Page 33 of Reckless Liar

He was right. We’ve never had this conversation before. Now, with the prospect currently using my expensive lemon coriander hand soap, I felt a little sick.

Looking down at his hand on my wrist. I wanted to rip my arm away, and I wanted to sink down next to him and take his hands in mine. Meeting his eyes, we stood there, his fingers below my wrist as if he were taking my radial pulse. He squeezed slightly and I stepped closer to him, not breaking eye contact.

“I need to know this is okay, Ana.” He whispered, so softly I had to watch his lips move. I thought of how I had traced those lips while he slept next to him that first night in the apartment. And then I thought about our kiss that I said was nothing. What right did I have to tell him not to date?

“Tell me it’s not okay, Ana,” he pleaded. I turned my hand until our palms met, the callouses on his fingers rasping against the back of my hand. “Tell me and I’ll stop.”

“Xander...” I started.

The slam of the bathroom door broke us apart. I stepped back several paces until I was a safe distance away. Sherie came back into the room, her lipstick refreshed and her hair now down around her face. Stepping around her, I made my way quickly to my room. “I don’t want to impose on your date. I should probably take a shower, anyway, wash the stink of sick off my skin.”

As I turned to walk away, I saw Sherie wrinkle her nose in disgust. As I closed the door to my bedroom, I heard her laugh and then Xander laughed. I thought it sounded strained, but I wasn’t sure if that was wishful thinking.

In the shower, I replayed what happened on the couch, trying to piece together exactly what this feeling was coursing through me and what I’d been about to say to him.

I stayed in my room for several hours, attempting to read the latest thriller Scarlett had given me for my birthday, while listening for any unusual noises. After a chunk of time passed, my hunger pangs got the better of me wanting to avoid them.

I cracked my bedroom door to watch as Xander walked Sherie out. He opened the door for her, and she paused in the doorway, turning to him. He put his hand on the top of the frame as he looked down at her. She hugged the strap of her handbag to her side.

I could barely make out their conversation. I knew I shouldn’t eavesdrop, but I couldn’t help myself.

“I had a good time tonight, Alex.”

I rolled my eyes at the nickname.

“Me too. Thanks for coming over.”

She smiled up at him, her hand coming up to rest on his arm. “We should do it again sometime.” She leaned forward, lowering her voice. “Maybe just the two of us, next time.”

He dropped his hand down, covering her hand. I looked away. I didn’t want to see him responding to her touches like that. “That sounds nice. Let me walk you to your car.”

When she agreed, he put his hand on the small of her back. A heat flared in my chest from watching his hand touch her. Even though I was sure I’d been quiet, he glanced back at me as he walked out the door. For a moment, we held each other’s gaze, my face flaming under his attention. I looked away, abashed. I didn’t like this sick feeling in my stomach as I watched them walk away.

The entire five minutes they were out in front of the apartment, I sat at the table imagining what they were doing in the parking lot. Was he kissing her goodnight? Were they making plans to go out again together? Was he asking her to come back later when I wouldn’t be home to interrupt them again? I pictured him leaning down and brushing the brown hair from her face, his hand resting on her shoulder. His head dipping lower as he lowered his lips to hers for a kiss.

Running a hand over my face, I tried to wipe away the images. From the living room window, I could see she still hadn’t gotten in her car yet. Gathering up the plates from the table, I stacked them on top of each other to bring them to the sink. I turned on the water and poured in some dish soap. As I washed, I listened for the sound of her car.

A minute later, I felt Xander standing behind me, a dishcloth in hand.

“You don’t have to do the dishes. I made the mess. I’ll clean it up.”

“I don’t mind.”

We washed the dishes together, quietly handing over the plates and cutlery to be dried.

“Are you going to see her again?” I dared to ask.

“I don’t know, probably.” I frowned into the sink, my skin feeling too tight suddenly. “Why? What’s that face for?”

“She doesn’t seem like your type is all.”

“My type? I didn’t know I had a type, Ana.”

“She’s a little, I don’t know.” I wave my hand in the air, trying to pull the least disparaging word out of thin air.

“What? Nice, pretty, well-employed, single?”

I groaned at him. “Silly. She seems silly. She is the type of girl who’ll always be just that, a girl.”

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