Things Liars Hide(11)

Feigning indifference, I relent. “You know what? Okay. Fine. I give up.”

Collin’s low chuckle on the other end sends another shiver up my spine. “Okay fine? I give up? Calm down, Thompson, or I might think you actually like me.”

“It sounds like you’re pouting. Are you pouting, Collin?”

“No comment.”

Before I can stop myself, I say, “Aw, you’re kind of adorable. Did you know that?”

This cheers him up and I can virtually hear him smiling. “Two dates.”

“Don’t push your luck. Let’s just start with one…”

“Can’t blame a guy for trying.”





Collin: Hey blondie. Write anything good last night?

Tabitha: Actually, yes! A few more chapters in the new book. Plus I’m done editing the proof for On the Brink, book one.

Collin: Be honest. You ARE using me as a muse. For real.

Tabitha: Why would I do a thing like that?

Collin: Because I’m charming and ridiculously good looking. Besides, I noticed you’re not denying it.

Tabitha: LOL knock it off. I can’t get anything done with my phone blowing up every ten seconds.

Collin: Give me one line from your new book and we can both get back to work. Promise.

Tabitha: Fine. Here it is: “The quiet way she spoke was louder than the words she could have shouted.”

Collin: Holy shit, that’s amazing! You’re amazing!

Tabitha: blushes Now go back to work.

Collin: Fine, but I’m going to be thinking of you all day. I hope you’re satisfied.

Tabitha: Alright, well—I guess I’ll see you soon?

Collin: Tomorrow night. Six o’clock?

Tabitha: Yes. 6:00





What was so wrong with him knowing? Blare mulled the question over in her mind at least a few dozen times as she sat in her apartment, wondering what it meant for him to know her secret.

It wasn’t like he was going to tell anyone. She liked him—really liked him. Trusted him. Longed for him. Blare finally admitted to herself that it felt good that someone finally knew; the burden of her secret had been lifted off her shoulders, and she didn’t have to keep lying anymore. Well, she did, but not to everyone. Not to him. Blare felt freer than she had in years now that someone else knew. And now he was taking her out. On a date. For Blare, the future seemed infinite…



Deftly, my fingers fly across the keyboard on my laptop, and I hesitate. Should I delete any of those few sentences? Will any of them give me away if someone I know reads it? Oh, who am I trying to kid—the only person reading my work is Collin, and he’s not saying anything to anyone.

Is he?

I scoff at this notion, deeming it absurd. Quickly, I make myself a note in the margin of my book document, hit SAVE, close my laptop, and stand.

Walking to my closet, I throw open the door and brace my hands on both sides of the doorway, wearing only a nude colored bra and matching underwear. I study my selection of clothes before going in, and head right for the dresses.

Pulling out a gorgeous emerald-green wrap dress, I hold it against my body, running a hand down the length of the fabric and deciding it’s the perfect dress for this date.

The color is rich and jewel toned, and sets off the flush of my skin and the blonde of my hair. I’ve never worn it—never had an occasion—so the tags still hang, dangling from the sleeve. I carefully tug them off and toss them in the garbage under my bathroom sink.

And I might be lying to my family and my friends about what I do in my free time after work, but I won’t lie to myself about this date.

I am excited.

No.

No, there has to be a better word for it than that…

Euphoric. Nervous? Elated. My body is positively humming with anticipation.

I flatten one hand on my stomach, putting pressure there to quell the nerves taking root, inhale, steadying my breath, and hang the green dress on a hook by the shower. Deep breath, Tabitha. In through the nose, out through the mouth.

Why am I so nervous? My hands go to my face; my cheeks are burning. Positively on fire.

God, I’m burning up—for him.

I feel like…

I feel like this is the start of something momentous. Like the minute I walk out that door, my life is going to change.

Is that weird? Crazy? Melodramatic much?

Who cares! I’m twenty-four years old, for crying out loud. Old enough to be facing this date more logically—instead of like a ditzy sixteen-year-old headed out on her first date.

First date.

First kiss.

First… everything.

With Collin Keller, of all people.

After flipping on the light switches surrounding the vanity at the sink, one by one until the whole room is ablaze, I pull out the stool usually kept under the counter, and sit.

