Things Liars Fake (#ThreeLittleLies #3) (8 page)

I find the exit ramp.

Take a right at the light.

Pretend not to be affected by the downturn of her lips.

S
tupid boy.

I should tell him I don’t
have
to pretend.

That I
am
attracted to him.

That I do like him.

That if he’d only asked me on a real date, I would have said yes.

Yes, Dexter, I’d love to go to dinner with you!

Yes, Dexter, I’d love to see another movie
.

Yes, Dexter, I’d love to
…

But instead, he asked me to be his fake girlfriend for one night. Nothing really but an escort—and an unpaid one at that.

I scoff miserably, wondering if he’s thought of it that way at all.

Probably not.

I sigh, glancing over at him, the reflection from the street lights whizzing past us reflecting off his glasses, taking note of the way he’s concentrating on the road. How he keeps checking his blind spots. How he turns his blinker on every time he changes lanes. How he steals glances at me when he thinks I’m not paying attention.

But that’s where he’s wrong.

I
am
paying attention.

Have been since I swung open the door of my apartment earlier, eyes damn near bugging out of my head at the sight of him standing there. Preppy. Professional. Nervous.

Wanting to rip his clothes off, beginning with his buttoned up blue dress shirt, I’d start by running my hands up under the rolled up cuffs of his shirt—over his pale but toned forearms.

Tucked into a pair of black pressed slacks, nothing has ever made me hotter than the site of a guy in…

Suspenders.

Yeah.
Suspenders
for God’s sake.

I want to snap them.

Run my hands up his chest, under the length of them.

Slowly unbutton his shirt and push the suspenders down his arms—just to see the look on his face.

I train my lecherous eyes back out the window. “What did you tell your mom about me?”

His deep voice fills the cab of his spotlessly clean car. “Nothing much, to be honest. She was too busy chastising me for keeping you my dirty little secret—she didn’t ask for specific details. All she knows is what my Aunt told her.
”

A dirty little secret sounds… delightful.

I sigh, wishing I had one.

In the quiet cab of his fancy car, I hear Dexter shrug. Turning so my head faces him, I brush a lock of hair out of my face. Beneath the lamplights on the street, his eyes follow the motion when my hand caresses the side of my face, swiping at my long curls. “Which is what? What did your aunt tell her?”

“Just the facts—that you were polite.” Dexter hesitates. “That you’re beautiful.”

Beautiful; the word lodges itself in my brain and takes root there at the same time my stomach does a summersault; an unexpected, pleased, little flip-flop.

Beautiful. No one has ever called me that before.

Cute? Yes.

Wholesome? Yes.

Girl-next-door adorable?
Unfortunately
.

Does
Dexter
think I’m beautiful, too? I’m not asking to sound conceited, but it crossed my mind after he didn’t ask me out that perhaps… he’s not attracted to me. Maybe I’m not his type. Maybe he does truly just want to be friends. Play the doting boyfriend for one night—and one night only.

“And head’s up—they all think you’re Southern, so good luck with that.”

“Trust me, I can manage to throw a few
y’alls
into the conversations. Give Aunt Bethany a cheap thrill.”

“Oh, I’m sure you can.” His grin is lopsided and amused.

“Sugar, y’all are in for a treat.”

Dexter clears his throat. “So she knows that, but not much else. And of course, she thinks we’ve been dating awhile. Which… I apologize for.”

I find myself saying, “It’s okay,” as we pull into the parking lot of a country club. Find myself nervously fussing with the hem of my skirt as he purposefully strides around to my side of the car after we park. Find myself go a little weak in the knees when his hand presses politely into the small of my back, guiding me towards the crowd of people inside.

And when I remove my jacket and he passes it to the coat check, that hand wraps itself around my waist.

I stiffen; but not from displeasure.

From the opposite.

Dexter notices.

“Is this okay? I think it would be weird if I didn’t touch you, don’t you?”

I do my best to nod, swallowing the lump in my throat. “It’s fine. You’re right, it would be weird. I mean, if I was your…
girl
friend you would touch me. Act familiar.”

He blows out a puff of air—like he’s psyching himself up. “Yes. Alright. Good.” He babbles. “Just so we’re on the same page.”

“Dexter, it’s fine. I don’t mind you touching me.” It’s going to drive my hormones absolutely ca-ray-zy but, “Truly. I don’t mind.”

Hell no I don’t mind. Not at all—quite the opposite actually.

My eyes roam back to the suspenders.

Ugh.

Excited with this new development, Dexter’s stiff arm relaxes, his hand resting on my hip. “You can call me Dex if you want. That’s what my friends and family call me.”

Nope. Not gonna do it; not when the name Dexter rolls off the tip of my tongue like the last drop of wine from a glass, and gets me hot and bothered in all the wrong places.

I shoot him a cheeky grin. “Maybe. We’ll see.”

“I
s our brother romantic?” One of Dexter’s twin sisters asks, leaning on her elbows towards me as dinner plates are set in front of us by the servers. We arrived casually late and were immediately seated at a table for ten, except the rest of his family hasn’t joined us yet; it’s just myself, Dexter, and his enthusiastic little sisters.

“Tell us the truth.” The twins request at the same time, in the same playful voice.

The twins—Lucy and Amelia—are mirror image identical and almost indistinguishable; dark blonde hair, cut into jaunty, matching bobs. Identical almond-shaped eyes. Freckles across the bridge of their noses. Identical smirks with identical dimples.

You get the picture.

