Tell Them Lies (Three Little Words Book 3) (6 page)

Liz clasped her hands in front of her, clearly waiting for him to either sit, stay standing, or keep walking further into the park. But the short walk from the front entrance of the library to this tiny spot of privacy seemed to have pulled some of his rampant emotions down a notch. Hell, maybe she'd done that on purpose.

When Kieran didn't sit, Liz did, facing him instead of turning towards the table.

"You're mad at yourself for not listening?"

He blew out a breath, leaning up against the wall behind him, the hard surface of the bricks strangely comfortable. "Yeah," he finally said.

She nodded, eyes moving away from him while she processed. It made him smile a little, the way that her face so clearly showed when she was thinking. He'd never been able to say that he was actually watching someone think. But with Liz it was so obvious. Her brows dipped in towards her nose, her pink mouth had tightened, and her eyes looked a little un-focused.

"Well," she said after a few more seconds, "it seems to me that it's only natural for you to need time to process. I'm assuming your mother gave this a lot of thought before she came to the decision, right?"

"I guess so, yeah."

"And did she consult with you about it?"

Kieran exhaled a laugh. "You trying to reverse psychology me, Liz?"

"I'll take your lack of an answer as agreement."

"You're a woman, so you would." And that earned him the most subtle glare he'd ever been on the receiving end of. Surprisingly effective, that tiny narrowing of her eyes. He held up both hands. "Kidding, of course."

"And you," she swallowed, studiously avoiding his eyes, "you wanted to see
me
?"

Now, how to answer that question without sounding like a completely unbalanced individual. He stared at her long enough that she finally pulled her gaze back up to his. Once he knew it was going to stay there, locked on his, he nodded. It was the simplest way to answer her, given how little they really knew of each other. No lies, no pretense, just
yes, you were who I wanted to see
.

The small fidgeting of her body was the only way he knew that his honesty made her just a little bit uncomfortable.

"You're right though," he said. "Knowing my mom, she gave this decision a lot of thought. And if she talked to someone about it, it wasn't me."

"Does that upset you?"

"That she didn't talk to me?"

Liz nodded.

"No. She's never been someone who needs support to know her own mind."

"So then..."

Kieran smiled at her. "So then why am I upset?"

She smiled back, and just that tiny curve of her lips made him feel soothed. Pacified. Like she’d stroked down his back and made the howling, rage-filled beast inside of him curl up into a ball.

And
that
was hugely terrifying. Because after such a short time, what wouldn't he do to see that smile?

But that wasn't a thing, a thought process that he could pursue right now. Even thinking it, that tiny little normal thing, of how to make a beautiful woman smile, made him feel guilty.

"Why am I upset," he repeated, shaking his head as he reigned in his thoughts. "Because I'm pissed that she's letting go of her best chance."

Liz hummed. "And chemo is her best chance? Would it have put her in remission?"

"No. She's too far past that. Chemo was supposed to shrink the tumor, help her breathe easier. She still coughs all the time, she got bronchitis a lot at first too. So, it wouldn't make it go away. That will never happen, short of a miracle, you know?" Talking about it, thinking about it, seeing her just sit there to listen, pried something open. Just enough to make him want to sit and scream at how pissed off he was that his mom, his only immediate family, had fucking cancer. Yeah.
That
f word. It was allowed in that context. "So this? This cartilage shit that she wants to try? It feels like a cop-out, like she's doing something to make
me
feel better. Like
I'm
the only one who needs her to try to fight this. Not her sister, or her friends, or God forbid, for herself."

He dug the heels of his hands into his eye sockets, relishing the way the tug of pain centered him a little. When he dropped them to his sides, his vision took a second to sharpen again, but when it did, Liz was standing right in front of him, and then stepping in to wrap her arms around his waist.

She was hugging him.

And damn it, he hugged her right the hell back. She was so slim, so slight up against him, but he tightened his arms where they wrapped around her shoulders, and he pushed his nose on top of her head, pulling in a deep lungful of Liz.

Before? When he thought about caramel? Yeah, that worked. She didn't smell overly-feminine and flowery, she just smelled
good
.

"So," he spoke into her hair, "you're hugging me."

"You looked like you needed it." And hearing his own words from the other day echoed back to him? Felt good. Really, really good.

With a deep inhale and then a slow, dramatic exhale, she started pulling back. Nope. No way. Not happening. Basically, he crushed her back to his chest, and felt a ridiculous amount of relief when she laughed.

"Just hang on."

