One Tiny Lie: A Novel (2 page)

CHAPTER TWO

Jell-O Shots

This must be what Cinderella felt like.

If, instead of gliding gracefully around the dance floor of the royal ball, she was flattened against a wall at a college house party, getting jostled by drunks from all angles.

And, instead of dazzling everyone in a glamorous ball gown, she was furtively tugging on her toga to ensure all vital body parts were covered.

And, instead of a fairy godmother granting her every wish, she had an obnoxious older sister forcing Jell-O shots down her throat.

I’m just like Cinderella
.

“A deal’s a deal!” Kacey yells over the DJ as she hands me a tiny cup. I accept it without a word and tip my head back, letting the slippery orange substance slide down my throat. I’m actually enjoying these things. A lot. Of course, I won’t admit that to my sister. I’m still bitter that she blackmailed me into making my first night at college also my first night to get drunk. Ever. It was this or have her walk into my residence hall wearing a T-shirt with my face on it and a slogan that reads, “Liberate Livie’s Libido.” She was serious. She actually had the damn thing printed.

“Stop being such a sourpuss, Livie. You have to admit, this is fun,” Kacey shouts, handing me two more shots. “Even though we’re wearing bedsheets. I mean, seriously. Who throws toga parties anymore?”

She keeps on talking but I tune her out, sucking both shots back in quick succession. That’s how many in the last hour? I’m feeling fine right now. Relaxed, even. But I’ve never been drunk before, so what do I know? These can’t be too potent. It’s not like it’s tequila.

Freaking Stayner! I should have known he would enlist Kacey in his dirty work. He’s been doing it all summer. Of course, I have no solid proof for tonight’s escapade. But if Kacey busts out a bottle of Patrón
,
I have my answer.

With a sigh, I lean back against the cool wall and let my gaze drift over the sea of heads. I’m not exactly sure where we are, aside from the spacious basement of a booming house party just outside campus grounds. A well-planned one, too, complete with a DJ catering to a crowd of people—some dancing, most stumbling—in the center of the big open space. Regular house lights have been replaced with colored, flashing ones and a strobe, making the place look more like a club than a home. I’m assuming the owners normally have furniture in here. Tonight, every single piece has vanished. All except for a bunch of tables lining the perimeter, supplying red plastic cups for the kegs of beer tucked underneath and holding trays of these delicious shots that I can’t seem to get enough of. There must be hundreds. Thousands. Millions!

Okay. I might actually be drunk.

A short, curvy body sails past me with a fluttering wave, instantly making me smile. That’s Reagan, my new roommate, and the only other person here besides my sister whom I’ve talked to. Each year, students are entered into a draw and assigned dorms. Freshmen get the added bonus of random roommates. Even though we only met today, I’m pretty sure I’m going to love Reagan. She’s bubbly and outgoing and talks a mile a minute. She’s also very artistic. After we moved our stuff into our room, she made a sign for the door with our names in calligraphy, surrounded by hearts and flowers and x’s and o’s. I think it’s really sweet. Kacey thinks it screams “lesbian couple.”

The second we stepped through the doors, Reagan was gone, chatting up a group of guys. Considering she’s a freshman, she seems to know a lot of people. Mostly male. She’s the one who suggested we come tonight; otherwise we would have ended up at one of the many campus-organized events that I had every intention of going to until Kacey hijacked my plans. Apparently, Princeton students living off-campus is rare, and therefore these house parties should never be missed.

“All right, Princess. Drink this,” Kacey says, producing a bottle of water out of thin air, adding, “I don’t want you puking tonight.”

I take the bottle and let the fresh, cold liquid pour into my mouth. And I imagine projectile-vomiting my fajita dinner all over Kacey. It would serve her right.

“Oh, come on, Livie! Stop being mad at me.” Kacey’s voice is getting that whiny twang to it, a sign that she is sincerely feeling guilty. And then I start feeling guilty for making
her
feel guilty . . .

I heave a sigh. “I’m not mad. I just don’t get why you’re on a mission to get me drunk.” It was drunk driving that killed our parents. I think that’s one of the main reasons I’ve avoided anything to do with alcohol up until now. Kacey barely touches the stuff too. Though she seems to be making up for it tonight.

