One Tiny Lie A Novel

kisses—so many kisses that my lips have started to swell.
    The problem is that no amount of kisses I share with Connor can match the intensity of the one I shared with Ashton. It’s the reason that I almost came clean.
    But I can’t do it. I’m too scared. I’m too weak. I’m afraid that I could be throwing away a great thing— the thing—for one heat-of-the-moment kiss that will never happen again anyway. Connor did say “slow and easy,” after all. That could easily be interpreted as “open.” If I say it enough times in my head, I might start to believe it.
    Or I could pretend that the incident with Ashton never happened. Block it out completely.
    “Care to tell me what happened?” Dr. Stayner asks casually. “No judgment here, of course.”
    Sighing, I mutter, “I can’t.” I’m afraid that if I start talking, I’ll divulge Ashton’s secret. I promised him that I wouldn’t tell anyone.
    “Okay . . . well, how can I help?”
    “You can’t. I just need to stay away from him. I think he’s broken. Like Kacey broken.”
    “I see. And you, being the person that you are, have gotten emotionally involved before you realized it.”
    “I think that’s what this is . . .” When my heart aches every time I think of him, when I play out a dozen scenarios for how Ashton became the way he is, when I want to hunt his father down and scream at him? Yeah, I’m pretty sure that’s what it means.
    “That, coupled with your attraction to him, helps things get out of control quickly, especially if you’re carrying on this relationship with his best friend.”
    I dip my head in embarrassment because, once again, my mind-reading shrink has in two sentences summed up a week of inner turmoil. “I can’t let myself get sidetracked by a hot guy and his issues. It’s too distracting. I need to just avoid him for the next . . . year.”
    “That will be difficult, given that he lives with Connor.”
    “Better than the alternative,” I mutter under my breath, rubbing my forehead.
    “Hmm . . .” There’s a long pause, and then I hear Dr. Stayner clap his hands. He must have me on speakerphone. “That’s it! I know what your task is for this week.”
    “What? No task, Dr. Stayner. You said no more. You said—”
    “I lied. You will find five of Ashton’s redeeming qualities.”
    “Have you not been listening to me?”
    In true Dr. Stayner fashion, he ignores my question. “As part of your task, you will say what you’re thinking at all times. The truth. Don’t overanalyze, don’t choose your words. Just spit it out. And if he asks you a question, you have to answer it honestly.”
    “What? No. Why?”
    “Let’s call it an experiment.”
    “But . . . No!” I sputter out.
    “Why not?”
    Because what I’m thinking about around Ashton usually involves his body parts! “Because . . . no!”
    “I expect a full report in a month’s time.”
    “No. I’ll barely even see him this month. I have exams. I’m busy.”
    “I’m sure you will.”
    “No.”
    “Work with me.”
    I set my jaw stubbornly. “I’ve always worked with you, Dr. Stayner. This time I’m saying no. It’s a bad idea.”
    “Good. One month.”
    “You can’t make me.”
    “Oh no?”
    I purse my lips as I inhale deeply. “I could lie to you.”
    “And I could show up at your dorm with a straitjacket and your name painted on it.”
    I gasp, feeling my eyes widen. “You wouldn’t . . .” He totally might.
    “Let’s not find out, shall we? One month, Livie. Get to know him.”
    “What about Connor?”
    “I didn’t say jump Ashton’s bones as part of the ‘getting to know him’ process.”
    I cringe. “Ohmigod.”
    “Sorry, that’s what my boys say. Is that not cool?”
    “Nothing about this conversation is cool, Stayner,” I moan. “I should go. Connor will be here any minute.”
    “Just trust me on this one, Livie. Just one more time. It’s a good idea.”
    “Uh-huh.” With goodbyes, we hang up our phones. My face falls into my palms as I wonder how I got myself into this. I’m not doing it. I refuse. He can come with a straitjacket. It’ll fit me flawlessly by then. The ironic thing is that I blurt out things I shouldn’t half the time I’m with Ashton but it’s never intentional. If I said everything . . .
    A horn honks.
    I look up, expecting to see the white Audi. But there’s a sleek black four-door with shiny silver rims instead. The driver side opens and a