Tonight they’re wearing the same dress, in different colors, and watching me across the table with such intensity I squirm in my seat. It’s disconcerting and a tad bit creepy.

Especially since there’s two of them.

“Is he romantic?” I exaggerate a blissful sigh. “Yes. So romantic, aren’t you babe?” I pat his hand.

Dexter visibly swallows. “Totally.”

“Mom is right.” Lucy says. Then, at the same time, they both enthuse, “You’re much prettier than Charlotte was.”

Charlotte? Was?

“
Was
? Does that mean she’s…” Dead? I can’t bring myself to finish the sentence.

I’m guessing it’s Lucy who laughs. “His ex-girlfriend, silly. She was—”

“—Awful.” Amelia finishes.

“Boring.” Both twins roll their brown eyes.

“Do you like Star Wars?” Amelia asks at the same time Lucy says, “Dex likes Star Wars.”

“Charlotte hated it,” they parrot.

Dexter meets my inquisitive gaze, before silencing them. “Guys, stop with all the questions. You’re being rude.”

To their credit, both twins blush. “Sorry Daphne. We meant it as a—”

“—Compliment.” Lucy pokes at the chicken on her dinner plate before shoving it aside and crossing her arms on the tabletop. “So how is our brother romantic? Tell us. He works so much he hardly comes around.”

Amelia sets her napkin on the table and scoots her chair closer to mine. “Tell us.”

Crap. They’re like a tiny twin mafia; they’re not playing around. I’m going to have to make something up. “He, well. Dexter is…”

Amelia interrupts with a gasp. “Oh my god, did you hear that? She calls him—”

“—Dexter.”

“So cute.” They’re like an echo.

It’s freaky.

A smile tips my lips, and I’m honest. “Your brother is so sweet, and… such a gentleman. One of the nicest guys I’ve ever met.”

Beside me, Dexter lets out a painful groan. “Sweet?
Nice
? That’s horrible.”

I nudge him with my knee. “Oh stop. It’s a compliment.”

He’s not convinced. “Sweet and nice—exactly what every warm-blooded American guy wants to be called. Haven’t you ever heard the phrase ‘nice guys finish last?’ Story of my freaking life.”

His sisters are watching us now, wide eyed. The one in pink take a long sip from her water glass, while the other one pokes at the chicken on her plate. For once, they’re silent.

“Nice guys finish last? That’s not true,” I argue. “If they finish last, then what am I doing here?”

Dexter’s lips purse. I can tell exactly what he’s thinking:
you’re here because you’re doing me a favor
.

I give my head a tiny shake.
That’s not true—not true at all
.

He raises an eyebrow skeptically.

I raise mine.

“Someone outgoing and beautiful doesn’t do dull and predictable.” His voice is low.

“How are you dull?”

Across the table, the twins lean forward in their chairs, hanging on our every word. Every syllable.

Dexter crosses his arms. “I work a lot.”

Pfft. “Big deal, so do I.”

It’s then that Dexter removes his glasses… Transfixed, I watch as he wipes under his eyes before he meets my wide-eyed stare, his gaze boring into me. Long inky black lashes that should be outlawed on a man. Deep brown irises surrounded by tiny flecks of amber.

With his glasses he’s adorkable.

Without them, Dexter is… is…

Holy. Hot.

I gaze.

I stare.

I gape at him stupidly.

One of the twins coughs to cover a snicker.

The other titters.

My date uses a linen napkin to wipe the lenses, oblivious to my enamored gawking, gives his head a shake, the moment fleeting when he places the glasses back on the bridge of his nose.

“So Daphne, where did my brother take you on your first date?”

I take a sip of wine then to occupy my hands, and buy myself a few extra seconds before responding. “We went to see StarGate,” I say truthfully. “Sat in the theater after it was over talking until they kicked us out, didn’t we?”

Dexter nods, glasses firmly back in place.

Amelia scrunches up her nose. His sisters are not impressed. “You took her to see
Star
Gate? Lame!”

With a laugh, I add, “Yes, but I happen to be a huge Sci-Fi junkie. So I wasn’t horrified—not like you are right now.”

The twins peer at us warily, giving each other sidelong glances. “What about your second date.”

“Our second date?”

Shoot, Dexter and I discussed this in the car on the way here, didn’t we? Crap, where did we say we went on our second date? With his sisters aiming their focus on me with laser beam accuracy, suddenly I can’t remember. Or we hadn’t thought this far ahead.

“We… our second date?”

Lucy’s eyes are definitely narrowed doubtfully. “You
can’t
remember where your second date was?”

Dexter pushes out a laugh. “Was it so boring that you’ve already forgotten?” His hand brushes my palm affectionately—the way a real boyfriend would do. “We went to a wine bar.”

The twins scrunch up their noses. “You said you
met
at a wine bar. So did you meet there, or take her there on your second date?”

They wait.

“You know what? I’m twenty-six years old—you don’t get to cross-examine me, questioning my motives. You’re fifteen.”

“Sixteen in less than three weeks,” they clarify.

“That’s not my point—”

“Aww Dex, you should see yourself, all flustered.” Amelia cuts him off, preening happily before whipping out her cell and snapping a duck face selfie. “You’re—”

“—So adorable.”

“Dex, are you going to dance with her after dinner?” Amelia asks at the same time Lucy says, “They’re setting up now and starting after dinner.”

They both sigh. “Before dessert is served.”

They sigh again. “Cake.”

I can hardly keep up with their conversation.

Lucy pulls out
her
phone, checks the time, and then gestures us closer together. “Okay you little lovebirds. Scootch so I can get a picture.”