Read Online Perfect Lie by Teresa Mummert - Free Book Online Page B

even though I was trying my hardest to scowl at him. He glanced at me, a crooked grin on his lips.
    “Fine. You can wash the dishes,” I told him. I walked away, hating how frustratingly adorable he was. I lay down across my bed and grabbed my cell phone, finding “Wrecking Ball” on my playlist before putting on my headphones and closing my eyes.
    I gave myself permission to imagine Brock’s face—his eyes, dark gray like a storm cloud, charged and ready to wreak havoc; his hair brown like my natural color but buzzed short. His body was thick with muscles, and he was a few inches taller than me, so I would have to stand on my toes to kiss him. I smiled as I heard his voice calling me “Bird.”
    “This music is torture, Bird.” Brock had a pained look on his face, and I couldn’t hold in my giggle.
    “It’s not that bad.” I hummed along to “When I’m Gone,” which was playing on the radio in the gym at the shelter.
    “You’re killing me. We can’t be friends anymore,” he joked, as he bounced a basketball, the sound echoing in the cavernous room.
    “If you stop being my friend, I
will
kill you.” I took a step toward him. “Slowly…” Another step. “Painfully…” I snatched the basketball from the air and haphazardly dribbled it down the court as I laughed.
    “You’re cheating, Bird. You can’t distract me with threats. I’m pretty sure it’s frowned upon. Ms. Deb?” he called out to one of the workers, who looked over at us. “Bird is cheating.”
    I glared back at him and stuck out my tongue as I bent my knees and tossed the ball toward the basket. It bounced off the backboard and fell to the floor. Brock laughed so hard that he was clutching his stomach.
    “Never mind, Ms. Deb. She sucks anyway.”
    Ms. Deb shook her head as she wrote on a clipboard she held in her hand. “Don’t use that kind of language, Mr. Ryan.”
    “Sorry, Ms. Deb,” he replied sarcastically, and I giggled as I chased after the ball.
    The headphones were pulled from my ears, and I jumped, pushing up onto my elbows, as the storm in Brock’s eyes was replaced with calm waters. “What are you doing in here?” I asked, as Abel took a step back.
    “I didn’t mean to scare you. I was looking for the bathroom. I thought you were sleeping, but you smiled, and I noticed the headphones.” He ran his hand through his messy hair. “What are you listening to?”
    “Your lame excuses.” I rolled my eyes as I pulled my headphones off completely, and the dimples in his cheeks deepened.
    He took another step back toward my door but stopped and turned back to me. “Thank you for dinner. It was great. I can’t remember the last time I had a home‐cooked meal.”
    I searched his face for sarcasm, but he was being sincere, and for a moment, I saw what looked like sadness in his eyes, but it was gone as quickly as it had come.
    “You’re welcome,” I said, as he disappeared into the hallway. I put my headphones back on and replayed the song, but I didn’t close my eyes. I could only take the memories of Brock in small doses without breaking down. I tried to focus on the good—his touch, the sound of his voice—but every part of my life back then was laced with the bad. I’d reached my limit for the day. I took off the headphones and tossed them onto my pillow, not sure what I would do with the rest of my night. It was Saturday, and that usually meant we’d be off at a bar or club somewhere. I hoped everyone would leave soon, and maybe I could relax with a good book.
    I pushed myself up from the bed and made my way to the bathroom. As I opened the door, Abel turned toward the shower and zipped up his pants.
    “Jesus! Shit! I’m so sorry.” I yanked the door to close it, but he grabbed hold and pulled it wide open.
    “Wow. Was it
that
disappointing?” He laughed, and my face burned with embarrassment.
    “I didn’t see anything.” I was mortified.
    “You really know how to hurt a man’s ego.”
    “I