Wicked Sexy Liar
Page 52
The street is dark, and I fumble for the door handle, opening my car to set my bag inside. When I turn, Luke takes my hand, looking down at the way it fits in his. “I had a lot of fun. Thanks for letting me crash your party.”
“Are you kidding? That was the easiest night I’ve ever had with her. Usually I’m the one with braids and a tiara. Thanks for hanging out.”
There’s a beat of silence and a dog barks in the distance, and in my head I’m chanting, Don’t ask me to come home with you don’t ask me to come home with you, don’t ask me, don’t ask me . . . Because honestly I have no idea how I’d say no.
But he doesn’t, instead leaning in to place a small kiss against my cheek and letting go of my hand. “Text me when you get home?” he asks.
I nod, a little dazed at the turn in the conversation, and I can’t tell if it’s relief or disappointment gathering in my stomach.
“Yeah,” I tell him. “Sure.”
On impulse, I cup his face, and stretch to place the lightest kiss on his warm lips. Stunned, he just stands there, watching as I step back and fight an enormous smile.
His eyebrows slowly rise. “Logan, you just kissed me.”
“Only a tiny kiss.” I smile up at him and notice the way his eyes flicker to my cheek to look at my dimple.
He holds the door while I climb inside and shuts it behind me. I open the window and he leans down, resting his arms on the frame.
“I like you,” he says. I know this, but the admission is so bare that if I weren’t already sitting, my knees might feel a little weak.
“I like you, too. Weirdo,” I add, and see his smile linger as he steps back and watches me drive away.
It’s not until I’m several blocks away that I remember: he’s my friend’s ex. I don’t get to have Luke Sutter.
* * *
LOLA AND OLIVER are on the couch watching a movie when I get home. I drop my bag on the floor near the door and wave to them before walking into the kitchen to get a glass of water.
My head swims a little with uncertainty. I’m starting to really want to trust Luke. I’m starting to need his company. But the remaining roadblock—Harlow, Mia, the history of this group with Luke—seems to be the one thing that lingers, and I have no idea how to deal with it. On the one hand, I feel like Harlow is being unreasonable by even having an opinion about any of this. On the other hand, I get it. He was with Mia for so long. There are unspoken rules; he should be off-limits.
“Were you working?” Lola asks, pausing the movie.
I swallow, shaking my head. “I was babysitting Daisy.”
She stands, smiling, and joins me in the kitchen. “A wild night, then.”
“It was fun, actually.” I meet her eyes, and hesitate before admitting quietly, “Luke came along with me.”
Her eyebrows rise to the ceiling. “Well, you know he’s into you if he joins you for babysitting.”
I try to laugh, I really do, but it comes out a little strangled and quickly turns into a sob.
In my peripheral vision, I can see Oliver get up from the couch, and walk over to join us, but I just keep staring very hard at my hands cupped around the water glass so I don’t have to look either of them in the eye.
“London?” Lola asks, stepping closer and putting a warm hand on my arm. “Sweetie, what happened?”
I shake my head, unaccustomed to crying at all, let alone crying in front of someone.
“Do you want me to stay or go?” Oliver asks quietly.
“You can stay,” I manage. “I’m being ridiculous. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
They both wait for me to explain my meltdown, and after I swallow down a few more inexplicable sobs, I tell them, “I just really like him.”
Lola’s voice is both gentle and confused. “You should like him. He’s an awesome guy.”
Finally, I look up at her face. “I mean, I like him. Romantically.”
“And I’m saying, you should. He’s amazing.”
“But Harlow.”
It’s all I can really think to say. And as soon as I do, the two words hang heavily in the air between us. It should be, But Mia—except it isn’t, because Mia doesn’t care. Or, it should be, But I’m afraid—except it isn’t exactly that, either, because although part of me is afraid, a much bigger part of me wants to give him the benefit of the doubt.
Like the wise person she is, Lola also lets the words hang there. Instead of growing bigger and more meaningful, though, they start to feel small, and silly.
“I don’t reckon it’s up to Harlow,” Oliver says quietly.
Tilting her head, Lola studies me sympathetically. “Honey, have you been worried about her this whole time?”
I give her a bewildered smile. “I mean . . . yes? It seemed like a pretty big deal. You guys didn’t invite me to breakfast the other day, the picnic was fun, but strained. Even Luke noticed Harlow was acting weird.”
