One Tiny Lie (Ten Tiny Breaths, #2)(27)

“How do you know Connor?” His voice is strangely calm. I tense as his hand lifts to brush my long black hair off to the side, his fingers grazing my neck.

“I met him the other day,” I answer involuntarily, distracted. “Didn’t he mention it?” What is he doing?

“No.” His index finger tugs gently at the back of my shirt, pulling it down far enough to expose my tattoo. “Small world,” he murmurs as his finger runs horizontally along the writing. He exhales slowly, his breath sending shivers down my back and legs, stiffening my entire body.

I set my jaw. “Unfortunately.”

His finger stops moving as searing eyes flash toward mine in the mirror. When he looks back to my tattoo, I catch the little smirk. His finger starts running back and forth along the ink on my back again, the motion drawing my breath out of my lungs and making my face redden. “Now you see why last Saturday needs to stay between us?”

“It should never have happened in the first place,” I say, my voice cracking as his muscular arm reaches toward the bottle of lotion on the counter, pumping a small amount onto his fingers. With a pinched brow, I watch as he brings it toward me and, in the most gentle of touches, begins to smooth it over my freshly inked skin. I close my eyes as I swallow, taking a moment to enjoy the cool, soothing cream. That damn thing has been driving me insane all week. I’m diligent with caring for it, but I have to admit that my hands don’t feel nearly as good as his.

I hate admitting that.

“Feels good, doesn’t it,” he murmurs with a huskiness in his voice that makes heat blaze through my body.

“Yes,” I hear myself murmur. Wait . . . My eyes fly open to find his trained on my reflection. Dammit, how does he do that! “No!” I snap, wiggling my way free of him and spinning around. I move toward the door, but Ashton’s giant hands land on my waist. He roughly lifts me up and sits me on the counter to face him. “Stop being so f*cking stubborn and listen, Irish,” he snaps, his hands squeezing my sides, his thumbs pressing into my hip bones.

It’s his tone that makes me flinch, though. “Connor is my best friend. We’ve known each other for four years. I know him well.” He pauses, his eyes skating over my face. “I know he seems really easygoing, but . . .I can tell you that Connor wouldn’t like knowing that you and I hooked up. Even if it was for one night. Even if we didn’t f*ck.” I gasp at his crudeness, but he continues without apology. “So if you want anything to happen with him, you should probably stay quiet.”

I frown. “I don’t get it. I thought he knew—”

“No, he doesn’t,” Ashton confirms with a shake.

“Nothing?”

Ashton’s hands slowly slide from my waist over my hips, down the sides of my legs, squeezing them slightly, to settle on my knees as he steps away. “Nothing.”

A strange heat spikes in my thighs with his touch but I clench my teeth, more focused on answers. “Well, then why am I the famous Irish?”

“Oh.” Dipping his head, he chuckles. When he looks up at me, it’s with a private smile. “Because I’ve never taken a dare before.” Seeing my confused look, he adds, “The tattoo. On my ass.”

I feel my cheeks flush, but my focus quickly moves to my curiosity. “Why did you, then?”

His voice is soft when he speaks again. “I had my reasons.” The way his eyes settle on me then—a hint of a secret behind them—instantly dries my mouth. “And I’m asking you now—again—not to say anything. For Dana. She doesn’t need to get hurt.”

The way he says her name, I immediately sense the reverence there. He does care for her. Maybe he was as drunk as I was . . . “Shouldn’t you tell her, though? I mean, it’s...” My voice drifts off, looking for the right word. Despicable. Evil. Wrong.

“It’s complicated,” he snaps. “And none of your business. And if you don’t want to keep quiet for Dana’s sake, do it for Connor. If you’re planning on hooking up with him.” Unlocking the door, he opens it and steps out. But stops abruptly. “One more thing . . .” He looks over his shoulder at me and my stomach clenches. “Tell Reagan that I’m going to kill her.” With that, he heads down the stairs.

“Not if I don’t kill her first,” I mutter to the reddened face in the mirror.



“I couldn’t tell you!” Reagan whines, pleading with big, wide doe eyes. “You never would have come!”

“That’s not true,” I mutter stubbornly. But she’s right. I wouldn’t have. And then I wouldn’t be sitting out on the back deck, waiting for sweet, unsuspecting Connor to bring me my Jack and Coke. My third one tonight, thanks to my frazzled nerves. “And what about Dana?” I hiss. “You didn’t think I needed a warning about that?”

She cringes. “I wasn’t sure how to bring it up, seeing as your head looked ready to explode from everything else that happened that night. And if you actually liked Ashton, then—”

“I don’t,” I blurt out, a little too quickly.

I see the flicker of a smile touch her lips, but she smooth it over quickly. “Good, because you’re not a f*ck-buddy kind of girl and he’s not boyfriend material. Clearly.”

With a sigh, I murmur, “I get why you didn’t tell me last weekend. My head probably would have exploded. But you didn’t think telling me before I walked into this house was a good idea?”