“I’m on a mission to make sure you have fun and meet people. It’s frosh week of your first year of college. It’s a once-in-a-lifetime thing. It should involve copious amounts of alcohol and at least one morning with your head in the toilet.” I answer her with an eye roll, but that doesn’t dissuade her. Turning to face me, she throws her arms over my shoulders. “Livie. You’re my little sister and I love you. Nothing about your life has been normal these past seven years. Tonight, you are going to live like a normal, irresponsible eighteen-year-old.”

Licking my lips, I counter with, “It’s illegal for an eighteen-year-old to drink.” I know my argument is futile against my sister, but I don’t care.

“Ah yes. You are right.” Sliding a hand under her toga to reach into the pocket of her shorts, she pulls out what looks like a driver’s license. “And that’s why you are twenty-one-year-old Patricia from Oklahoma if the cops show up.”

I should have known my sister would have all her bases covered.

The music begins to pick up tempo, and my knees move along with the beat. “You’re going to dance with me soon!” Kacey shouts as she hands me two more shots. How many is that now? I’ve lost count but my tongue feels funny. Wrapping her arm around my neck, my sister pulls me down so we’re cheek-to-cheek. Okay, ready?” she says, holding her phone out in front of us. I hear, “Smile!” as the flash goes off. “For Stayner.”

Aha! Proof!

“Cheers!” Kacey taps her Dixie cup into mine and then tips her head and sucks it back, quickly followed by the other. “Oh, blue ones! I’ll be back in a sec!” Like a golden retriever chasing a squirrel, Kacey tears off after a guy balancing a large round tray on his shoulder, oblivious to the heads turning as she passes. Between her fierce red hair, striking face, and muscular curves, my sister
always
turns heads. I doubt she even notices it. She definitely isn’t uncomfortable about it.

I sigh as I watch her. I know what she’s doing. Aside from getting me drunk, of course. She’s trying to distract me from the sad part about today. That my dad is not here on the one day that he should be. On the day that I start at Princeton. This was always his dream, after all. He was a proud graduate and he wanted both of his girls to go here. Kacey’s declining grades after the accident didn’t allow for that possibility, leaving it to me. So I’m living his dream—my dream, too—and he’s not here to see me do it.

I take a deep breath and silently accept whatever fate—and by fate I mean Jell-O shots—has in store for me tonight. I’m certainly less nervous than I was when I first stepped through those doors. And the buzzing atmosphere is pretty cool. I’m at my first college party. There’s nothing wrong with it or with me being here and enjoying it, I remind myself.

With a shooter in my hand, I close my eyes and let my body just feel the throbbing beat of the music. Let loose, have fun. That’s what Stayner always tells me. Tipping my head back, I squish the bottom of the Dixie cup and bring it to my lips, sliding my tongue out to accept the wiggly mess into my mouth. I feel like a pro.

Except for one amateur mistake—I should never have closed my eyes.

If I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have looked like an easy drunk chick. And I would have seen him coming.

The tangy orange flavor has just touched my taste buds when a strong arm hooks around my waist from the front and pulls me away from the safety of my wall. My eyes fly open wide as my back presses against someone’s chest, one muscular arm snaking around my body. In the next heartbeat—not mine, because mine has stopped beating altogether—a hand seizes both my chin and the Dixie cup against my lips and tilts my head back so it’s facing up and at an angle. I catch a whiff of musky cologne a split second before a guy leans over and his tongue slips against mine, twirling around and coaxing it a little before drawing the Jell-O away. It all happens so fast that I have no chance to think or react or put my tongue back in my mouth. Or bite the intruding tongue off.

It’s all over in a second, leaving me shooterless, breathless, and gripping the wall for support as my knees shake. It takes me a few seconds to regain composure, and when I do, my brain processes the loud roar of approval behind me. I spin around to find a group of tall, brawny guys—all in togas strategically wrapped to show off well-defined chests—cheering and slapping the guy on the back as if he’s just won a race. I can’t see his face. All I can see is a mess of wavy dark brown—almost black—hair and the solid ridges of his back.

I’m not sure how long I’m standing there with my mouth hanging open, staring, but one of the guys in the group finally notices. He casts a furtive look at the Jell-O thief, jutting his head in my direction.

What the hell am I going to say? Without being too obvious, I frantically search the room for my sister’s fiery red hair. Where is she? Gone, leaving me here to deal with . . . My breath catches as I watch the Jell-O thief turn with slow, leisurely movement to face me dead on.