Lola sighs, giving Oliver a knowing look I can’t really interpret.
A toilet flushes down the hall and the bathroom door opens.
My stomach drops with realization.
“Harlow Francesca Vega. Join us in the kitchen, please.” Lola’s angry-calm voice actually sounds terrifying.
“I didn’t know she was here,” I mumble to Oliver, who gives me a sympathetic wince.
Harlow walks down the hall, brows pulled down in concern. “What?”
“How much did you hear?” Lola asks.
Shaking her head in confusion, Harlow says, “I was peeing a decade’s worth in there. I heard nothing.”
Lola turns to her, wrapping her arms around my shoulders. “London here is a mess.”
“She is?” Harlow moves immediately over to me. “Honey, what’s wrong?”
Oh, God, this is awkward.
I give Lola a look that I hope successfully communicates both help and way to put me on the spot, Castle.
Lola tilts her head to me. “London likes Luke.”
“Didn’t we know this already?” Harlow asks, stepping back a bit, and her expression is almost entirely unreadable to me. Her top lip is curled up slightly, brows drawn in tight, and it could be confusion, but it could also be irritation.
I feel like I’ve just stepped off the edge of the pool and I keep drifting deeper. It’s weird to have a group of friends influence a dating decision, but also never really speak directly to me about it. Is this what it’s like to be part of a group? Whether it is or not, it makes me feel even more on the periphery. I have no-drama Ruby, and I used to have no-nonsense Nana. Both of them always let me know where I stood. Harlow is harder: she’s up front, but she circles through a world of emotions in a day. I’m terrified of saying the wrong thing here.
“I don’t want to jeopardize friendships,” I tell them. “But I honestly have no idea what to make of your reaction to me seeing Luke. You guys mean a lot to me, and I don’t want it to be weird for Mia—”
“It’s not,” Lola cuts in quickly.
“—or you two, or anyone,” I say. “I didn’t realize Luke was Mia’s Luke, and then after I did, it felt like he was someone different. For me.”
In my periphery I see Oliver turn carefully and make his way out of the kitchen and down the hall to Lola’s bedroom.
The three of us wait for him to close the door, and we then look up to each other in our tiny triangle of awkward. Finally, Harlow leans back against the counter, shrugging a little helplessly. “I’m not really sure what to say. Do I have feelings about it? Yeah, sort of.”
“Are you kidding? That was the easiest night I’ve ever had with her. Usually I’m the one with braids and a tiara. Thanks for hanging out.”
There’s a beat of silence and a dog barks in the distance, and in my head I’m chanting, Don’t ask me to come home with you don’t ask me to come home with you, don’t ask me, don’t ask me . . . Because honestly I have no idea how I’d say no.
But he doesn’t, instead leaning in to place a small kiss against my cheek and letting go of my hand. “Text me when you get home?” he asks.
I nod, a little dazed at the turn in the conversation, and I can’t tell if it’s relief or disappointment gathering in my stomach.
“Yeah,” I tell him. “Sure.”
On impulse, I cup his face, and stretch to place the lightest kiss on his warm lips. Stunned, he just stands there, watching as I step back and fight an enormous smile.
His eyebrows slowly rise. “Logan, you just kissed me.”
“Only a tiny kiss.” I smile up at him and notice the way his eyes flicker to my cheek to look at my dimple.
He holds the door while I climb inside and shuts it behind me. I open the window and he leans down, resting his arms on the frame.
“I like you,” he says. I know this, but the admission is so bare that if I weren’t already sitting, my knees might feel a little weak.
“I like you, too. Weirdo,” I add, and see his smile linger as he steps back and watches me drive away.
It’s not until I’m several blocks away that I remember: he’s my friend’s ex. I don’t get to have Luke Sutter.
* * *
LOLA AND OLIVER are on the couch watching a movie when I get home. I drop my bag on the floor near the door and wave to them before walking into the kitchen to get a glass of water.
My head swims a little with uncertainty. I’m starting to really want to trust Luke. I’m starting to need his company. But the remaining roadblock—Harlow, Mia, the history of this group with Luke—seems to be the one thing that lingers, and I have no idea how to deal with it. On the one hand, I feel like Harlow is being unreasonable by even having an opinion about any of this. On the other hand, I get it. He was with Mia for so long. There are unspoken rules; he should be off-limits.
“Were you working?” Lola asks, pausing the movie.
