The Lie by Natalie Wrye (primary phonics books .txt) 📕

I have no idea what the hell you’re talking about, but if you’re trying to give someone a glimpse of your cock, then just say so.” He points. “Half the women at the bar have been salivating your way ever since you sat down and they’re more likely to enjoy that sort of view than me, I can promise you that.”

I lower the lollipop. “So that wasn’t you?”

“Wasn’t me when?”

“In the employee closet. Fifteen minutes ago…?” I wait. “When Sheena and I were back there you-know…?”

Kev blinks, his lips curving. “Uh, no, I don’t know. But if you want to tell me, I’m all ears about that one. And eyes. Must be dangerous for a woman to be built like that… I mean, her hips alone, but it’s well shan for a woman to be blessed with such big…”

But I can’t hear Kev over the rush of the blood in my ears.

Nor over the sound of my phone.

A text notification hits my cell as he blathers on and on about Sheena, and, not for the first time, I realize that I might have gone about finding a fake wife all wrong.

Not like I have practice at it.

Or practice with women, aside from sleeping with them.

Even with Sheena, I’d forgotten to slip her my NDA, since the waitress caught me unaware.

And it looks like I’m paying for my slip-up.

Paying for not knowing one woman well enough to play husband to for a weekend.

There was water, water, water everywhere. And not a fucking drop to drink.

Because I never kept my thirst for anyone long enough.

Wish I could say the same for Sophia.

Because my best female friend?

Well, she’s out.

Her text message tells me she’ll be spending the weekend with her boyfriend…

In Vegas.

She was getting screwed by her guy…and I was getting screwed. And for once, it was the kind of screwing I didn’t like.

But since I was already going down with the ship…

I look to Kev and this fucking lollipop, stomach tying in knots, knowing that even candy won’t cut it tonight.

I need something. Something more.

And I’m not even sure what it is, but it can’t be wallowing in this feeling.

“Hey Kevin, wanna head to the bar for a drink?”

“Naw, man, I'm good.”

“Come on, Kev, you know you want to. What the hell are Friday nights for? Other than working on Nancy’s indentured servant crew.”

“Aye, come on, lad. You know I don't drink on the job.”

“Technically, you’re at the job. Not ‘on’ it since you’re not on the schedule…” I pause. “And I’m going to get fired any minute, so we’re both free.”

He releases a long breath, his brown eyes frowning. “All right, all right, I'll come with you. I planned on skedaddling aff in a few more minutes anyway. Hitting a new bar uptown.”

“Great.”

“And then I'm gonna head out.”

“All right.”

“Maybe you'll want to join me?”

“Maybe.”

“You know, Drew, you're not my type. Gonnae no’ dae that.”

I stand. “Duly noted, Kev. Trust me… You’ve been duly noted. Now, let’s get the fuck out of this booth and have some fun.” I chuck the lollipop. “I think I deserve it…since it’ll be my last chance.”

—

NANCY

An hour passes into the charity event at The Alchemist…

And I’m still not calm enough.

The caterers are great. The band is fantastic.

The guests seem perfectly content—drunken and generous enough to part with most of the money that my favorite Lending-a-Hand organization needs, and even still…the success of tonight is not enough to take my mind off everything that happened before it.

Off everything that happened with Andrew.

Or, rather, everything I imagined happening when I watched in what was maybe the most erotic moment of my life.

Taking Sophia’s suggestion I’ve tried to hobnob with donors…when what I really want to do is head home, where I can fill out a stack of loan applications in peace.

Because there’s no way I’m getting fifty thousand dollars out of any of these donors.

Not tonight.

I can barely talk to the fundraiser guests. And when I try, I’m a fumbling mess.

But no one can say I don’t make an attempt.

I mix. I mingle.

I talk to people who could buy me twice over and sell me for cheap.

Halfway through the evening, I’m dismissed by a charity donor who doesn’t even know my name, and with my nerves on edge, I head back to the bar, ordering the driest martini one of my bartenders can make.

After a few sips, I’m surprised I’m almost calm enough to enjoy myself.

At least, for the next hour or two.

That is, until the memory of Andrew’s soft groan echoes in my ears.

The inside of The Alchemist is warm enough to hold off the chill of this February Manhattan night. But it can’t hold off the shiver beneath my skin.

Visions of blue eyes and hot hands haunt my every thought every time I stand too still.

And every time I’m alone, I imagine the heat of his body, his hands pulling at my hair. Every time my lips aren’t talking, I can feel them wrapped around his engorged length.

And my body burns. Burns with the thought that I wanted to.

That’d actually sat there, imagining that in an alternate universe, that I could.

I must have been depraved. Crazy to be so turned on.

Was Sophia right? Were my thoughts about Andrew ever fully platonic, if I could even call them that?

Or had I always felt this way?

Had I always wanted him in some visceral way that didn’t make sense, my body begging to be treated the way I knew only someone as skilled as Andrew could?

They’re questions I don’t want to answer even though I know I’ll take them back to the sanctity of my own bedroom tonight—my fingers floating between my legs.

But in the midst of fighting off another question—one about the size and length of Andrew and everything Sheena experienced that I can’t, Eric, my new manager (and my date) finally makes his way to my side.

He grins down at me, clad in a perfect suit, his golden hair shiny as he hunches low, catching my eye.

He