The Lies I Told(27)

“Want to grab a drink?” I asked. “You can pick the place. I’ll meet you there.” I grinned, knowing I could be very charming when it suited me.

You glanced back at the house, where the party raged. There was a man on the porch with a blonde. The couple was laughing. You frowned.

“What’s with Captain America?” I asked.

“Captain Asshole.” You drew in a breath. “A drink would be nice.”

I didn’t know who the guy was, but I owed him my thanks. “O’Malley’s?”

“Sure. I’ll follow you.”

“Great.”

“What’s your name?”

You hesitated and then smiled. “Marisa.”

“Good to meet you. I’m Jeff.” I’d defaulted to a name that wasn’t mine because I already suspected how it was going to go between us.

As I drove to the bar, I kept a sharp eye on your headlights, fearful you’d peel off. But you stayed the course. I parked in the restaurant’s lot and watched as you pulled in beside me. We were already working as a team.

I was bold enough to press my hand in the small of your back. Your muscles tensed only slightly and then relaxed. I opened the door for you. As we got a booth in the back, you rubbed your cold hands together, using friction to speed up circulation.

You were a good-looking woman, and the dark jeans skimmed your long legs. There was a slight edge to you, but you didn’t strike me as the tattoo type. If there were permanent markings on your body, they were discreet and carried the weight of lasting emotion. A significant date, a name, a small heart with a crack in the center. Hell, but you looked young.

You were likely wondering why you were here. You’d already surmised that I wasn’t your type, but what the heck, right? I’d already guessed you didn’t warm up to people quickly. That was good. Still, you were here now, and that sent a message that you liked me: you wanted to get to know me better.

“Did you take pictures at the party?” I asked. “Any images jump out?”

You pulled a small digital camera from your pocket. “Nothing too fascinating. Everyone was too drunk, and they looked kind of sad.”

The waitress arrived. I ordered nachos and a beer, and you ordered a wine. Waitress ID’d you, and you passed the test, though I suspected the card was fake. No way you were twenty-one.

As my head turned, I heard two clicks of the camera. I stayed cool. I’d done nothing wrong, and what’s a picture?

While we waited for the drinks, we chatted about the area, and I talked around the details about myself as much as I could. Our conversation was easy, relaxed, as if two old friends had met up after years of being separated. Christ, was it possible to really find a soul mate? The nachos arrived. We ate.

You glanced at the time on your phone. “Almost three hours.”

“Time flies.”

“I’m going to have to call it a night.”

Was work waiting for you, or maybe Captain America? I didn’t like the idea of you wedging in a date with me before going to another guy. “Sure, of course.” I rose as you did. “I’d like to see you again.”

You didn’t jump at my offer, which made you cautious and not stuck-up. Selective. Good. Made me want to bend you over a table . . .

“Okay. That would be nice. I’m sure we can work it out.”

“How about Wednesday? Unless you’re on the hook to help with Thanksgiving.”

“No big family gathering for me.”

I wanted to kiss you lightly on the cheek. But your body didn’t angle toward mine, and there was no moistening of the lips or tucking of a strand behind your ear suggesting you’d like me to be more aggressive. That was okay. Meant there likely wasn’t another guy waiting.

“You’ll hear from me soon.”

“Thanks, Jeff, for rescuing me from a boring party.”

A sizzle of desire burned hot in me. The more you held back, the more I wanted you. If I could have taken you in the bathroom then, I’d have put you up against the wall . . .

Slow and steady wins the race, old boy. “Glad to be your knight in shining armor.”

Your laugh was quick, genuine, sexy. I stood and watched you walk out of the bar, your shoulders back, your gaze forward. You were good at pretending you knew where you were going. But I could see through the act. You were lost. Needed guidance. But that was okay. I was here now.





16


MARISA

Monday, March 14, 2022

6:15 p.m.

Brit texted me midday with an invite for dinner. It would’ve been so easy to drum up an excuse, but I’d finally typed back Sounds fun! The exclamation point was strategic. What can I bring? Nothing was her customary reply. Mine was a thumbs-up emoji.

I was late when I pulled into Brit’s driveway.

Brit had been as attracted to the zip code as she had to the house, which was a one-story brick rancher painted white. There was a large display window, a red front door, and a carport that never accumulated junk. The yard was manicured with purple and yellow winter pansies nestled under the boxwood hedge.

I grabbed my bouquet, checked the cellophane wrapper for a price tag (peeled off, tucked in pocket), made my way down the herringbone sidewalk to the front door, and rang the bell.

Heels clicked in the stone foyer, and the door snapped open. Was there a little tension behind the smile? Safe bet there was. “Welcome!”