I swallow, shaking my head. “I was babysitting Daisy.”
She stands, smiling, and joins me in the kitchen. “A wild night, then.”
“It was fun, actually.” I meet her eyes, and hesitate before admitting quietly, “Luke came along with me.”
Her eyebrows rise to the ceiling. “Well, you know he’s into you if he joins you for babysitting.”
I try to laugh, I really do, but it comes out a little strangled and quickly turns into a sob.
In my peripheral vision, I can see Oliver get up from the couch, and walk over to join us, but I just keep staring very hard at my hands cupped around the water glass so I don’t have to look either of them in the eye.
“London?” Lola asks, stepping closer and putting a warm hand on my arm. “Sweetie, what happened?”
I shake my head, unaccustomed to crying at all, let alone crying in front of someone.
“Do you want me to stay or go?” Oliver asks quietly.
“You can stay,” I manage. “I’m being ridiculous. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
They both wait for me to explain my meltdown, and after I swallow down a few more inexplicable sobs, I tell them, “I just really like him.”
Lola’s voice is both gentle and confused. “You should like him. He’s an awesome guy.”
Finally, I look up at her face. “I mean, I like him. Romantically.”
“And I’m saying, you should. He’s amazing.”
“But Harlow.”
It’s all I can really think to say. And as soon as I do, the two words hang heavily in the air between us. It should be, But Mia—except it isn’t, because Mia doesn’t care. Or, it should be, But I’m afraid—except it isn’t exactly that, either, because although part of me is afraid, a much bigger part of me wants to give him the benefit of the doubt.
Like the wise person she is, Lola also lets the words hang there. Instead of growing bigger and more meaningful, though, they start to feel small, and silly.
“I don’t reckon it’s up to Harlow,” Oliver says quietly.
Tilting her head, Lola studies me sympathetically. “Honey, have you been worried about her this whole time?”
I give her a bewildered smile. “I mean . . . yes? It seemed like a pretty big deal. You guys didn’t invite me to breakfast the other day, the picnic was fun, but strained. Even Luke noticed Harlow was acting weird.”
Lola sighs, giving Oliver a knowing look I can’t really interpret.
A toilet flushes down the hall and the bathroom door opens.
My stomach drops with realization.
“Harlow Francesca Vega. Join us in the kitchen, please.” Lola’s angry-calm voice actually sounds terrifying.
“I didn’t know she was here,” I mumble to Oliver, who gives me a sympathetic wince.
Harlow walks down the hall, brows pulled down in concern. “What?”
“How much did you hear?” Lola asks.
Shaking her head in confusion, Harlow says, “I was peeing a decade’s worth in there. I heard nothing.”
Lola turns to her, wrapping her arms around my shoulders. “London here is a mess.”
“She is?” Harlow moves immediately over to me. “Honey, what’s wrong?”
Oh, God, this is awkward.
I give Lola a look that I hope successfully communicates both help and way to put me on the spot, Castle.
Lola tilts her head to me. “London likes Luke.”
“Didn’t we know this already?” Harlow asks, stepping back a bit, and her expression is almost entirely unreadable to me. Her top lip is curled up slightly, brows drawn in tight, and it could be confusion, but it could also be irritation.
I feel like I’ve just stepped off the edge of the pool and I keep drifting deeper. It’s weird to have a group of friends influence a dating decision, but also never really speak directly to me about it. Is this what it’s like to be part of a group? Whether it is or not, it makes me feel even more on the periphery. I have no-drama Ruby, and I used to have no-nonsense Nana. Both of them always let me know where I stood. Harlow is harder: she’s up front, but she circles through a world of emotions in a day. I’m terrified of saying the wrong thing here.
“I don’t want to jeopardize friendships,” I tell them. “But I honestly have no idea what to make of your reaction to me seeing Luke. You guys mean a lot to me, and I don’t want it to be weird for Mia—”
“It’s not,” Lola cuts in quickly.
“—or you two, or anyone,” I say. “I didn’t realize Luke was Mia’s Luke, and then after I did, it felt like he was someone different. For me.”
In my periphery I see Oliver turn carefully and make his way out of the kitchen and down the hall to Lola’s bedroom.
The three of us wait for him to close the door, and we then look up to each other in our tiny triangle of awkward. Finally, Harlow leans back against the counter, shrugging a little helplessly. “I’m not really sure what to say. Do I have feelings about it? Yeah, sort of.”
