One Tiny Lie A Novel

right, but . . .what if he is? I know she’ll believe him. Maybe that’s why I don’t want to tell her. Because what will she say? What will she tell me to do? Probably the same thing she always says: Go live and let yourself make mistakes. “Hey, Kace?”
    She must be able to sense the serious tone in my voice because her playful lilt disappears. Yeah, Livie?”
    “How do you figure out the right way to live your life?”
    There’s a long pause. So long that I check the screen of my cell phone to see if the call is still connected.
    “Trial and error, Livie. That’s the only way that I know of.”

    “It looks pretty quiet,” I say as I follow Reagan along the interlock driveway up to the front porch, which is attached to a stately two-story modern Craftsman-style house and surrounded by towering oak trees. One week ago I was walking along these same stones and feeling these same butterflies. Only this time it’s different because I do know someone inside.
    Connor. And it’s a weird excited-nervous feeling that’s stirring inside my stomach this time.
    “It’s early,” is all Reagan says, jogging up the steps like she’s been here a thousand times. She reaches out and opens the front door.
    “Reagan! Shouldn’t we knock or—”
    “Gidget!” I hear a male voice bellow. Peering over Reagan’s head, I see a guy sauntering down a long hall toward us, his bare feet slapping the hardwood floor.
    Under my breath, I whisper, “Who is that?” I remember her saying that she knew a lot of people going to the party, but does she know the guys who live here? Does she know Connor? I mentioned Connor and she didn’t say anything except, “I’m in!”
    “How could you forget Grant?” Reagan announces rather loudly, flashing one of her giant smiles. Subtlety doesn’t seem to be in Reagan’s nature.
    He slows as he approaches, a crestfallen look passing over his face. “You don’t remember me?” he asks, his hands lifting to cover his chest as if his heart is in pain.
    “I . . .uh . . .,” I sputter, shooting a glare in Reagan’s direction as my cheeks flush. They both burst out in laughter.
    With a boyish grin, he extends a hand. “Hi, I’m Grant. Glad you ladies could make it.”
    I offer a shy smile as I take it. “Livie.”
    “You’ll always be Irish to me,” he says with a wink and then turns to head back down the hall that stretches to the very back of the sizeable house.
    He called me Irish.
    Why did he call me Irish?
    I don’t remember him.
    Why don’t I remember him?
    Ohmigod . He saw me like that. He must know Ashton. Does he know what I did with Ashton? Is he going to tell Connor that I’m a maniac when I drink? Has he already told Connor? What if Connor doesn’t want anything to do with me now?
    This is a disaster.
    Reagan grabs my forearm and squeezes. “Livie, you’re not blinking. It’s creeping me out.”
    “Sorry,” I mumble. It’s nothing , I tell myself.
    We start following Grant back, past a spacious but unoccupied living room on the right. “Reagan has won over my undying love, but I’m willing to date around while she sows her wild oats,” Grant calls out over his shoulder.
    “I think you’ll be dating until you’re old and gray, then,” I warn with a sidelong glance at her.
    He stops walking and spins around, flashing Reagan a wide grin. “She’s worth it. Would you ladies like something to drink?”
    Before I can request water or a Coke, Reagan is already placing our order, holding up two fingers. “The usual, Grant. Thanks.” I have a feeling the usual is coming from the selection of glass liquor bottles on the kitchen counter I see up ahead. And Grant obviously knows Reagan well if he knows what “the usual” is.
    “Anything for you, Gidget,” he says with another winning smile as he turns a corner.
    I grab her arm to stop her from following. “Did you know that Grant lived here, Reagan?”
    Her brow furrows. “Oh, yeah. Of course.”
    I feel my eyebrow arch and I know it’s probably halfway up my forehead. “So then you knew that he was Connor’s roommate . . .”
    “Uh-huh,” she says absently, wiggling from my grasp and speeding toward the kitchen.
    Why is she being so evasive?
    “Hey, Livie!” I hear. I turn to see Connor coming down the set of stairs, his face beaming. I sigh with relief. Okay, so he doesn’t appear to be regretting this invitation . . .
    He confirms that a second later as he wraps his arms