"Okay," she replied, and patted his back in a mildly patronizing way. But since she ended the hug with leaning her forehead against his collarbone for a few minutes, he could absolutely forgive her.

This time he graciously let her pull away, but that's because it allowed him to completely fricken love the two pops of pink that were on her cheekbones.

"So." She tucked a non-existent piece of hair behind her ear.

"So."

Liz looked everywhere except at him. Apparently the brick wall behind him was super fascinating. And he found himself smiling again. Taking his pointer finger, he touched underneath her chin to pull her face back towards him.

"Do you have plans on Friday night?"

"Why?" she asked, suspicion weighing down her tone. And just because of that, there was no possible way he couldn't screw with her.

"Is it necessary that you know before hand? Isn't enough that I'll tell you to wear the shortest mini-skirt you own and that I'll pick you up at six?"

"What?" Oh, the look of absolute horror that blanketed her face. He couldn't help it. He braced his hands on his knees and laughed. When he finally righted himself, she looked less amused than he was.

"Your face, holy crap. Liz, I'm kidding. I thought I'd have you and my mom over for dinner. You know, our first
date
in front of her?"

Her hands stayed perched on her hips, but her forehead had smoothed out. "Oh. Right. Yeah, I could do that."

"Perfect. I'll text you my address."

She fidgeted with the hem of her shirt. "Mmmhmm. Fine. I'll see you then."

When she finally looked up, the rampant nerves that shot out of those blue orbs about unmanned him.

"Don't worry, we'll be fine."

As he drove out of the parking lot, there was no way he could stop another smile. Because it was quite possible that this whole thing was the greatest idea he'd ever come up with.

W
here the frick
was his Windex?

He'd looked everywhere. And okay, yeah, he hadn't used it in probably two years, but did that mean it vanished from underneath the kitchen sink?

It wasn't like he was messy. Not precisely. He just ended swiping over the counters with a Clorox wipe, maybe vacuuming once a month and calling it good. Work kept him busy enough, and it wasn't like he'd spent a crazy amount of time at his house in the past few months.

But having his mom and his fake-girlfriend over for dinner? Yeah. His place needed to be clean. It wasn't often that he looked around his house, trying to see it the way someone new would.

It wasn't exactly a full-out bachelor pad, but the two bedroom bungalow style house in Alger Heights had a lot of black furniture, basic area rugs over original cherry hardwood floors, a lot of electronics, and an obvious lack of artwork on the walls. He'd painted whatever the cute girl at the paint store had picked for him, Manchester Tan or something, because it was 'the perfect neutral'. The kitchen was clean and free of clutter, which is how he preferred it, you know, from all the time he spent cooking.

Ha. It had been surprising and humbling to realize just how rusty his culinary skills were.

But the marinade he was using for the chicken he planned on grilling was filling his fridge with the smell of soy and teriyaki sauce, so he figured he couldn't screw it up too badly. Slamming the bathroom cupboard door shut, officially giving up on the cleaning solution, he pulled his phone out to look at the time.

4:58.

He'd told Liz to come at five, so they'd have some time to talk before his mom showed up at six. Ugh, and his mom. She'd been talking about this non-stop for the past three days. Every single day, it was multiple texts.

What kind of wine does Liz like? I'll bring some for dinner.

Is she allergic to anything? Maybe I'll make a dessert.

Does she like dessert? Oh dear. Maybe she doesn't eat sweets.

Seriously, he'd responded with the most random crap ever. Basically, he had to hope she only drank sweet white wines, wasn't allergic to nuts, and was a giant lover of desserts. Because if any of those things were wrong, Liz was in for a
very
long evening.

The sound of a car pulling in his driveway had him blowing out a sudden flurry of very not-manly nerves. Shit, how long had it been since he'd been nervous to see a woman?

He couldn't remember. But
this
woman, she was different. Made him feel different.

It took longer than he thought before he heard her knock on his kitchen door, and it made him happy that she hadn't gone to the front door. Nope, no way he was analyzing why.

When he pulled open the door to let her in, he promptly lost his breath. Her hair was down for the first time, parted neatly down the middle, perfectly straight and shiny and falling around her shoulders, like a Pantene commercial was about to walk into his house. And she looked visibly nervous, the small gift bag she was clutching in her hands was almost shaking from how hard she was gripping it.

"Hi," she breathed out, eyes wide in her face as she stared up at him. Blinking out of his idiotic stupor, he moved aside for her. As she came up the two steps into his house, it registered that it was also the first time he was seeing her dressed casually, with dark jeans on her mile-long legs and a soft looking blue shirt hugging her slim frame. She'd kill him. If she ever showed more skin, it might actually
kill him
.

