Page 28 of Nothing But the Truth

“Oh!” Lucy blurted. “No, no, I wasn’t drugged or anything. Not in that sense anyway.”

He pressed a hand to his chest, sighing a big breath. “Good. You scared me. I thought something bad happened to you.”

“Sorry.” Lucy tucked her hair behind her ear, impressed that Oliver’s scarf job was still holding up, and felt chagrined. She hadn’t meant to accuse him of slipping something dangerous into her drink. He still looked concerned despite her clarification, and she studied him studying her, which led her to notice how his agreeably tight olive tee shirt set off the green in his eyes.

“So, what’s going on, then, if we’re not talking beverage sabotage?”

Lucy shook herself from the grip of his gaze. Had it been that strong the previous night? Had she just not been paying attention, or had she been in unconscious denial about it?

It didn’t matter. That wasn’t why she’d come.

She leaned over the bar again and told him the truth. “We are talking about beverage sabotage. I made a wish when I had that drink, and ever since, I haven’t been able to lie.”

He stared at her like he was examining a piece of art. She felt as exposed as she did the night before when he told her she was unhappy. But this time, she couldn’t be sure he wasn’t about to burst out laughing.

“You wished you couldn’t lie?”

“No! I wished for the perfect day today, and something went very, very wrong. Now I can’t tell a lie.”

His skepticism had nowhere to hide. “Okay, George Washington, what does that mean? You can’t tell a lie.”

He was being cute, and it was not the time.

“It means that ever since I drank that purple concoction—a drink you called life-changing—my life has been in chaos.”

He wadded his rag in his hands, and Lucy tried to ignore how oddly appealing the motion was. “Chaos because you can’t lie?”

“Yes. It’s been a very rough morning, and I have a big, very important afternoon, so I need you to undo whatever you did.” She fluttered her hands like the secret to his trick was hidden under the bar.

He kept staring at her, his eyes narrowing and his hands working the rag. “You,” he said slowly, “can’t... tell a lie?”

She nodded, and as heat curled up her neck and into her cheeks, she realized she’d walked straight into a trap—the same trap she’d set with Oliver, but he, being one of her best friends, had the decency not to humiliate her. There was no telling what this gorgeous stranger with a killer smile was capable of.

Adam the bartender leaned across the bar with mischief in his eyes. “What are you doing later tonight?”

Lucy swallowed against her dry throat. She had no choice but to tell him, but she didn’t have to do it nicely.

“My birthday party at Perch.”

“Classy.”

“Yes, as long as I don’t destroy my life beforehand because of whatever you put in my drink!”

“I didn’t put anything in your drink!” He shrugged his bulky shoulders and held up his hands. “Listen, it was vodka, crème de violette, champagne, and lemon juice.”

She eyed him suspiciously. “That’s it?”

“Yes! Oh, and the truth serum, but I thought that was a given.”

She snatched a cherry from the little black box of lime wedges, straws, and ruby red maraschinos and threw it at him.

He flinched and laughed. “I’m kidding! That’s not even a real thing?”

“I think the CIA would disagree.”

He leaned in on the bar, suddenly serious again. “You think I’m a spy?”

She reached for another cherry, but he moved the box away. “I think you’re making fun of me when I came in here asking for help.”

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