The Lying Games: The Complete Love Games Duet, page 2
A traffic jam, a near accident, and about thirty minutes later, I walk into the lobby of my building.
She doesn’t even notice me walk through the revolving doors at first.
I take a moment to look her over. She wears ridiculously big sunglasses. Her long black locks cascade around her shoulders.
She looks the same as she always did in high school, when I’d sometimes cross paths with her during indoor sports practice. I’d be heading back from the court, and see her just starting out dance practice in the multipurpose room.
Same gorgeous alabaster skin. Same freckles on her cheeks as always, and a little birthmark near her right ear.
She wears blue jeans and high heeled black boots with a black short-sleeved T-shirt that says ‘lovers.’ Lacy’s a little bit punk, a little bit dancer, and a whole lot of attitude.
Probably feeling my presence as I look down at her, she finally looks up, clutching a coffee drink.
“Oh my gosh, Carter! It’s so good to see you!” She flashes me her best fake smile—the one I’ve come to know so well.
My entire body tingles at the sound of her voice. It’s gotten sweeter and smoother since I last saw her, years ago.
“No, it’s so good to see you!” I parrot, playing along. “I just love when my mom invites people over to my brand new luxury apartment,” I grit out, my voice getting lower. “It’s just like when we were six years old and we’d have playdates together.” I offer her a cocky smirk.
She stands up, her smile defiant.
Unlike with Natasha, my reaction to Lacy isn’t neutral. Excitement rushes under my skin.
She bites her lower lip while she runs her eyes over me.
Despite my deep-seeded vitriol for this woman, there’s no denying the carnal reaction I’m having to her right now.
What I’m feeling for Lacy isn’t love. But it also definitely isn’t indifference.
Any red-blooded man would be attracted to her, though. She’s utterly gorgeous.
She lets down her sunglasses so I can note her ice cold stone face. We squint at each other, narrowing our eyes for a classic staredown.
Twisting my tongue, I push it out the side of my lips.
“I think you’ve got something right here,” I say, staring at her cheek.
Putting her glasses back on, she crosses her arms. “YOu’re full of bullshit. I’m not falling for your little third grade games.”
“Ah, finally you let the claws out. I thought we could at least keep our bullshit pleasantries going while I walk you upstairs. I’m doing you a huge favor, you know.”
“Did you get my text?” she asks, grabbing the handle of her giant suitcase.
“I did,” I nod. She jerks her head to the side. “So no text back? You can’t let me know you’re going to be . . . ” she looks at her phone. “Forty-five minutes late?”
A giant, sarcastic smirk covers my face. “This is going to be a great eight weeks. I can’t wait to see more of this little move.”
I imitate her head jerking motion, and exaggerate it, moving my head up and around in a slight circle, sort of like a turkey. “I mean I do love seeing you all worked up. Maybe it’s the late night caffeine from the soy latte?” I eye her drink.
She puts a hand on her hip. “It’s a cappuccino, thank you very much. And so no answer to my question? Great. Good to know we’re still on the same page.”
“You mean the page of hating each other?” I push her hand off her suitcase handle and grab it. “Here, let me take this for you.”
“Don’t act like you’re a gentleman all of a sudden. I can take my bag up.”
“Please. Allow me. I’m a gracious host. And I don’t text and drive. Texting can wait.” I wink.
She rolls her eyes. “Ever heard of hands free? And it’s a roller suitcase. This building has an elevator.”
“It’s broken, actually. And I live on the forty-fourth floor.”
“Bullshit.” Her tone is seething.
And we’re off to a fantastic start.
I signal the security guard behind the desk.
“Hey Raymond, is elevator four still broken?”
“Yep. Rats short circuited it. So sorry, Mr. Flynn.”
She glares at me angrily.
“Fine.” She grits out, slipping her hand off the suitcase. “You can take it. But it doesn’t mean I’m going to like it.”
I lean in closer to her ear. She’s five-foot nine or so, but I still tower over her easily.