"Did you find it okay?" he asked, cursing how unsteady he sounded. And for the first time, he questioned his ability to fake it in front of the woman who birthed him and raised him and knew him better than just about anyone else on the planet. And Liz? She nodded in answer, but looked ready to bolt at any second.

The fact that they basically knew nothing about each other was so thick and heavy around them, he felt like he couldn't breathe. It struck him then, seeing her stand in his kitchen and slowly turn to take in the place that he lived and slept and ate. For the very first time since they’d struck this little bargain, it struck him.

What did she think of him?

Did she see the tattoos crawling up his neck and cringe? Would she see the ones wrapped around his torso and arms and judge him? Or was she one of those women that instantly wanted him because of them? That was laugh-worthy, because he could pretty much answer that one with an unequivocal no, even with as little as he knew Liz.

Around his mom, he was typically careful to keep them as covered as possible. She hated them, and had since the day he got the first one, the lion across his left pec, and the scripted Bible verse above it,
But the righteous are bold as lions
. If he remembered correctly, she lightly smacked his face and said that using scripture wasn't going to gain him any brownie points.

"It's nice," Liz said, breaking off his train of thought. How long had he been staring at her?

"Thanks." He was an idiot.

She stepped to the side, putting the small pink bag on the counter and dropped her purse onto the floor.

"Oh, do you like wine?"

The tiny cock of her head said a shit ton to him, like she knew that he was a freaking nervous as she was. But she smiled instead of calling him out on it.

"Wine is good. Nothing dry though, if that’s okay."

Finally. When he laughed, she looked understandably confused. "Sorry," he said, waving a hand and pulling a bottle of Moscato from the door of his fridge. Leaning her elbows on the counter, she watched him open the bottle and pour a generous amount into one of the stemless glasses he'd set out.

"You're nervous," she stated, looking right into his damn soul when she said it.

Kieran laughed, then poured himself a glass too. This seemed like a wine kind of night, even though he rarely drank the stuff. After he'd taken a large swallow of the sweet, cool liquid, he faced her.

"Yeah. I am. Do I lose man points for admitting it?"

The smile she gave him was so sweet and unguarded that he felt a little pinch in his chest. And after the pinch went away, he felt better. Relaxed.

“No. Because I’m kinda nervous too.”

Her statement was exactly what they needed to break through the cloud of uncertainty surrounding them ever since she’d walked into the room.

He suggested they go sit in the family room, and she followed, holding her glass with both hands as she sank into the corner of his leather couch.

"So," she started after taking a small sip, "what do you do? It feels so out of order that I don't even know that."

Kieran grinned. He watched her eyes drift down to the ink on his neck. No cringing. Just curiosity. And that he could work with.

"I own a gym, it's small, only about four full time employees, but it's mine."

"Are you serious?"

He couldn't help it. The outright shock on her face made him burst out laughing. "Are you surprised?"

She scrunched her nose a little. "Sort of. That probably sounds horrible. I just,” Liz lifted one shoulder a touch, “didn't expect it at all."

"Hmm. What did you think I did?"

Another sip of wine, this one bigger than before, and she met his eyes. "I thought maybe you were a tattoo artist or something."

Rubbing a hand over his chest, he feigned a wounded expression. "Ouch. You stereotype me so easily. Weren't you the one who told me not to believe cliches?"

"So the virgin librarian and the wayward tattoo artist, that's us, isn't it?"

Kieran lifted his glass, then clinked it against hers when she did the same. "Best relationship pairing ever."

She finally smiled, and laughed a little on an exhale.

He asked her where she went to school (Grand Valley State University), found out that she majored in English Literature with a minor in Library Sciences, had no pets, but wanted a dog, owned a home about fifteen minutes away from him, and besides her two friends, Casey and Rachel, she was pretty much alone until her parents returned from Arizona.

Her answers were clear, thoughtful, and transparent. Those eyes, they showed him everything. He loved it. If it hadn’t been for his pesky mother, Kieran could have sat on that couch for pretty much ever listening to her talk and ask him questions in return. It felt easy, a simple comfort that they definitely hadn’t experienced yet.

"So," he said as he stood and walked back into the kitchen, glad to hear her following him. "Your friends mean everything to you, but you don't see them as much as you want, you get along with your parents but you're not exceptionally close to them, and you're bored in your job."

At that she choked on her wine, and he turned to grin at her.

"How do you...I mean, why would you say that?"

"So I'm wrong?"

