Page 35 of Addicted Lies

I yawn, exhausted from my night of no sleep.

“That new job already working you to the bone, huh?” she asks as she rummages through my jackets. “Well, fuck me. Take your pick of color, girl.” She laughs. “I still can’t believe you drunk ordered all of these.”

Next time I see Ford, I vow I’ll ask about them, but until then, I know if I don’t go with Ivy, it’ll only raise suspicions. And I really can’t have her snooping into me and Ford, because I’ll never hear the end of it.

Ford and I aren’t even exclusive, and considering how fucking beautiful he is, he’d still be getting propositioned all the time if we were. An irrational pang of jealousy unfurls in my stomach, and I adamantly refuse to go down that route. Ford and I can’t be anything more to each other than what we already are.

Neither of us made any promises, and for all I know, he’s out there fucking other women without my knowledge. So why should I stop dating just because I can’t stop thinking of him?

“Fine, but it has to be a small restaurant, one where no one knows my brother,” I tell her.

“Well, that’s going to be hard since nearly everyone knows your brother.” She laughs. I bite my lip and really hope I don’t like this guy because my brother may just kill him.

“Ivy tells me you haven’t been in a serious relationship before,” my date, Ryan, says from across the table. I inwardly sigh. There’s an energy about this guy I don’t like, and I’m too fucking tired to pretend to be nice. I’m already long forgotten in Ivy’s peripheral as she sits two tables beside me, excitedly chatting to a guy I’ve never seen before. We were meant to be next to each other, but there was an issue with tables, and now I don’t have her next to me.

Ryan’s attractive. I mean, if you passed him on the street, you’d probably take a second look. But he’s not my type. Not that I’ve thought too much about my type before, but it’s certainly not the turtleneck-sweater-wearing type. I think my brother would actually laugh at him instead of killing him, and the sheer embarrassment would be enough of a shot to his ego.

“No, have you?” I reply because so far he’s only spoken about himself, and we haven’t even been here for that long.

He seems bewildered by my dry response. “Wow. You really don’t know who I am, do you?”

Immediate revulsion curdles in my stomach with that single statement.

“Nope.” I turn to Ivy, but she and her date are making out over the table. Fuck me, that escalated quickly. I look back to Ryan. “Should I?”

“You don’t go on social media much, I take it?” he asks.

“No, sorry.” Which is a lie. Social media? Who the fuck is this guy? I reach for my cocktail and then take a sip.

I’m on social media as much as the next person, but I only care to upload photos of my travels and time with my girlfriends. Stalking pinprick assholes like this is not at the top of the list.

“Maybe you should.” He winks.

“Yeah, maybe one day.” I take another sip.

This guy is boring and dead in the head. How much longer am I expected to sit here?

Is it too early to leave? I glance at my watch. I’ve only been sitting here for thirty minutes, and I already know this man is some type of model, loves social media, and thinks he’s God’s gift.

I’m trying not to throw up in my mouth.

“Here, let me show you my most viral video.” He opens his phone and clicks a few things before he slides it across the table so I can see a video of him. It’s him on a motorcycle, holding a book, shirtless. I want to gag. He’s clearly thirst trapping—at least that’s what I think it’s called—and sure, women love a good-looking guy to look at. But meeting him in person must sure as hell be a letdown. I wonder if all these women in these comments know that each time they comment something about how sexy he is, his head gets bigger and bigger. I bet he doesn’t even know how to ride the fucking bike.

“Good, right?” He nods, answering himself.

“If you say so,” I drawl, and a yawn escapes.

His gaze shoots up from his phone, where he was scrolling for another video to show me, and his nose scrunches.

“You don’t like it?”

“Like what, exactly?” I take another sip of my drink. This might be the fastest way to get me drunk on a date.

How the fuck did I get stuck on a date with a man who needs so much validation? Ivy fucking owes me for this.

I’m not your fucking therapist. If you have issues, hire someone, fuckface.

I smile at him.

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