This guy’s tongue was in my mouth? This guy . . .this tall, giant Adonis with dark wavy hair, tanned skin, and a body to tempt a blind nun . . . had his
tongue
in my
mouth
.

Oh God
. The sweat is back! All those weeks of speed-dating for nothing! I feel the trickles—multiple ones—run down between my shoulder blades as his coffee-colored eyes do a quick scan down and up my body before settling on my face. And then one side of his mouth curves up and he offers me an arrogant smirk. “Not bad.”

I’m still not sure what my first words would have been to him. But then he had to go and say those two little words with that cocky little grin . . .

So I haul back and punch him in the jaw.

I’ve only punched one other person before. My sister’s boyfriend, Trent, and that was because he broke Kacey’s heart. It took weeks for my hand to heal. Since then, Trent taught me how to throw a punch, with my thumb wrapped around the outside of my knuckles and my wrist tilted downward.

I really love Trent right now.

I hear the howls of laughter from around us as the Jell-O thief rubs his jaw, wincing and adjusting it this way and that to test it out. That’s how I know that it hurt. If I weren’t so rattled by the fact that this guy had just forcefully French-kissed me, I’d probably have a giant grin on my face. He deserved it. He didn’t just steal my shooter. He stole my first kiss.

He takes a step toward me and I instinctively retreat, only to find my back pressed up against the wall once again. A sly smile creeps over his mouth, as if knowing that I’m cornered and pleased by it. Closing the distance, his arms stretch out, his hands pressing up against the wall on either side of my face, his broad body, his towering height, his entire presence effectively boxing me in. And I suddenly can’t breathe. This is suffocating. I try peering around him, looking for my sister, but I can’t see anything past flesh and muscle. And I don’t know where to look because no matter where I do, he’s there. Finally, I hazard a glance up. Heated eyes as dark as midnight bore into my face. I swallow, my stomach doing several full somersaults.

“That’s one hell of a swing for someone so . . .” He moves one hand down and closer to my arm. I feel a thumb graze along my bicep. “Female.” I shiver responsively and a visual flashes through my mind—a shaking rabbit, cornered by a wolf. He cocks his head and I catch curiosity flitter past. “So you’re shy . . .but not too shy to punch me across the face.” There’s a pause, and then he offers me another crooked smile laced with arrogance. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t help myself. You looked like you were really enjoying that shooter. I had to taste it for myself.”

Swallowing, I manage to pull my arms up and across my chest in an attempt to force some barrier between his chest and mine. My voice decidedly shaky, I say, “And?”

The grins widens, his eyes dropping to stare at my mouth for so long that I don’t think I’m going to get an answer out of him. But I finally do. One that comes after he licks his bottom lip. “And I could go for another one. You game?”

My body instinctively presses against the wall as I try to meld into it, to get away from this guy and whatever lewd intentions he has.

“All right, that’s enough!” A wave of relief sweeps over me as a delicate hand slips between us, landing against the Jell-O thief’s bare chest and pushing him back. He submits, slowly retreating, arms raised as if in surrender. He turns to rejoin his friends.

“Way to start off, Livie. I think that should keep Stayner off your back for a while,” Kacey says, barely able to get the words out through her laughter. She’s laughing!

“It’s not funny, Kacey!” I hiss. “That guy
forced
himself on me!”

She rolls her eyes but then, after a long pause, she sighs. “Yeah, you’re right.” Reaching over, she pinches the guy’s arm without hesitation. “Hey, buddy!”

He turns back toward us with a scowl, mouthing “fuck” as he rubs his arm. The scowl lasts only a second before he sees Kacey’s glare. Or rather, her face and her body. And then that stupid grin is back. Huge surprise.

“You do that to her again and I’ll sneak into your room and rip your balls off while you sleep,
capisce
?” she warns with a pointed finger. Most times my sister’s threats involve the mutilation of testicles.

The Jell-O thief doesn’t respond at first. He simply stares at her and my sister levels him with her own stare, completely unfazed. But then his gaze flickers back and forth between the two of us. “You guys sisters? You look alike.” We get that a lot so I’m not surprised, though I don’t see it. We both have the same light blue eyes and pale skin. But my hair is jet black and I’m taller than Kacey.