They were facing each other in the small space of his kitchen, each of them leaning against opposite facing sections of his U-shaped counter. Her eyes searched the room as if it would give her an answer.

"I don't think bored is exactly the correct word. Not exactly right, that is."

He kept watching her, the way she fidgeted her hands on the hem of her shirt, pulling the fabric away from her body and then smoothing it down again. Finally, she met his eyes.

"Indifferent, which I know is not what one should feel towards their full-time employment. But I just go, every day, and while I enjoy some aspects, seeing a young child finally get it, get why books are so powerful, usually I count down the minutes until I can go home. Which should tell you something, because I'm going home to an empty house. Why wouldn't I want to stay at work longer? It makes me feel, I don’t know, ungrateful, I guess. That I don't love my job more."

It was quite possibly the longest speech she'd given since they met, hell, just two weeks ago.

"Not ungrateful, not to me. You just need something more, something that you love."

She nodded.

"So what would that be?"

Oh, she knew what it would be, he could see it on her face. What would it be like to touch her cheekbone when she was smiling like that? And more importantly, what would she do? Probably hurdle the counter to get away from him.

"Honestly, I'd love to edit books. Reading is my favorite thing in the world, so what job could possibly be better? Working with an author, who creates these stories out of thin air, and helping them make it the best possible book it can be. It would feel like...like a dream, I suppose. It would probably feel like I wouldn't even want to stop working. And what would
that
be like? It's hard to imagine."

"It sounds perfect for you," he replied, smiling at her.

All those words strung together made her eyes brighter and bluer, and her hands stopped pulling at her sweater, and started moving as she spoke. It was so cheesy, he damn well knew it, but she looked like an actual angel, bright and sweet and kind, all those untapped dreams just itching to get out.

Kieran glanced over at the clock, afraid that they didn't have nearly enough time to feel normal, feel comfortable around each other. She still looked so damn nervous just standing these couple of feet away from him.

"I'm a bad girlfriend."

That snapped his eyes back to her, surprised to see a mischievous little smile on her face.

"Wha..." he couldn't even finish the sentence, she looked so good like that.

"I haven't asked you nearly as many questions as you have me. How will your mom ever believe that this," she gestured between them, "is real? I don't know what your favorite color is or where you went to school or--"

Taking a deep breath, he pushed off of where he was leaning against the counter and stepped right up against her. Immediately, her hands flew up to his chest, not exactly pushing, but firmly braced so he couldn't move further towards her.

"What are you doing?" she asked, sounding slightly breathless. Yeah, what was he
doing
? Testing, trying and definitely, most definitely
wanting
.

Her eyes said so much to him. Nervous? Yes, she was nervous, but not scared. He lifted one hand to trace the line of her hair to where it was tucked behind her ear. Her skin was like fricken silk, and her hair felt smooth under his fingertip. She swallowed hard, and then he felt it, just the tiniest curving in of her fingers on his chest.

Her eyes searched his, and without breaking their stare, Kieran dipped his mouth down to touch against her lips. One soft brush, then two. A third that was just a breath longer. Her eyelids fluttered shut, and he felt a tiny exhalation against his lips.

Then she moved towards him, stopping just shy of them kissing again. He kept his eyes open, because there was no damn way he wanted to miss any of this, even though he was so close to her that he could practically count each long, dark lash resting on her face.

When he didn't move that last eighth of an inch, she made a little sound that sounded an awful lot like frustration. So he put them both out of their misery and sealed his mouth over hers, threading his hands through all that cool blonde hair.

Her mouth tasted like wine when he touched his tongue to hers, and it made him groan. They fit together, just about perfectly. She
fit
with him. Because she was tall and slim and felt so damn perfect that he tried to breathe in the same air that she pushed out. Her hands moved up, and he settled in against her, relishing how it would feel when she wrapped her arms up around his shoulders.

Only she didn't, she pushed against his shoulders, so he immediately pulled back.

Her chest heaved with the breaths she was pulling in, and if he looked down, he would probably see the same movement on his own body.

Liz touched a hand to her mouth, staring at him with wide eyes. "What was that?"

"Besides the perfect first kiss?"

Clearly she didn't expect that kind of answer, because she shifted to the side, a little further away from him.

"Look," he said, rubbing a hand across the top of his head, "I could lie to you right now, and say that I was just getting that out of the way before my mom gets here in about ohh, three minutes. But I don't want to lie, not about that." He waved a hand between them, feeling slightly desperate that that kiss might not have rocked her in the same way that it did him. "That was because I wanted to kiss you."