Page 25 of Tell Me Lies

When someone needs a good laugh, I’m your guy. Or when someone is talking smack and you need a big dude to smarten them up, I’m there. But when it comes to deep, emotional shit … I fucking suck.

“I lost my mom years ago. Gardens were always her favorite thing. Now, I can’t stand the sight of one.”

For a moment, the silence in the room grows deeper.

“Does it ever go away?” she finally asks, and it’s the most vulnerable I’ve seen her. “The pain. Does it get better?”

Before I answer, my eyes freely roam her face and take her in. There isn’t an ounce of makeup on her face, yet she’s stunning. Her skin looks so smooth, and her hair is still wet from her shower an hour ago. Even in her sweatpants and oversize shirt, she’s beautiful.

But the truth is, I don’t have the right answer for her because I still haven’t completely accepted what happened to my mom. And that’s probably because I still hold a lot of pain inside of me about it.

“I don’t think it ever goes away. Some days—hell, even months—are better than others. But I think we learn to adapt, you know?” I lean my head on the back of the couch. “With my mom, it wasn’t a car accident; it was cancer.” A picture of my mom in her bed, frail and so broken, flashes through my brain before I can fight it off. “But I’m sure with your dad, it was different. You didn’t get to say goodbye. Losing him in a car accident? That had to be tough.”

This isn’t me. I’m never the guy to get deep into my feelings and shit, especially with a girl I don’t even know that well. But for whatever reason, I feel like she gets it. Like she gets me.

“How did you know my dad died in a car accident?” rushes from her lips.

Before I get the chance to respond, I watch her walls go up as her body tenses, and I know I’ve pushed the conversation too far.

Shit.“Poppy told me. Don’t worry; she didn’t go into great detail. She was just trying to get it through my tough skull that you deserved this job and that you’d been dealt some shit.” I try to do damage control, not wanting her to shut me out. “That must have been hard, losing him in an accident.”

She brushes her hand over her hair nervously before clearing her throat. “Uh, yeah, it was.” Slowly, she stands. “I should get tobed. I have a few things I need to do on my laptop before I can go to sleep.” She holds her hand up awkwardly. “See you in the morning.”

I stand up beside her, looking down. “Yeah, I should hit the hay. I’m wiped.” I watch as she walks toward the small bedroom that’s hers. “Night,” I mutter behind her as she closes the door.

Well, that got fucking awkward fast.

Note to self: Maci McKenzie doesn’t like to talk about her dad’s accident.

My fingers type quickly against the keys. It’s after eleven at night, and Amelia and Logan are asleep in the room next to mine after what might have been one of the best days of my adult life at Santa’s Village. At least, I think they both are. I know Amelia is, and it’s been over an hour since I darted into my room like my ass was on fire when Logan brought up losing my dad in an accident.

It’s a day I don’t ever want to talk about.

I know I should go to bed, but I can’t. I’m nearly thirty thousand words in now, and even though the tension has been growing between the characters after an incredibly slow burn, they are so close to finally taking the plunge.

And hopefully doing the deed.

Just as the male main character pushes her against the wall, my hands freeze. Just like the last book I released, the actualromance part of the story is not coming easily, and I guess that’s probably because it’s been so long since I’ve had sex or looked at someone romantically.

Until Logan Sterns the past few days.

No, that’s not true. I’m not looking at him like anything. I don’t want to bang him. Or kiss him. Or lick him. Nope. The thought hasn’t even crossed my mind.

Lying bitch.

To be honest, as of late, I’ve felt it every time he’s near me. My pulse quickens, my heart races, and my stupid nose sniffs because he smells like a goddamn dream. One that’s filled with sex, sprinkles, and maybe even some hot fudge and caramel drizzled on top.

With that thought, an image of Logan pops into my delusional brain—him covered in sticky chocolate syrup, waiting for me to lick it off. I blink a few times, and suddenly, it’s me covered in syrup, and he’s leering at me—the way that he does—ready to lick me clean.

Aggravated, I aggressively close my laptop and then curse myself for drinking that seltzer water before bed. It’s an addiction, I swear. I love the stuff so much, but now, I really, really need to pee.

Hopefully, my door isn’t too creaky when I open it, and I can get in and out of the bathroom without waking anyone up.

Slowly, I open the bedroom door, thrilled when it doesn’t squeak or make any loud sound. Tiptoeing to the bathroom, I reach out and grab the handle, tugging the door open. But what I’m met with shocks me to my core because I didn’t hear the shower running.

But then I remember … when I first started typing, I put on noise-canceling headphones because it was so loud, with my room being close to the road.

I need to close the door—quickly. But all I can do is stare at the clear glass as Logan’s sculpted body stands under the spray of water coming from the showerhead, one hand on the wall and the other … gripping his cock.

---