Things Liars Hide(20)

“I don’t even know if I can drink any more of this.” Bridget wrinkles her nose and stares down into her wine glass. “I think I just lost my appetite.”

“Don’t say you’ve lost your appetite, because I’m starving.” Tabitha successfully changes the subject, her head swiveling around in search of a menu. “I think this place serves food. We should order something.”

My stomach and I grumble at the same time. “It probably only serves bird food to go with this wine. Like cheese and dry fruit and crap.”

“Whatever it is, we’ll just order double.”

Not seeing a menu, Tabitha hops down off her stool and dashes to the bar to fetch one, returning with a few and setting them in the middle of the table. “Have at it, ladies.”

I crack one open. “Okay, this looks good: brie wedge and warm raspberry compote.”

“Let’s also do the artichoke dip and the bruschetta.”

Bridget rubs her hands together gleefully. “Yes and yes. And look, they have crab cakes, but you only get three, so we’ll have to order two.”

“We’re going to look like such slobs,” I say, closing the menu and signaling the bartender with the flick of a wrist in the air. “Is this table big enough for all this food?”

“Do you care?”

I shrug, the slouchy black satin shirt falling even farther down my shoulder. “Well, no…”

“Because I don’t see any guys here about to sweep you off your single feet. We’re free to do as we please.”

“Must you point out the fact that I’m the only single one in this group tonight?”

“I’m sorry, that wasn’t my point! I’m just saying…”

Bridget throws her hands up to stop our banter. “Hold that thought. Rewind! A group of guys just entered the building, three o’clock.” We all crane our necks to get a good look, Bridget—the only one of us who’s engaged—straining the hardest to catch a peek. “One of them is pretty hot.”

“Um… what are you doing?” Greyson asks, grinning.

Bridget winks and tosses her long brown hair with a flip. “I’m scoping them out, of course. For Daphne.”

The bartender walks over with her stylus poised above her tablet to take our order, and Greyson rattles off our selections, adding two more appetizers, along with another round of drinks.

“That should hold us over for a little bit,” she says, handing back the menus. “Thanks.” The bartender taps away on her tablet before nodding and walking off.

Bridget’s eyes are glued across the room, her wine glass poised at her cherry-red lips. “What do you think those guys would say if they saw a shit ton of food show up at this tiny table?”

“What guys? Those guys?” Greyson’s hazel eyes widen with surprise, and she cranes her head to look around the dimly lit club. “Why are you staring over there so hard? You’re engaged.”

If anyone should be ogling that hard, it should be me.

“Jeez, don’t everyone look!” Samantha demands. “Yes, the guys who walked in before. They’re at the bar now and totally checking us out.”

Surreptitiously, we covertly sneak glances through the dim lights, towards the front of the wine bar. Sure enough, on the far side of the room, seated along the rails, a small group of guys are in fact checking us out, doing nothing to conceal their interest.

One of them even points.

I do a quick count of the math: four of them. Five of us. Unfortunately for them, I’m the only single one in this group. Well, I suppose we could technically count Samantha as single because she broke up with her boyfriend just days ago; her status might be single, but emotionally she’s in no place to be picking up guys at a bar, sophisticated clientele or not.

We figured dragging her out tonight and plying her with alcohol would take her mind off of Ben & Jerry.

“Crap, they look like they’re going to come over.” Greyson groans miserably; if there’s one thing I’ve learned about Grey, it’s that she might be outgoing and friendly, but despite her stunning beauty, she’s modest, private, and hates getting hit on.

I, however, do not. And apparently neither does—

“Samantha keeps staring!” Bridget accuses with a scowl. “You’re going to give them false hope if you don’t knock it off.”

“I wasn’t staring!” She huffs. “Alright, so what if I was? There’s no harm in window shopping.”

While they argue back and forth, not gonna lie, my ardent green eyes wander, seeking out the group of young men seated at the bar. They’re not a large group, but they’re loud and boisterous, with several flights of wine lining the counter like shots.

In my age range.

Several of them gather up their stemless wine glasses, their course of action to head in our direction. I stand taller, assessing.

