Things Liars Fake (#ThreeLittleLies #3) (4 page)

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.

N
ot 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.”

I feel my face heat. “Yeah, me too.” I pause in front of the bathroom, gesturing. “Would you mind waiting? I have to…”

Pee.

“Here, let me hold these for you.” Dexter takes the tub of popcorn out of my hands, my water bottle, purse, and candy wrappers. “Do you wanna toss any of this in the trash?”

He is
so
sweet and nice.

“Sure. If you don’t mind. Wait! Maybe keep the popcorn?”

I’ll munch on that in the car.

A few minutes later, I’m washing my hands and rejoining Dexter, who holds my puffer vest out and open to assist me into it, and I pivot so I can slide my arms through the holes.

Sweet and nice and a
gentleman.

A trifecta
.

“This was fun,” he repeats when I turn to face him. I look him up and down, watching as he slips into his heavy wool coat. His shoulders might not be wide and athletic, but I can tell they’re lean and fit. I watch, riveted, as his masculine fingers deftly work the toggle buttons. They’re long, strong, and male.

Unexpectedly, in my mind, I’m picturing them running slowly under the hem of my sweater, over my bare stomach, and up my—

Crap. And here I thought Tabitha was the one with a vivid, sexy imagination. Or maybe I need to go reread her sexy romance novel. Again. For the fifth time.

Glancing away, I try to keep my dirty thoughts at bay. I mean,
Jesus
! What the hell am I
doing
, goggling the poor guy’s hands like they’re sexual objects?

If only he knew.

Raising my hands to my cheeks, I find them flaming hot: a common theme tonight.

My eyes continue tracking his movements; he pulls the winter hat out of his pocket, drawing it down over his mop of hair. His nose twitches, shifting his glasses into place; a move I find incredibly adorable, if not a tad dorky.

Swallowing hard, I smile. “It really was fun. It was nice having company for a change. I usually…” I draw in a breath. “Normally I come watch these old Sci-Fi movies, um. Alone.”

Dexter shifts his feet, and I look down at the brown dress shoes more suited for the office than a casual night at the cinema.

“Uh, so.” Dexter takes a deep breath, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his coat. Exhales out. “So maybe…” He pauses to push up those tortoiseshell frames with the tip of his finger.

This is it
. He’s going to ask me on a date.

I lean towards him, bucket of popcorn tipping, anticipation making my body hum. “Yes?”

Does my voice sound breathy? Over eager? Shoot. Cool it Daphne; bring the desperation down a notch.

Dexter hesitates, rocking back on his heels. “So maybe—”

“Dex, sweetie, is that
you
?” A shrill female voice interrupts his entreaty, causing us both to twist around, surprised at the woman approaching us at a hastened pace. Short with sandy blonde hair, the woman looks around my mother’s age and is sporting a wide, toothy grin. “I thought that was you! What a pleasant surprise.”

She envelopes him in a full contact hug, her arms squeezing.

“Aunt Bethany.” He sounds pained when she finally peels herself away. “I’m surprised to see you. Who are you here with so late?”



“Late?” She laughs, loud and tinkly, and checks her watch. “It’s only eleven forty-five on a Saturday night! I’m old but not
that
old.” Aunt Bethany’s eyebrows raise when focusing her attention on me, intense gaze alive.

Mischievous.

Her pink lips form an ‘O’ of glee.

“I don’t mean to intrude on your
date
. I just wanted to come over and say hello.” Aunt Bethany scrutinizes me with wide, interested brown eyes; not in a negative way. No. Quite the opposite—she’s so excited she almost looks euphoric. Ready to burst. “Dexter sweetie, are you going to introduce me to your
friend
?”

She says the word friend innocuously enough, but what she really means is:
friend-
friend. As in: girlfriend.

Dexter sticks his hands back into the pockets of his thick coat. “Aunt B, this is my friend Daphne. Daphne, this is my mom’s youngest sister. My Aunt B.”

Bethany wastes no time extending her open arms towards me and pulling me in for a hug, which is super awkward since I’m still clutching my popcorn. Her embrace pins my arms to the side before she squeezes the life out of me, thereby crushing my bucket.

I’m positive a few kernels fall to the ground.

“So good to meet you,” I croak into her curly hair, gasping for air. Sneaking a glance over her shoulder at Dexter’s stricken face, I try desperately not to laugh.

I fail.

Aunt B gives me one more squeeze before releasing me, then steps back to look me up and down with a sigh. “You are gorgeous. Those green eyes are stunning. Dex, she’s gorgeous.”

Dexter blushes furiously, removing a hand from his pocket to adjust his glasses while his Aunt continues fussing, oblivious to his obvious discomfort.

“Where has he been
hiding
you! Never mind, don’t answer that; it’s none of my business. The real question is, are you bringing her to Grace’s engagement party next weekend? Wait, don’t answer that!”

I don’t want to embarrass Dexter further by reminding his Aunt we’re just friends; one’s who have only met twice—not that the first time at Ripley’s Wine Bar counts since we hardly spoke.

So instead, I go with, “Um.”

“Has his
mother
met you yet?” Bethany asks, eyes sparkling. She is completely giddy.

I cast a helpless look at Dexter; he shakes his head, so I answer truthfully. “No ma’am.”

“No ma’am.” She parrots. “
Ugh,
I love that. You sound positively southern. Say something else. Say
y’all
.”

Laughing, I fake a southern accent (which I happen to be really good at) for his eccentric Aunt, whom I’ll never see again in my life. I put a hand on my hip for added effect and wave my other hand about airily.

“How y’all doin’? When life hands you lemons, put them in your sweet tea and thank Gawd you’re from the South.” I fan myself, channeling my inner Scarlet O’Hara and getting into the role. “
Fiddle dee-dee
!”

Beside me, Dexter groans, throwing his head back and staring at the ceiling.
Oh my God
, he mouths toward Heaven, running a hand down his face. “Please don’t encourage her.”

My eyes fly to the cords of his lean neck. His jawline. His Adam’s apple. I remove them swiftly when Aunt B follows my line of vision. A knowing smirk crosses her lips.

Crap.

Busted.

His aunt titters gleefully, speaking to her nephew. “Wait until I rub it in your mother’s face that I met your girlfriend before she did! She’s going to have a cow from the jealously. A
cow.
”

“Aunt Bethany, we’re not dating. Daphne is
not
my girlfriend.” The look he shoots me is apologetic. “Sorry Daphne, I didn’t mean to say it like that.”