Page 11 of Sweet Lies

He twists his head to the side to glare. “We both know I’m not talking about Claire.”

I nod. This was going to be on the extreme end of the spectrum then.

“She watches you, and she always has since we were kids. I know you realize this. You’re too good at details not to have taken notice.”

“What do you want me to do? Tell her not to speak to me?” I snap and instantly realize it’s the wrong move. I’m getting emotional, but the thought of hurting her and her not speaking to me is like a knife to the gut.

His tone hardens at my quick response. “Of course not. Just let her down gently. I don’t want her hurt. She’s not your type, and the more she hangs around, the sooner she’ll realize that. Just don’t rub it in her face is all I ask.”

If he only knew Rebecca was exactly my type, I’d be the one with no face left. He could never see the truth. None of them could, especially not Rebecca. That would be disastrous.

“Of course. Consider it done,” I answer, turning up the volume of the eighties channel I’ve found, hoping that would be the end of the discussion.

“Thanks, man. I can always count on you. What chick are you bringing to the party tomorrow?” His tone has lightened, and I know we are once more on good terms.

Time to sell the story. “Why do I have to bring just one?”

He laughs, as I intended, and that starts the age-old debate of blonde versus redhead. All I have to do is avoid Rebecca. It won’t be that hard. Half the time she’s avoiding people at these things anyway.

* * *

“You sure picked a smart one today,” Rebecca mutters, sliding up behind me in the kitchen. Her bright pink dress that hits mid-thigh has sent thoughts I should never allow myself to have about her into overdrive. The color was not her, but the dress hugged her in all the right places.

Almost everyone else was outside shooting guns, so the house was mostly empty, except a few men who didn’t have the night off in charge of making sure nothing went wrong. I’d come back in to refill my drink.

“Be nice, Bec. Is that not your fatal flaw or something?”

She’d been pissed from the moment I’d brought Britney into the house. Her eyes seemed to find us the moment we entered and she’d spent half the night avoiding everyone and the other half blatantly glaring. For once I’m happy she’s opposed to violence otherwise I would really be watching my back.

But as much as she watched me, my eyes kept searching for her. It seemed to give me anxiety, not having any idea where she was.

Now she laughs, swiping the cup from my hand and taking a sip before returning it.

“Your dad doesn’t want you drinking,” I mutter, taking a sip myself.

“Claire and E have been drinking for years. He turns a blind eye to them.”

“Yes, well, they’re them, and you’re you.”

She rolls her eyes. “That was eloquently put. Keep hanging around Barbie out there and soon you’ll not be able to put two words together.”

“I’ll have you know she has plenty of good qualities.”

“Two of them, and they’re both on her chest,” she grumbles, rolling her eyes again.

“Don’t be sad, Bec—you still have time to be a late bloomer.”

That gets me a rather hard slap on the arm.

“I deserved that,” I say, laughing as I turn to face her, expecting her to be glaring, but tears shine in her eyes.

“Rebecca, I didn’t mean it,” I start, but she rushes away before I can finish my apology.

“Damnit,” I hiss, kicking the chair near the table. “Fuck.”

Some men return to the kitchen for drinks, eyeing the knocked-over chair and me in question. I say nothing as I leave the room.

“Hey, where are you going?” Elijah calls after me, his arms wrapped around two girls.

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