Studying myself in the mirror, I debate how to make over my face. Dramatic look or simple? Dewy or matte?

Smoky or—guh! What the hell am I even saying?

Yes, now I do sound crazy!

My blonde hair is up in giant rollers, and I leave them to cool while applying makeup, my nervous hands shaking when I try to brush on my mascara, careful not to clump it up, and I just barely manage not to stab myself in the retinae. Barely.

I brace my hands against the counter, take a few steadying breaths, and stare at my reflection before tackling the mop of thick hair piled on my head.

The rollers come out one at a time, and the blonde waves loosely fall down around my shoulders. I add styling cream to eliminate the flyaways, and set it.

Once that chore is done, I fish around my makeup drawer for the dark plum matte lipstick Greyson gave me for my birthday—she calls it her “lucky gala lipstick”—swipe a few times across my pout, and then give them pucker.

Transformed, I stare.

Give my locks a shake.

Inhale, exhale.

Decision made: I won’t resist him anymore if he wants to keep taking me out. If he wants to email and text and talk on the phone. If he wants to take me to bed. I won’t resist him at all. Doing so would be foolish, and I am no fool. Yes, the lying needs to stop.

I’m going to start by admitting how Collin Keller really makes me feel.

He makes me feel clever and funny.

He makes me feel desirable.

He makes me hopeful.

Ugh. How annoying.





I cannot physically make myself stop staring.

Tabitha is gorgeous.

I give her another sidelong glimpse across my car, my eyes appreciatively scanning her silky legs, demurely crossed at the ankles. The slit in her dress slides open at that exact moment to reveal a sliver of tan thigh.

Focus on the fucking road, Collin, Jesus.

Clearly I’ve completely given up playing it cool.

I’m nervous as hell.

As I white-knuckle the steering wheel, my palms actually begin sweating, not just because Tabitha and she’s stunning, but because of what I have planned. She’s either going to love it or… never want to see me again.

Or slap me across the face, which, to be honest, would be hot as hell.

She’s given me one date. One chance. The last thing I want to do is fuck it up. However, I wanted to pull out all the stops without having to ask my sister for advice, and this was the only way I knew how.

Life imitating art.

Her first book.

The chapter I used as inspiration for tonight’s date burns, imprinted in my brain.



God, those eyes. Those shoulders. That ass. Would she ever get sick of watching it walk away? Not in this lifetime… Rachel tried to hide the smile threatening to escape, raising her Chardonnay and studying it. She swirled it then watched as the clear gold liquid crept down the side of the glass, clinging to life. Rachel lowered it then returned it to the table, and watched as Devon re-approached. The butterflies in her stomach flitted and danced carelessly, unaware of the turmoil they caused. These feelings—they weren’t part of the plan; she wasn’t supposed to fall for him this way… she wasn’t supposed to fall for him at all. The room he’d reserved was intimate, down a narrow hall in the back of the dimly lit Italian restaurant, meant for private parties. Three roses sat in a thin vase in the center of their table: red, yellow, and peach. Roses that Devon had placed there himself. The chardonnay. The way he’d found out and ordered her favorite foods… It was all so perfect. But what did it mean? Rachel was both anxious—and scared—to find out…



I push her written words out of my mind. What’s done is done.

Love it or hate it, there’s no turning back now.

Having reached our destination, I easily find a parking spot, pull in, and shift my black sports car into park. I throw open my door and hop out hurriedly, bending at the waist and sticking my head back inside the car to peer in at her. “Don’t. Move.”

I jog around to the passenger seat and pull the passenger side door open. Tabitha’s long, smooth legs appear first, nude high heels hitting the pavement with a tap. My hand reaches for her, and she grasps it, allowing me to assist her out of the car.

The wind throws up a gentle breeze, lifting her hair at the nape of her graceful neck and parting the hem of her dark green dress, à la Marilyn Monroe.

Thank you, wind gods, for that complimentary peep show, although not enough peep to glimpse the goods.

Damn, no such luck.

Tabitha tucks a small purse—handbag, I think girls call it—under the crook of her arm, then runs her hands down her dress, flattening out the wrinkles caused by the wind. She adjusts the sash around her narrow waist, and I notice her flowy dress has a blessedly plunging neckline, exposing an entire eyeful of cleavage that makes my fingers itch.