One Tiny Lie A Novel

you?”
    “No, I’ll find it, thanks.” I pat his arm as I turn to dash out of there.
    “It was nice to meet you, Livie,” Dana calls out.
    “You too,” I throw back with a smile, rushing to the stairs. I hope that wasn’t too rude but I can’t help it. She’s super-nice and that’s making me want to scream.
    I hear Ashton behind me say, “I’ll meet you out by my car in five. I’ve got to change and grab my wallet.”
    He’s following me.
    Blood rushes to my ears. I speed up, taking the steps two at a time, determined to get behind a locked door before I have to face him. And I would have made it if my toe hadn’t snagged the lip of the top step, sending me sprawling out onto the hardwood floor, flat on my stomach.
    My face burns as I scramble to my hands and knees, still determined to hide. I hear a soft chuckle behind me as two hands grab my waist and yank me to my feet effortlessly.
    “Jeez, Irish,” Ashton mutters. I bristle as I feel his hand touch the small of my back.
    “I’m fine from here,” I mutter angrily, twisting away from him as I hurry toward the bathroom.
    He follows suit, increasing his speed behind me. “I doubt that,” he says, but he doesn’t laugh. When I reach the third door to the right, Ashton grabs my hip and practically shoves me into the spacious room. I spin around to close the door but it’s too late. He’s already maneuvered his way in, shutting the door behind him. And locking it.
    “What are you—” I start to say in a biting tone but his hand clamps over my mouth.
    “Shut up.” He pushes me backward until the edge of the granite countertop hits my tailbone, keeping his hand on my mouth the whole time. I briefly consider biting it but I restrain myself. I’d probably draw blood, I’m so angry. Livie the Biter. God knows that would only add to whatever stories are already circulating about me.
    He’s staring down at me, those deep brown eyes intense and thoughtful. My nostrils catch that light musky cologne of his. It instantly triggers memories from last Saturday. Memories that just won’t leave me alone.
    I look away from him as my heart starts racing and I feel the first trickle of sweat down my back. I just want to get away and I can’t. He’s trapped me. The entire situation is overwhelming and I have to fight to keep my knees from buckling. Or maybe it’s just Ashton that’s overwhelming me. Everything about him. I swallow repeatedly.
    “If I move my hand away, will you keep quiet and let me explain something?” he says with a warning glare.
    My brow furrows. What is there to explain? That he got drunk and cheated on his girlfriend? But at this point, I just want to get away from him, so I bob my head.
    The second his hand drops from my mouth, my anger flares again. “How could you do—” My words are cut off as Ashton grabs my waist and spins me around to face the mirror. I’m about to twist my torso against him to get away, but then I look up at our reflection and find his dark stare pinning me with its strength. My breath hitches.
    “How do you know Connor?” His voice is strangely calm. I tense as his hand lifts to brush my long black hair off to the side, his fingers grazing my neck.
    “I met him the other day,” I answer involuntarily, distracted. “Didn’t he mention it?” What is he doing?
    “No.” His index finger tugs gently at the back of my shirt, pulling it down far enough to expose my tattoo. “Small world,” he murmurs as his finger runs horizontally along the writing. He exhales slowly, his breath sending shivers down my back and legs, stiffening my entire body.
    I set my jaw. “Unfortunately.”
    His finger stops moving as searing eyes flash toward mine in the mirror. When he looks back to my tattoo, I catch the little smirk. His finger starts running back and forth along the ink on my back again, the motion drawing my breath out of my lungs and making my face redden. “Now you see why last Saturday needs to stay between us?”
    “It should never have happened in the first place,” I say, my voice cracking as his muscular arm reaches toward the bottle of lotion on the counter, pumping a small amount onto his fingers. With a pinched brow, I watch as he brings it toward me and, in the most gentle of touches, begins to smooth it over my freshly inked skin. I close my eyes as I swallow, taking a moment to enjoy the cool, soothing cream. That damn thing has been driving me insane all week. I’m diligent