“Hey. You know what else?” I say with a bemused smile.
“What else, Carter?” she does the turkey-moving-its-neck-motion again.
“You’re fucking welcome.”
It’s just like her to refuse my offer, then when it requires actual effort on her part—she takes me up on it.
I roll her suitcase into the elevator bank, and she follows me.
“Guess we’ll have to take elevator three,” I wink.
She rolls her eyes, smacking her lips. “I should have known you were lying.”
We head upstairs to my apartment.
At the very least, Lacy’s going to provide some entertainment for me while she’s here.
3
Lacy
Five minutes in, and Carter’s already toying with me for his own amusement.
Sure, the little game about the elevator was just to mess with me. To prove a point that I wouldn’t want to carry my giant suitcase up forty-four flights of stairs.
We ride up the elevator, and I peer at Carter from beneath my giant sunglasses.
How is it possible that after five minutes of being in his presence, my temperature feels like it’s risen already?
He’s got that same smug, phased-by-nothing smile.
Same laissez-faire, does not give two shits about anyone other than himself attitude.
Same chiseled jaw and built frame that I absolutely refuse to be attracted to no matter what reaction my body my have.
“So you’ve really never heard of voice to text?”
Carter shrugs as the elevator dings when we hit floor forty-four. “You’re welcome for being able to crash here, by the way. On such short notice.”
My chest tightens as he rolls my suitcase out of the elevator, leading the way down a hallway that screams expensive, ritzy apartment. As if I didn’t notice from the outside how this giant building is pure glass. Oh, except for the gold-plated windows on the first floor.
It’s the exact opposite of the way we both grew up in Blackwell. The biggest parts of both of our houses were our yards.
Carter jingles his keys, and I take a deep, silent breath, trying not to let my frustration show. I feel like I’m six years old again, a little kid with no keys to her own house, dependent on a parent to unlock the door.
As the door swings open, I try not to dwell on the fact that he’s right. This was unacceptably short notice, and Carter is doing me a huge favor. But is it my fault my current boyfriend—well, ex-boyfriend, as of yesterday—decided to break up with me suddenly while I was on the first leg of my overnight Amtrak ride from Blackwell to Chicago?
My stomach knots as Carter hangs his key up on a ring just inside the door.
I was crying when I called my mom, and she was the one who suggested I could stay with Carter.
I resisted, but with no other options, I convinced myself Carter and I could get over the feud stemming from our misunderstanding years ago. I convinced myself it was teenage stuff, and that now, in our twenties, we could move on. So I sucked up my pride and let my mom ask Carter’s mom for me.
Moving to Chicago for dance was supposed to be a giant personal win for me—a win I badly needed.
Instead, I feel like giant failure, all alone in a big city.
He turns to face me.
To say he’s grinning would be an exaggeration. A troublemaker’s smirk tugs at the corners of his expression, as if he’s the keeper of some secret I’ll never know, but one that holds the key to my existence.
To make matters worse, as much as I wish I could deny it, the years have been extremely kind to Carter. His boyish good looks have been replaced by bigger muscles and a harder expression.
I scour him for a flaw. Even the big birthmark on his right forearm seems to round him out and give him character. My heart pounds. Yes, he’s extremely good looking.
I clench and unclench my fists at my sides.
“Welcome to my humble abode. It’s baller, I know.”
My stomach turns. He really has made a one-hundred eighty degree turn from the boy I used to know. “Yes, so humble,” I seethe sarcastically. “I’m glad to see you haven’t forgotten your roots.”
“Ouch. I’ll let you save your compliments for now.”
“I’ve got plenty more where that came from.”
“Glad to hear it. Just know, I’m not happy about this arrangement.”
