Page 71 of The Roommate Lie

Glancing down at Charlie, I unleash a lip bite of my own as my gaze drifts to his tattoo. Slowly, I walk my fingers backward over that inky-black line, letting my fingernails graze his skin ever so slightly because I can already tell he likes that. “Who’s this one for?”

It works. He answers instantly, no hesitation. “That’s for my AA sponsor, Gunnar. The guy who taught me how to work with glass.”

He doesn’t offer more details, and I don’t press my luck. I’ve got one more mystery to uncover on his arm, one last tattoo to help me learn a little more about Charlie, an enigma wrapped in devastating dimples and an easy grin.

That final black band is mostly tucked under the sleeve of his shirt, and I edge my fingers underneath. Slow and teasing to keep Blythe distracted. “What about this one? Who’s that for?”

When I look down at Charlie again, his gaze burns hotter than it did a few minutes ago. Those hazel eyes are endless dark pools. But then he blinks, his smile hitches, and that man is a lot smarter than I gave him credit for.

He’s been playing games like this a long time.You can’t rake a rake.

“That one?” His voice is rough and playful. If there’s anything vulnerable lingering in his eyes, it fades fast. Hidden behind a wink and a smile. “That one—Allie-cat—is none of your business.”

Chapter Thirty-Seven

CHARLIE

Alice has moves, and those moves are going to be the death of me.

I was expecting more awkwardness from her big plan. Maybe some nice cringeworthy winks or forced giggles. Instead, she’s perfected the art of Weaponized Cuteness, and I might never be the same.

We walk around the hedgerow after we leave the park, and she knows how to keep a good thing going. Touching me every now and then because she likes making me suffer—though not as much as I like suffering.

Her touch always happens the same way, in light grazes that make me want to stop everything and graze her right back. Faint licks of touch that tease me and taunt me and tie me in knots. Then we round the corner by a gothic-style cottage, and she grabs my arm with both hands, gasping about the gingerbread trim, and I have to grip our folded picnic blanket for dear life.

I almost pounce. Forget our plan, forget her pursuing me or fooling the Victorian—I almost give up and roll out every move I’ve got. Set fire to my reputation right there on the sidewalk, no regrets.

But I don’t.

It takes everything I have not to growl and pull her close. Everything.

You’re killing me, Carrots.It’s going to be a fun death, but you’rekilling me.

I wish this wasn’t fake, that it wasn’t some big scheme to fool the Victorian—but I love it anyway. I just have to figure out how to survive it. How to enjoy all those touches without letting them tear me apart.

Tour guide.

Be a tour guide.

I need to focus on something else, a nice distraction that isn’t the adorable redhead beside me. She asks a question about the next house, a sprawling white colonial with black shutters that has a sign out front, and I throw myself into it. Channeling my inner historian so I don’t go full rake instead.

Standing up a little straighter, I nod to the house in question, the most infamous building in the hedgerow besides Muriel’s haunted bed-and-breakfast. “This is the Lilac House, home of the fabled Lilac Society.”

Alice’s eyes widen with delight. My girl loves a history tour.

“The Lilac Society was founded in 1905, and they’re still in charge of historic preservation in Ponderosa Falls,” I continue, but I’m mostly just reading the sign out front.

Before I can keep going, someone interjects from the lawn. “They were originally called the Lilac Ladies, and they’re responsible for planting the lilac bushes we still enjoy to this day. They hand-watered them using pails they carried back and forth to the creek.”

Henrietta.

I’ve been a tour guide for five seconds, and I’ve already got competition. I’m not sure how I didn’t notice her. Two large flower beds flank the walkway and front porch of the LilacHouse, and Henrietta’s knee-deep in the flower bed on the right, pulling up weeds like they’re her mortal enemies.

She shares a few more facts with Alice—no sign-reading necessary—and I really should’ve seen this coming. Henrietta is the current board president of the Lilac Society, and her ancestors have been members since the dawn of time. But I refuse to be outdone.

Standing up even straighter, I channel a new inner historian, a better historian.Eat your heart out, Henrietta.

“They’re also responsible for planting the ash trees at the park, which they also hand-watered.”

---