Things Liars Fake: a Novella (a #ThreeLittleLies novella Book 3)(7)

A tad melodramatic?

Yes.

Do I give a shit?

Hell no.

Without hesitating, my neck dips down and I inhale, giving her a quick whiff. She smells like heaven; I mean, if heaven smelt like butter and chocolate.

“Can I look now?” Comes her muffled voice. She peeks up at the screen with one eye. “Is it safe to come out?”

“Yeah, it’s safe,” my chest rumbles with laughter.

Daphne sits up then, still holding my forearm.

“Sorry about that. Sometimes I get a little…” Her hand unnecessarily presses down the sleeve of my shirt to smooth out wrinkles that don’t exist, and then—is it my imagination, or are her fingers running the length of my forearm? I swear she just gave it a squeeze.

Biting her lower lip, she shoots me an innocent smile in the dark, causing my heart to do some weird shit inside my chest.

Not to mention the stirring of other things in my pants.

If I was a girl, I might sigh.

Daphne Winthrop may just be the girl of my dreams.





Not going to lie: I barely saw a single minute of that movie.

Why?

Obviously I was distracted by Dexter.

Judging by the way he sniffed my hat when I had my head buried in his shoulder, I suspect he didn’t see much of the movie, either.

In fact, I suspect a great many things about Dexter: such as his need for punctuality. He looks like he’s always on time. I know you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover, but his wearing a sweater vest and dress shirt to the bar last weekend lends me to believe he’s no stranger to buttoned up and slightly stuffy.

I suspect he thrives on structure and order.

I suspect he probably takes life a bit too seriously.

A little too lanky, a little too quiet, and tad too aloof, he’s hardly the kind of guy a girl writes home about. Dexter is definitely not the kind of guy that inspires fantasies in a young woman—sexual or otherwise.

And yet…

When the credits roll at the end, we stay seated, watching name after name scroll across the giant screen down in front. I turn my head towards Dexter and ask, “What’d you think about the part when they found the interstellar teleportation device?”

I’m such a nerd sometimes.

“Uh, hello. Not gonna lie; I kind of want one of those now and I’m not ashamed to admit it,” he says as the wall sconces in the room illuminate the cavernous room, the people around us rising and heading towards the exits.

“We could battle if we both had light sabers.”

“That’s Stars Wars,” he points out.

“So?”

“You can’t mix Universes,” He says in a duh kind of tone. Like I should know better.

I let out a long, dramatic sigh. “True. But you’re probably just saying that because you don’t want me to Princess Leia your ass. I would destroy you.”

Dexter laughs, tipping his head back against the cushioned seat. “Are you shitting me? I’d pay to see you dressed as Princess Leia.”

My eyes must get wide because he clamps his lips shut and looks away, embarrassed.

We sit in compatible silence a few seconds before I break it. “Isn’t it crazy how twenty years ago, the technology in this movie was cutting edge?”

This perks him up. “Right? Imagine how incredible the movie would be if they remade it.”

“I was thinking the same thing!”

“Don’t judge me, but I have a small army of Star Wars Storm Troopers on my desktop at work. My sisters gave them to me for Christmas a few years ago. They look so bad ass on my computer.”

I sit up straighter in my seat, interested. “Where do you work?”

“I’m in wealth management at a firm downtown. Right on Michigan Avenue. What about you?” Dexter asks as he removes the plastic lid from his soda, shakes the ice around, and tips his head back for a drink. A small bead of liquid glistens, wet, on his bottom lip, and I stare.

Oblivious to my ogling, he licks it off, daring my eyes not to follow the movement of his tongue.

“Daphne?” He waves a hand in front of my face. “Hello?”

“I’m sorry, you were asking where I work?”

He replaces the lid on his soda and laughs around the straw. “Yeah, where do you work?”

What I want to say is, “At the corner of Get Inside My Pants and Let’s Make Out…” but what I actually say is: “I’m about ten minutes from here, at a boutique PR firm; Dorser & Kohl Marketing. I’ve been with them since I graduated and absolutely love it.”

God, I am so boring.

We stare at each other then, two matching stupid grins on our faces. Dexter’s smile gets wider when my teeth bite down on my bottom lip to stop the nervous giggle bubbling up from inside me.

Just then, overhead lights flood the theater, and a teenage crew comes in to clean, bustling in loudly with brooms and dustpans. One teenager noisily drags a garbage can behind him, so Dexter and I have no choice but to grudgingly remove our butts from the cushiony theater chairs and rise to our feet, collect our jackets and garbage, and make towards the exit.

Well, mostly my garbage since I was the only one stuffing my face with snacks.

“This was fun,” he says as we trudge down the bright hallway, into the crowded lobby. “I’m glad I ran into you.”