One Tiny Lie (Ten Tiny Breaths, #2)(28)

She has the decency to look sheepish as she places her empty cup onto a side table. “Probably . . . I’m sorry. When you told me that you met Connor and wanted to come here today, I hoped you wouldn’t care anymore. Once you saw Ashton, I mean.”

I glare at her. “And what about when I met his girlfriend?”

“She was supposed to be back in Seattle for school already!” Reagan groans, dropping her face into her hands. “I’m sorry! I’m a terrible friend. An awful roommate. I just don’t do well with uncomfortable situations.”

“Me neither. Especially the one I just got thrown into back there.”

“Gidget!” The back door opens and a grinning Grant steps out to hand Reagan her drink. When he sees the morose look on her face, he quickly turns and ducks back inside without a word. I can almost see the guilty tail tucked in between his legs.

“So Grant was in on this too?”

“He won’t say a word. Seriously.” She looks at me with pleading eyes. “Please don’t hate me, Livie.”

Setting my jaw stubbornly, I stare out into the darkness of the expansive backyard as I think through it. None of this is Reagan’s fault. I’m the one who made out with Ashton. I’m the one who met Connor and wanted to come here. I’m the one who’s bitter with Ashton for cheating on his girlfriend. I’m the one who keeps letting fleeting memories of kisses and touches creep into my mind. I need to stop thinking those things about Ashton and start focusing on the gorgeous blond Irish guy who is available. Maybe I can make some new memories and prove Dr. Stayner wrong while I’m at it. “I don’t hate you, Reagan,” I say with a sigh. “I may still kill you in your sleep, but I’ll think of you fondly while I’m doing it.”

She exhales noisily. “Give me fair warning though? I’ve always wanted to eat the tequila worm before I die. Should I do that tonight or wait?”

I half-snort, half-giggle, her joke defusing the tension. “Why does Grant call you ‘Gidget’?”

Shaking her head at the silly nickname, she mutters, “It’s after that character from the fifties and sixties. You know, Gidget Grows Up, Gidget Gets Married. There’s a slew of books and movies on her. Even a television show. Apparently the author came up with the name by mashing girl with midget. And, well,” she gestures to herself, a knowing smirk on her face. “It’s a good thing I don’t have a height complex.”

I giggle softly at her confidence. It’s refreshing. “I have yet to ask Ashton why he’s calling me Irish. I feel like every time I see him, I’m too busy swallowing my tongue to get the question out. Do you think Grant knows?”

Reagan shakes her head. “I asked. He doesn’t. Only Ashton knows.”

There’s a long moment of silence, during which Reagan gulps back her drink. I don’t know how that tiny body can hold so much alcohol. Then she says, “Connor’s into you.”

I flush, glancing over my shoulder and into the kitchen window to see him talking with Grant and a new guy. “He is?”

Her head bobs up and down. “Oh, yeah. I can tell. He can’t take his eyes off you. He’s probably imagining what he’s going to do to you later.”

“Reagan!” I shake my head as she grins. She’s as bad as my sister.

She takes another long, noisy sip as my thoughts unintentionally drift back to Ashton. “She seems nice.”

“Who?”

“Ashton’s girlfriend.”

“Oh . . .” Reagan pauses and then murmurs, “Yeah. Too nice for him. I feel guilty every time I see her. If he could just learn to keep it in his pants . . .”

Wait . . . “He cheats on her, a lot?” It wasn’t just with me?

She shrugs. “I hear things. A lot of things. He has quite the appetite. His heart and his brain are two separate entities that don’t commingle. Ever. Poor, sweet Dana doesn’t have a chance in hell of satisfying him.”

“I’m sure no one does,” I murmur, silently relegating him to top spot on the man-whore totem pole.



When we reenter the house, there are a dozen new people in the kitchen and adjoining family room, taking up the right side of the house, opposite the den. More people are at the front door, trickling in.

“You guys good?” Connor appears with my drink. “Sorry, I was going to bring it out, but you looked like you were having a serious conversation.”

“We were, but . . .” I glance over at Reagan, who’s fluttering through the room with waves and nudges and smiles. Grant trails two feet behind her, his eyes glued to the back of her head, a goofy expression on his face. And I smile to myself, wondering if Reagan has any clue that Grant is seriously crazy about her.

“But what?”

The sound of Connor’s Irish intonation brings me back to him, to his beautiful green eyes and his easygoing smile. “Girl stuff,” I say as I clink his glass.

The smile never slips from Connor’s face, even as I catch his eyes flickering to my lips for a second before lifting back up to ask, “How were your first few classes?”

I open my mouth to answer when the stereo blasts on. We both turn in time to see Ty strut out in his kilt, rubbing his hands up and down over a puffed-out chest as he surveys the crowd.