Page 56 of Tell Me Lies

It’s open, giving me a clear shot of her at work, and as I take her in, my chest heats, and my heart swells, all at the same time.

She’s a fucking sight to behold, still wearing my baggy Sharks T-shirt with her hair pulled into a messy bun at the top of her head, as she sits perched in front of her computer, so deep in what she’s writing that she doesn’t even notice me watching her.

I could watch her work for hours because of the peaceful look on her face while she does it. It brings me my own kind of tranquility within, even though I don’t understand why.

The corner of her lips turns up as she smiles, nothing but pure joy written in her expression as she brings the words to life. I have no idea what her story is about, but I can’t wait to find out one day.

Suddenly, with a few pushes of a button and a click of the mouse, she relaxes back in her seat. And then she finally notices me.

Leaning on the doorframe, I jerk my chin up at her. “Anyone ever tell you that you look awfully pretty when you’re deep in thought and hard at work, Boston?”

She smiles big at me, so big that it lights up her eyes. “No, but now, they have.” She slowly stands, walks around the desk, and stops before me. “Did you have a good nap, Mr. Sterns?”

“I did. I never nap though. I guess you really wore me out, woman.” I put my hand on her hip, digging my fingertips into the soft flesh under the fabric of my shirt. “Come on. Instead of you cooking for me or me eating you, for once, I’m going to make you something.”

“Oh, yeah? And what’s that?” She sounds genuinely intrigued.

“Some pancakes, of course,” I say matter-of-factly. “I’m the pancake master after all.”

She leans against me, wrapping her arms around my waist and angling her chin up like she wants a kiss but doesn’t want to ask. Cupping her cheek, I bring my lips to hers and breathe in that coconut scent that always seems to awaken my cock, even when it’s spent.

It’s just a kiss. Not as small as a peck, but not a deep one either. Yet I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of doing it just like that.

And that’s a little terrifying because she’s already told me we aren’t the couple in her book. Our story isn’t going to end the way theirs does.

And now, gazing at her as she holds on to me, I can’t help but wonder,How the fuck will our story end?And it can’t be soon because I’m not ready.

I sit on a stool at the counter, laughing so much that my stomach hurts. Logan is in a random chef’s hat he pulled out of absolutely nowhere with an apron covering his rock-hard abs.

“I told you, I’m the master of pancakes,” he says, attempting to flip one in the air, but it winds up on the floor, just like the two before it.

“What makes you an expert?” I barely get the words out through the laughter.

I point at the pancakes on the floor just before Clyde realizes they are there and rushes over to inhale them before someone cleans them up.

“I just am. Just ask Clyde.”

Finally, he stops goofing off long enough to create a pretty big stack of pancakes on a plate, and then he grabs the syrup and sets them both down in front of me.

“How’sthatfor expert?” he says, slapping his spatula down onto the stack. “Eat up, sweet thing. You might just need your energy.”

As he comes around the counter, taking a seat next to me, he leans in, our shoulders rubbing together as we both start digging in.

He makes some insane facial expression that has me almost choke on my food, and my eyes water from laughter. And that’s when I feelit.

The moment we’re in right now … it’s the kind of moment that I write about. The point in a story when things start to shift to a place of no return. I feel it while writing, and I always pray my readers will feel it when reading.

As cheesy as it sounds, it’s the part when the characters fall for each other. It’s no longer a silly arrangement or a friend type of thing. Sparks are flying, and there’s nothing they can do to stop it.

Well, nothing other than the obvious. End things. And right now, I don’t have it in me to do that. I don’twantto do it either.

When Logan found me in my office, I had just finished writing three thousand words. I couldn’t get my fingers to type quick enough, and before Logan Sterns, it had been years since I’d felt that way.

“He looks like me when I see your boobies,” Logan drawls, waving his fork toward Clyde, who sits on the floor next to us, staring at our food as drool pours from his jowls.

I shake my head and smack him playfully, knowing that within thirty seconds, he’ll just be saying something else that makes me laugh.

“I think, tonight, it should be my turn to ask you three questions.” I pause. “Well, two, and then I’ll give you the option to answer the third or do something dirty.”

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