One Tiny Lie A Novel

curvy. If I don’t keep jogging . . . look out!” She pulls her T-shirt over her head and throws it onto the heap on the floor with her other clothes. Reagan isn’t the neatest person in the world. I don’t mind, though. It suits her wild demeanor. “You know, you should start jogging with me!”
    “I’m not the most coordinated person,” I warn with a grimace. “I’m liable to take you out.”
    She shrugs. “That’s okay, I know how to tuck and roll.”
    “Maybe. One day.” Maybe I’ll like jogging. I won’t know unless I try.
    Until then, I can work on calming the butterflies that are swarming inside my stomach, now that I know I’m seeing Ashton tomorrow night.
    No, Connor, I don’t find your best friend appealing. Not at all.

CHAPTER TEN
    Jealousy
    Everyone knows Connor. At least it seems that way as we follow the server through the pub. To my left, a guy waves. To my right, another guy fist-pumps. We pass by a table with four young women. “Hey, Connor!” one calls out. He flashes them a smile and a polite nod and continues on. That’s when all four sets of eyes settle on me and I morph into that frog in my tenth-grade science class. The unfortunate one beneath my scalpel. I shift discreetly to avoid their gazes and end up bumping into Connor. “Sorry,” I murmur. But he just displays those perfect white teeth to me. He doesn’t seem bothered that I’m on his heels. He’s never bothered.
    The attractive fortyish server shows us to a table for six and takes a handmade Reserved sign off it. “Thanks, Cheryl,” Connor says.
    She pats him on the shoulder. “What can I get you two?”
    “A Corona for me and a Jack and Coke for Livie. Right, Livie?”
    I just bob my head, clenching my teeth and fighting the urge to announce publicly that I’m only eighteen and this establishment should know better than to serve me alcohol. I have the fake ID my sister gave me but I’m terrified to use it. I think I may pass out if she asks me to pull it out of my wallet.
    Cheryl doesn’t card me, though. She simply nods and walks away, her eyes dropping to get a good look at Connor’s butt as she passes.
    “Tonight should be a good night. We’ve got front-row seats for the band,” Connor says, gesturing to the stage directly in front of us.
    “I thought you said they didn’t reserve tables here.”
    Connor’s head ducks and I catch those dimples again. “We tip Cheryl well, so she takes care of us. She likes us.” Yes, I know which part of you she likes . . . I wonder what kind of tips Ashton gives her, but I bite my lip before I make another philandering pig comment. He is Connor’s best friend, after all. And a philandering pig.
    Unzipping my jacket and hanging it over my chair, my eyes drift over Shawshanks. It’s a large, open space, full of dark wood and stained glass. One wall—entirely brick—displays an eclectic assortment of artwork hung haphazardly. Near the back is a wall-to-wall bar with at least twenty brass beer taps on display. A four-tiered shelf behind the bartender gives patrons countless liquor options to choose from. On the other end—the end we’re seated at—is a stage and dance floor.
    “They bring great bands in,” Connor says, noting my gaze over at the instruments.
    “Is that why it’s packed here?” Every table is taken, most of them by college-aged people.
    Connor gives a half-shrug. “Once schoolwork really kicks in, it slows down a bit. People get pretty focused. But there’s always a party somewhere, someone letting off some steam. Usually at the eating clubs. We’d be at Tiger Inn tonight if they hadn’t shut down the taproom to fix a leak. Here.” He gestures to a chair. “Take this seat before—”
    “—Tavish gets here!” Ty’s boisterous voice booms in my ear as two stalky arms wrap around my waist. He lifts me off the ground and swings me in a circle—past an approaching Grant and Reagan—to settle me back down facing the stage. Before I can regain my footing, Ty slithers into the chair I was about to fill. “And takes the best seat in the house!” he finishes.
    “Hey!” Connor barks and I note the irritation in his voice, a rare scowl marring his normally contented face.
    “It’s okay. Seriously.” I give Connor’s forearm a squeeze for good measure just as Grant leans in to kiss my cheek and smack Ty upside the head simultaneously.
    “Hey, Livie!” Reagan calls out, unzipping her own jacket.
    “Hi, Reagan. Missed