I glance around. ‘Baller’ is a severe understatement. I’ve never in my life seen an apartment this loaded. It’s a corner unit, so two of the big windows point out to Lake Michigan and to the city, both with breathtaking views. The kitchen is huge, featuring a giant marble island countertop. A few steps lead down to the main living area where he’s got a big, L-shaped sofa, a flat screen TV as big as most movie screens, and a dining room table with a few chairs. There’s also a clear glass door leading out to a big balcony.
“You’ll be in the guest room. This way.”
He leads me down an off-white hallway and stops at a wooden door, flipping a light switch inside the room. He rolls my bag in.
“What do you have in here anyways? Bricks?”
I step into the room.
“Changes of clothes. It’s mostly for dance.”
“I’m surprised you’re giving that another shot. I thought you gave up on that life already,” he bites out.
I grind my teeth, face him, and take a step toward him. I pull off my sunglasses so he can see my eyes. If this stay is anything like these first ten minutes have been, I’m not going to be able to let my guard down for a single moment.
“You don’t want to start the passive aggression game with me,” I seethe. “You know I’m here for dance, no need to rub it in that I haven’t landed a professional spot yet. Besides, you know I can beat you at this game.”
He furrows his brow. “A little good natured ribbing won’t hurt you. It’ll toughen you up. You’ve always taken yourself too seriously. That’s your problem.”
“Oh! I’ve been here for ten minutes and you’re already diagnosing my issues? Thanks, Freud. I’ll take a pass.”
“Believe whatever you want. The fact you’re getting your panties in a bunch tells me all I need to know.”
“I’m not going to be spoken down to while I’m living here. You’re doing me a favor, yes. Because my stupid—” I stutter, and clear my throat. “My ex broke up with me twelve hours ago. Consider your small gesture of letting me use this room as a way to make up for shitty men everywhere.”
“Ohhh, so that’s why you needed a place to crash on such short notice.” Carter nods slowly, letting out a little chuckle. “Don’t blame me that you can’t find a loyal man.”
My blood boils. “Don’t do this. Can we please just be civil while I’m here?”
His jaw twitches.“You really need to learn how to take a joke, Laces.”
I cross my arms, refusing to acknowledge his use of my childhood nickname.
“Why don’t you give me the tour, and I’ll be going to bed soon.”
“Bed? Already? It’s not even nine o’clock.”
“I have dance early tomorrow. And would you please give me an extra key?”
His nostrils flare, and his eyes widen. “Did I just get a ‘please?’ Let me take your temperature.” He places the back of his hand against my forehead.
I snatch his hand off my head by the wrist. “Just give me the damn key.”
I follow him as he heads out of the room, a little upset with myself because I feel like I’ve let Carter win a small battle. I showed him that he was getting to me.
Note to self: brainstorm how to put Carter back in his place.
The man thinks he’s God’s gift to humanity. His attitude is evident in everything, from the way he walks, talks, struts, and plays basketball.
“We’ve got the kitchen here. Couch and living area over there. TV,” he says, pointing out the ridiculous television. “Used for gaming, films, and watching the Sports Channel highlights.”
I hear a low purring, and a grey cat approaches me, rubs my legs. “Aww,” I say, reaching down to pet the cat.
“And you’ve met Smokey,” he says. “She keeps an eye on everything around here.” he winks.
“And what’s this?” I ask, pointing to a corner with some wires and a speaker.
“This,” he says, is where you plug in—or I should say—where I plug in my tunes when I need some musical therapy. Or at the end of a date.”
I freeze up, picturing how many girls must throw themselves at him.
And I’m sure when he gets them back to this apartment, it’s not hard to seal the deal, if that’s what he’s looking for.
“Let’s agree to keep each others’ romantic situations out of each others’ minds,” I say.
Shuddering, it crosses my mind that Carter is probably dating a lot while he’s in the city.
“Oh? I mean, you’re the one who brought up that you just broke up with your ex.”
I swallow and say the painful truth. “He dumped me.”
“Oh. My mom didn’t mention that.” Carter’s eyes flit from my bags back to me, and for a split second I think he might actually show a shred of empathy.
