One Tiny Lie

A strange heat spikes in my thighs with his touch but I clench my teeth, more focused on answers. “Well, then why am I the famous Irish?”

“Oh.” Dipping his head, he chuckles. When he looks up at me, it’s with a private smile. “Because I’ve never taken a dare before.” Seeing my confused look, he adds, “The tattoo. On my ass.”

I feel my cheeks flush, but my focus quickly moves to my curiosity. “Why did you, then?”

His voice is soft when he speaks again. “I had my reasons.” The way his eyes settle on me then—a hint of a secret behind them—instantly dries my mouth. “And I’m asking you now—again—not to say anything. For Dana. She doesn’t need to get hurt.”

The way he says her name, I immediately sense the reverence there. He does care for her. Maybe he was as drunk as I was . . . “Shouldn’t you tell her, though? I mean, it’s...” My voice drifts off, looking for the right word. Despicable. Evil. Wrong.

“It’s complicated,” he snaps. “And none of your business. And if you don’t want to keep quiet for Dana’s sake, do it for Co

“Not if I don’t kill her first,” I mutter to the reddened face in the mirror.

“I couldn’t tell you!” Reagan whines, pleading with big, wide doe eyes. “You never would have come!”

“That’s not true,” I mutter stubbornly. But she’s right. I wouldn’t have. And then I wouldn’t be sitting out on the back deck, waiting for sweet, unsuspecting Co

She cringes. “I wasn’t sure how to bring it up, seeing as your head looked ready to explode from everything else that happened that night. And if you actually liked Ashton, then—”

“I don’t,” I blurt out, a little too quickly.

I see the flicker of a smile touch her lips, but she smooth it over quickly. “Good, because you’re not a fuck-buddy kind of girl and he’s not boyfriend material. Clearly.”

With a sigh, I murmur, “I get why you didn’t tell me last weekend. My head probably would have exploded. But you didn’t think telling me before I walked into this house was a good idea?”

She has the decency to look sheepish as she places her empty cup onto a side table. “Probably . . . I’m sorry. When you told me that you met Co

I glare at her. “And what about when I met his girlfriend?”

“She was supposed to be back in Seattle for school already!” Reagan groans, dropping her face into her hands. “I’m sorry! I’m a terrible friend. An awful roommate. I just don’t do well with uncomfortable situations.”

“Me neither. Especially the one I just got thrown into back there.”

“Gidget!” The back door opens and a gri

“So Grant was in on this too?”

“He won’t say a word. Seriously.” She looks at me with pleading eyes. “Please don’t hate me, Livie.”

Setting my jaw stubbornly, I stare out into the darkness of the expansive backyard as I think through it. None of this is Reagan’s fault. I’m the one who made out with Ashton. I’m the one who met Co

She exhales noisily. “Give me fair warning though? I’ve always wanted to eat the tequila worm before I die. Should I do that tonight or wait?”

I half-snort, half-giggle, her joke defusing the tension. “Why does Grant call you ‘Gidget’?”

Shaking her head at the silly nickname, she mutters, “It’s after that character from the fifties and sixties. You know, Gidget Grows Up, Gidget Gets Married. There’s a slew of books and movies on her. Even a television show. Apparently the author came up with the name by mashing girl with midget. And, well,” she gestures to herself, a knowing smirk on her face. “It’s a good thing I don’t have a height complex.”

I giggle softly at her confidence. It’s refreshing. “I have yet to ask Ashton why he’s calling me Irish. I feel like every time I see him, I’m too busy swallowing my tongue to get the question out. Do you think Grant knows?”

Reagan shakes her head. “I asked. He doesn’t. Only Ashton knows.”

There’s a long moment of silence, during which Reagan gulps back her drink. I don’t know how that tiny body can hold so much alcohol. Then she says, “Co

I flush, glancing over my shoulder and into the kitchen window to see him talking with Grant and a new guy. “He is?”

Her head bobs up and down. “Oh, yeah. I can tell. He can’t take his eyes off you. He’s probably imagining what he’s going to do to you later.”

“Reagan!” I shake my head as she grins. She’s as bad as my sister.

She takes another long, noisy sip as my thoughts unintentionally drift back to Ashton. “She seems nice.”

“Who?”

“Ashton’s girlfriend.”

“Oh . . .” Reagan pauses and then murmurs, “Yeah. Too nice for him. I feel guilty every time I see her. If he could just learn to keep it in his pants . . .”

Wait . . . “He cheats on her, a lot?” It wasn’t just with me?

She shrugs. “I hear things. A lot of things. He has quite the appetite. His heart and his brain are two separate entities that don’t commingle. Ever. Poor, sweet Dana doesn’t have a chance in hell of satisfying him.”

“I’m sure no one does,” I murmur, silently relegating him to top spot on the man-whore totem pole.

When we reenter the house, there are a dozen new people in the kitchen and adjoining family room, taking up the right side of the house, opposite the den. More people are at the front door, trickling in.

“You guys good?” Co

“We were, but . . .” I glance over at Reagan, who’s fluttering through the room with waves and nudges and smiles. Grant trails two feet behind her, his eyes glued to the back of her head, a goofy expression on his face. And I smile to myself, wondering if Reagan has any clue that Grant is seriously crazy about her.

“But what?”

The sound of Co

The smile never slips from Co

I open my mouth to answer when the stereo blasts on. We both turn in time to see Ty strut out in his kilt, rubbing his hands up and down over a puffed-out chest as he surveys the crowd.

“He likes to accidentally flash people when he sits down.”

I lift a brow. “Accidentally?”

Shaking his head, Co