for their phone numbers—and I would know, because I saw it with my own eyes last weekend.

I give her another curious glance, wondering why someone like her isn’t on a date tonight. Me? That one is easy: I’m perpetually put in the Friend Zone because I’m nice. Easy going. A commitment kind of guy that doesn’t take the time to date around, I’m more likely to be found chaperoning my kid sisters school dance than asking someone on a date.

So, I get why I’m here alone—but why is she?

Her head turns and our eyes meet when she bends to grab her popcorn bucket off the floor. In the dark, I see her mouth curve into a friendly smile; Daphne’s eyes rest on me a few steady heartbeats before she turns her attention back to the movie screen. Her hand digs in the giant tub of popcorn like she’s rooting around for buried treasure.

She pops a kernel in her open mouth.

Chews.

Swallows.

“Want some?” She offers in a whisper, holding the tub between us.

I don’t—but I’m also smart enough to know that when a pretty girl offers you something—you take it. “Sure, thanks.”

She beams at me in the dark. A friendly, platonic smile.

Platonic: story of my life.

However, I’m not complaining twenty-minutes later when Daphne is frantically seizing my upper arm as an enemy ship onscreen (an enemy of Planet Dakara) launches an attack against Colonel O’Neil. In the distance, explosives go off, and a spacecraft is blasted into smithereens.

It’s loud, bloody, and pretty f*cking intense.

Daphne gasps when someone onscreen is violently shot, her fingers wrapping tighter around my bicep. Another blast and she buries her face in the shoulder of my plaid, flannel shirt.