Page 16 of The Last Good Man

Lying is not something I routinely do.

I’m too busy to deal with the unwanted consequences, but I’ll deliver a lie once in a while if needed.

Not a muscle throbs on my face as I watch him lifting his eyebrows with genuine incredulity before dismissing me with a grin.

His thumb moves over my lips again, the slow motion coming with something erotically enticing.

“You can’t lie to save your life,” he says. "Besides, I don’t need a confirmation. I have it right here,” he says, holding my eyes and flicking his head to the incriminating texts.

I havea hard timebreaking my stare away from his eyes and looking at the reply my date just texted me.

Besides, it’s useless, but I’m doing it to appease him.

“I see nothing of that nature. And it’s not your business, after all,” I say again, not showing interest in taking possession of my phone, as if I’m no longer invested in what happens to it.

He reads the dialogue, entertained.

“The only reason he cooks for you is to spread your legs open.”

“How do you know?” I taunt him.

I don’t know if he needs to be someplace else––I’m sure Aretha no longer expects him to show up––but I’ve got time, and my legs are no longer tired.

I forgot how eager I was to have a smoke, not to mention that my conversation with my therapist had lost its relevance since I ran into this man.

“You don’t seem the kind of man who cooks,” I opine.

He looks at me briefly before laughter echoes up the stairwell, bouncing off the walls.

I shush him.

He doesn’t stop.

“Don’t do this,” I scold him. “Some busybody might log a complaint against my therapist.”

His laughter subsides before he loops both his arms around my waist and presses me into his chest.

He looks younger when he chuckles, and I remember I had gotten nowhere when I had asked him about his age.

His sultry look is a trap.

“Do I look like someone who needs to cook to get in a woman’s pants?”

I feel the contour of his bulge against my lower abdomen.

“I know nothing about men like you,” I say, fingering his chest.

“Would you like to?” he tosses back at me, a crooked grin tugging at his lips.

A shiver sweeps through me.

“I see no reason why.”

I press my lips together, aiming for a stern look.

He seems immune to my tricks.

Sliding his hands inside my coat, he gives me a sample of what he’d like to do to me.

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