The leader is a few paces above the rest, his laser-like focus hell bent to reach us first, undoubtedly so he can control the situation, or have first pick. Or both. I know his type—cocky swagger, lopsided grin meant to be captivating, tight white tee, and straining muscles that can only be obtained with hour upon hour at the gym. If that weren’t enough, a visible tattoo snakes up the side of his neck and disappears into his hairline. Arrogant grin with blaring white teeth.

Wow. This guy thinks he’s the shit.

The other three, well—they trail along after him like afterthoughts. The ‘yes’ men, donning the official uniform of “Mr. One-Night Stand”: tight shirts, bleached teeth, and matching shit-eating grins. I bet two out of three of them have rib tats.

Except the straggler.

I eyeball the guy shuffling behind them, my green gaze fixating on him, latching on with fascination. Not only is he deliberately lagging behind, but he looks damn uncomfortable. This one… he’s a complete paradox.

Dark, tousled hair, The Straggler effortlessly dons a gingham plaid shirt, neatly tucked under a preppy blue sweater vest and a belted pair of navy khakis. His only concession to casual: rolled shirtsleeves pushed to his elbows.

All he’s missing is a bow tie.

Honestly? The poor guy looks like he’s just arrived from the office—a tax attorney’s office, I speculate. Or a cubicle at a technology company. Yeah, definitely computer programming.

Or insurance sales.

Wait, no. The Internal Revenue Service.

I bet he’s an auditor; that sounds boring.

I’m not trying to be mean, but the guy is wearing khakis and a sweater vest in a bar on a weekend, for heaven’s sake. He’s practically begging me to judge him.

To the upwardly mobile, wearing a plaid shirt to a bar during the workweek would be just fine, but not on a Saturday. Unless, of course, he happens to be from the Deep South—maybe Georgia or South Carolina? Don’t they wear bow ties down there? Yeah. They do.

I study him further and after some serious contemplation, conceding that The Straggler pulls off the stuffy look just fine.

And did I mention his glasses?

Kind of adorkable.

He pushes those tortoise-shell rims up the bridge of a straight nose on an average face, crosses his average arms across an average chest, and I watch as he tips his head towards the ceiling and murmurs to himself.

Adam’s apple bobbing, I read his lips: I’m in hell.

Nope. I’m not eyeballing the guy because I’m interested; I’m eyeballing him because he’s so obviously miserable.

Is it sick that I’m enjoying his discomfort? Ugh, what is wrong with me?

Smirking, I bring the bowl of my wine glass to my lips, concealing the smile growing there as the guys approach, confidently, like a pack of vultures. Swallowing a chuckle, I gulp my wine.

“Hey, I think I recognize that guy,” Tabitha says, her eyes squinting at The Straggler, then snapping her fingers. “Ha! Yes, I do. I’m pretty sure that’s Collin’s friend Dex. Dexter, I think.”

Dexter.

I turn the name around inside my head, testing it out.

How nerdy.

But it fits.

And I like it…





Interesting fact: I didn’t have acknowledgements for my first two books. Actually, I didn’t have dedications either… Something else I didn’t have? A clue.

Surprise, surprise.

Call me naïve, but when I started writing I had no idea what I was doing. I wrote for fun. I wrote what I wanted to read—and completely forgot to thank the friends in my life who helped guide me, and give me support I needed to make the novels a reality. Looking back on it, man do I feel crappy about it. (By the way, to this day, my Mom still brings it up.)

I’ve grown as a writer, and a human being, as so many new people have come into my life since my first novel published. So I want to start by thanking the people who have been with me along the journey.

Deep breath. Exhale.

Here we go…

I’m going to start with my Beta readers, who are my usual suspects: Kirstin Huie and Abby Slaven. Two incredible friends who have been with me from the beginning. Not only are they unbelievably supportive, they’re also incredible young woman who inspire me daily. Truly outstanding individuals.

Nikki Kroll. I’m so glad you accepted my invitation to Beta. Your notes were spot on, perceptive, and useful. I look forward to the day I get to meet your beautiful face in person!