Page 21 of Tell Me Lies

Each of us hailed from a different country, a small international colony within a private university, though we lived off campus by a whole block, technically speaking. Dove’s father wanted her to have freedom and space outside of the dean, who was rather strict in his outlook of non-US based students, regardless how much money he injected into the mini-ecosystem that surrounded several old buildings and forty-five acres of lawn.

Bramwell U supported the richest of the rich, and said nothing about it. Bragging wasn’t encouraged at the level of wealth these select families enjoyed. Money became a taboo subject, which suited my British side just fine, seeing as I didn’t have any. The university ran differently to other elite institutions. Excessive behavior and sponsorships were discouraged, mostly because there was simply no need. The truly wealthy at their level didn’t need to display their good fortune and labors. It was only the semi-wealthy and millionaires who appeared that gauche. Or people with no money at all, like me.

“Can scholarships please be added to that list?” I grabbed for the overflowing wine glass Jacks topped up with a bottle she pulled from God knew where, and downed a gulp before she could grab it back.

“Hey!” she snorted, and waved her hands. “Fuck it. Have at it.”

Harper snorted and disappeared into the kitchen, and was back a moment later with two more unopened bottles.

“Do we have a wine cellar I didn’t know about?” I asked.

Harper shrugged and topped up everyone’s glasses to the brim, her attention lasting until she got to Jacks’s which flowed over the lip.

Jacks leaned forward and caught the first drip on her tongue, sucking it off the top of her glass with finesse.

“Girl’s got skills.” Harper chortled.

“You know it.” Jacks winked. “Oh, I hear there’s a party next weekend at the Henchmen’s frat house.”

“Do I want to know what that means?” I transferred in at the new year halfway through my degree, though my two years with Lennox Deitrich threw up several red flags for how cloistered I’d been.

Hell, I’d barely seen these girls enough to call them friends, though they accepted me into their circle without reserve. Dove was right. Being given their acceptance wasn’t in me to take, either culturally or pride-wise. But right now it felt really good to have friends, especially when my ass was plastered all over the campus.

For a scholarship student, I was surprised I hadn’t been called into the dean’s office for misconduct.

“Don’t ask. But she’ll tell you all about her skills after enough drinks,” Dove interrupted, smiling in the sweetest way while she evaluated us all.

I wondered if anyone else noticed.

Aussie Harper grinned as she tipped her drink back and winked.

Yup, they saw it.

Funny how the quiet ones were often the most underestimated—or the filthiest, in my life experience. Which would Dove end up being, or would she tick both boxes? I resolved to keep an eye on her, for entertainment value if nothing else.

“Are you a stalker yourself?” I asked, referring to my own peeping Maxom as I shifted my attention to the quiet house owner.

She turned her wineglass between delicate fingers. “I’m just observant.”

“You gather things,” Jacks said after a moment’s pause. “People, information, names … phone numbers?”

“Or boxer shorts?” I put in.

“All the toys!” Harper added.

Dove muttered something under her breath in her native language about the Virgin Mary and involving a naughty cat. “I shouldn’t have said anything.” See? The filthiest minds ever. She paused, sipping from her glass. “But you need to do something about your stalker. And I’m glad you’re away from his brother. They were weird.”

“You’re telling me.” I shook my head. “Both of them are in that huge mansion, off campus, and even with all the staff in the world they’re basically living on top of each other the whole time. There was no privacy.”

“So, you didn’t…” Jacks wiggled her eyebrows. “You know, twins?” She looked at me expectantly.

I choked in the middle of a deep slug of wine, trying to catch her up. “Oh, God, no. You can’t be serious.”

“How does that work anyway?” Harper asked. “Like, both in one hole, a hole each…”

Images assailed me, one repugnant, the other arousing. I didn’t stop to decipher which was which. “No twins. Not now, not ever.” I faux-glared at Harper over the rim of my glass. “Understood?”

“Understood.” She snapped to attention and spilled wine.

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