Things Liars Say (#ThreeLittleLies #1)(3)

But guess what? He tells me why.

“My Aunt Cindy—Jemma’s mom—had her panties in a twist about everyone going. Come to think of it, she probably wanted me there to hook me up with a nice girl and—”

I emit a very irritated and exasperated sigh. “Jesus Christ, Mase, where are you going with all this? Make your f*cking point.”

“Sorry. My point is, I follow Jemma on Twitter, right?” Oh my effing God. “Her sorority has this big fancy dance thing coming up. They do it every year. Anyway, some dude named Grey must be helping them plan this event, right? Cause it’s a big deal. And see here?” Mason stabs his index finger on the computer monitor again, pointing to another Tweet.

“I swear to all that is holy, if you don’t make your point I’m going to lose my shit.”

“Some Grey guy tweeted your name as his date. Check it.”

I lean in to scan the screen closely, my brows furrowing into an angry line when I read the tweet in front of me.

Holy shit, the bastard is right.





@JemmaGemini Tweeted: Theta Gala season is here! Host with the most @grey_vkeller and date @calthompson3192 are now selling tickets! Get yours here (click on link) #state #sorority #philanthropy #ThetaGala15





My fists clench at my side. “What. The. Actual. Fuck.”

“Wait, hold on—there’s more. That was just yesterday.” Mason moves his mouse around, clicking until the screen scrolls down. Up pop’s Grey Keller’s profile and history. “Check this one out.” He points to the monitor.

“I’d be able to if you’d get your f*cking finger out of the way,” I snap, leaning in closer until my face is inches from the screen. “I can’t see.”

“You can ask nicely, you know…”

My jaw clenches shut tightly, and Mason moves his finger.

We peer at the Tweets, heads bent together.





@Grey_VKeller Tweeted: missed you @calthompson3192 at #StateTailgate knock them dead at your game, honey buns! #thompsonforthewin

@Grey_VKeller Tweeted: nothing beats @starbucks and @calthompson3192 on these cold rainy days #blahs #raingoaway #soylatte #boyfriend #boyfriendsweater #hugs

@Grey_VKeller Tweeted: what @calthompson3192 needs is a #queereyeforthestraightguy as he tries on suits for #ThetaGala15





There are more, but Mason is reading them out loud over my shoulder, and his commentary is starting to get on my last nerve.

“Did that hashtag say Queer Eye for the Straight Guy?” he asks the silence. “Hey. What’s worse than having a stalker?” Mason asks with a smirk, answering his own question when I give him a dark scowl. “Being stalked by a guy. Hey. Do you think he’s come to any of our matches and we just didn’t know it?”

“How did you find these?”

“I told you, my cousin Jemma. She retweeted these, and even though it’s a bogus Twitter account—I checked—your name still stuck out at me.”

“That is so messed up.”

“Sucks to be you, man.”

“Shut the f*ck up, Mason.”

“I’m just saying. He’s out there watching you, and you didn’t even know it. That’s gross, dude.”

That’s the very last thing I want to think hear, so I prod my roommate sharply in the shoulder with my elbow, narrowly missing his head.

“Shut the f*ck up already!” I repeat irritably. “I can’t hear myself think.”

“But I turned the radio off.”

“I meant shut your yap.”

“Sorry. Just thinking out loud.” Then he mumbles, “You’re being a real bitch about this.”

“Not. Helping.”

“Noted.” But then he adds, “But you admit he could be watching you at our games.”

I narrow a steely gaze at him. “How do we even know it’s a guy?” Great. Now I’m using the royal we.

He shoots me an impatient look. “What are you, a moron? Grey is a guy’s name, bruh. That’s how we know it’s a guy.”





@Grey_VKeller Tweeted: @calthompson3192 counting down the days until #ThetaGala15 and I see your handsome face

@Grey_VKeller Tweeted: @calthompson3192 last night was wonderful. Wish you lived closer so I could see you more often #sexy #stud





“This Grey dude must be blind,” Mason says beside me, and I give him another nudge—this time in the back of the head. “Ow, what the hell, man?”

I grunt unhappily.

“You could break a mirror is all I’m saying.” Mason mumbles, rubbing his neck.

“Fuck you.”





My fist comes down like a hammer on the flimsy wooden door that at one time might have been painted blue but currently looks like shit. In fact, with one swift pull I could probably yank the whole thing off its rusty hinges.

Hovering behind like a couple of chicken shits are my roommates, Aaron Buchanan and Mason, standing down on the loose concrete slab next to the porch. They accompanied me for one reason and one reason only: a good laugh.

Let’s not forget to trail along out of perverse curiosity, and if necessary, to pull me off the useless bastard I just drove forty-five minutes to confront.