There’s an awkward beat, and then he keeps on. “Anyway, this leads to the outside.” He continues, sliding a door open to the balcony. “This is where I like to overlook my kingdom.”
“Kingdom? This overlooks the city of Chicago.”
“Exactly,” he smirks.
I grind my teeth and shake my head. I walked right into that one.
“And this is the hot tub,” he continues. “With the weather getting nice, I’ll be out here a lot.”
“Yeah? With the guys?”
“Ha. Yeah, I’ll have the occasional steaks and cigars meet up out here with ‘the guys.’ But usually this is where I bring girls to let them know they’ve won the prize.”
“Prize? What prize?” I look around the balcony. Other than the hot tub and an empty table and chairs, there doesn’t seem to be anything.
He smirks, and turns his head away from the gorgeous view of the city overlooking the lake. “I mean me, Babycakes,” he says with a wink.
I roll my eyes.
It’s hard for me to believe this is the same Carter I used to ride bikes around with when we were in middle school. The same Carter whose basketball games I used to dance the halftime shows for junior year, then go to Wendy’s and get hamburgers, have pickle races, and then make out in his car, sitting in my driveway and hoping my mom or dad wouldn’t peel open the window shade and see us.
I wonder if he still has shades of that nice person deep down. But the old Carter seems mostly gone, replaced by this combative version of Carter. My stomach lurches a little, and I wonder if maybe I’m partly to blame for this changed version of him.
For the lie I never told him about his father.
But even as I try to feel empathy for him, it’s clear from his crossed arms--and needless bragging--that he plans on being extra mean, while I’m here.
“Please. Stop trying to prove that women actually like you. It’s not working,” I bite out.
Although with his looks—and ability to be charming when he wants—I feel as though my insult ricochets right off him.
He takes a step toward me. My heartbeat quickens, and I take a sharp, deep breath. His shadow blocks the last rays of sunlight as it sets over the horizon.
“You can joke all you want. But if you think I’m going to start diluting myself because I’ve got a lady in the house, you’ve got another think coming. I don’t mind doing my mom this favor, but Lacy Benson, I swear to God, you will not affect how I live this summer. Is that clear?”
The wind hits my cheeks as I stand against the railing of the balcony. I look down, and the people look like little tiny ants.
“I think living on the forty-fourth floor so high up is getting to your head,” I quip as I slide around his arm to the other side of the balcony. “Do I appreciate you doing me this favor? Sure. Am I going to let my summer be ruined by you? No. I’m here for eight weeks to crush my dance tryout. This is everything to me. You think I’m a distraction for you? I’m as upset about this as you are.”
“Just a little kid’s summer camp, eh?” he teases.
I take a deep breath. The way he says it makes me feel small, like a little kid.
“At the end of the eight weeks, I have an audition for the The Blue Illusion team in New York,” I explain. “If I make it, I’ll move to New York. So for God’s sake, why don’t we just let bygones be bygones and get along?”
He looks me up and down, as if thinking over the answer to my question.
“Hell no. Let me make this crystal clear. You’re on my turf. And we’re doing things my way.”
“Screw you, asshole,” I mutter.
“Yes! I finally did it.”
“Did what?” I scrunch up my face.
“Got you to call me an asshole. I’m going to keep a running tab.”
I stifle a growl.
“Anyway, I’m going out for a little bit. You must be starving after all that travel. There’s some crackers and cheese in the fridge if you’re hungry.”
Fucking. Asshole.
I bite my lip as he smirks, walking away.
I follow him back inside the living room, and I pause as my eyes zoom in on his bookshelf.
A tattered paperback of The Great Gatsby sits on top of it.
My heart skips a beat. My memory rushes back to those afternoons we used to spend reading excerpts from the story out loud like a couple of nerds. The spring after basketball season ended--and he knew he was going to Kansas for ball--he took a supreme interest in my English class. He mostly became interested, he said, because I was so interested.
