One Tiny Lie A Novel

room’s mine,” he says, turning on a small lamp.
    I’m in Connor’s bedroom. Did he bring me up here for a reason? My eyes skim over the space, settling on the bed for a moment. Does he think we’re going to have sex tonight? I clear my voice and offer, “Nice house,” as I spin around, noticing the door was left slightly open.
    Connor is leaning against a wall, watching me intently. “My parents own it. They bought it two years ago so I could get off campus for my junior and senior years. Almost everyone lives on campus around here, but I was finding it a bit too much. And the guys jumped at the chance to move in with me. They pay next to nothing for room and board, so it was worthwhile for them.” Stepping forward to push a thick lock of my hair back behind my ear, he murmurs, “Relax, Livie. I didn’t bring you up here with any expectations.” His hand moves to cradle my chin. “Just one hope . . .” Leaning down, Connor’s lips slowly close over mine, moving as if coaxing a response. It feels safe and warm and nice.
    That doesn’t mean I’m not petrified that I’m doing it all wrong, that Connor will regret me as well. When he breaks away, I wonder if my one drunken night was enough to teach me the basics. With my bottom lip tucked under my teeth, I look up to see eyes a darker shade of green and more glossy than normal.
    “I’m just . . .” I frown. “I’m not very experienced.”
    Placing a gentle kiss on my forehead, he murmurs, “That’s okay. To be honest, I really like that you’re different.” Does different translate to virgin ? With a second kiss on my brow, his hands lift to hold my face on either side as he murmurs, “Let’s keep things slow and easy.” Slow and easy . What does that mean?
    “Okay.” I use my drink as a diversion, bringing it to my lips to take an extra-large gulp, thankful that Mr. Jack Daniels is helping to keep me calm.
    “So, I hear you got a tattoo last weekend?”
    The quick change of topic is appreciated. I still groan and roll my eyes, of course. “Looks like it. Do you have any?”
    Connor’s hands fall from my face to ruffle the top of his head. “Nah, I hate needles. Ash keeps trying to get me out with him but I refuse.”
    “Go drinking with my sister and you’ll end up with one whether you like it or not,” I mutter wryly, but inside I’m mentally taking inventory of Ashton’s tattoos, ones I’ve seen sober and the other ones that I somehow remember—a bird on the inside of his right forearm, the Chinese script on his right shoulder, the Celtic symbol over his left pectoral, Irish on his butt...
    And my face is burning again. Dammit .
    “What are you thinking about?”
    “Nothing! Do you want to see it?” I blurt out, intent on diverting his attention from me and my perverted mind.
    “Sure. I mean, it isn’t anywhere . . .”
    “Yeah. I mean, no. I mean, it’s on my back so, yes, you can see it.” I shake my head at my flustered self as I quickly turn around and sweep my hair to the side. I stretch the back of my shirt down. “See it?”
    “Yeah.” There’s a long pause as he looks at it. He doesn’t touch it, though, and I wonder whether he wants to or not. This is so unlike the caveman-style manhandling earlier with Ashton. I’m seeing very quickly that Connor is his opposite in so many ways. I don’t get how they’re best friends. “What does it mean?”
    “Just something my dad used to call me,” I smile wistfully.
    “Well . . .” Connor’s hand gently takes mine and my shirt falls back into place. He sweeps my hair back the way it was, smoothing it gently, before his hands settle on my shoulders. I sense him lean forward until his mouth is close to my ear. “It’s beautiful,” he whispers, his voice decidedly husky, his thumbs sliding back and forth over my back with a hint of pressure. And I know that, despite not having expectations, Connor definitely has ideas.
    I think this is the part when my brain is supposed to vanish. It’s supposed to be sucked right out of my head by the sexy guy breathing in my ear. At least, that’s what I’ve always assumed was supposed to happen. When you’re in a bedroom with a hot guy for the first time and he’s all but saying, “I’m horny and I’m yours,” you’re not looking for an escape route. You’re looking for a way to lock the door so you can tear his clothes off and do all kinds of things that don’t involve your brain.
    But the