One Tiny Lie A Novel

wink.
    “Reagan!” My jaw drops as I look from her to Grant.
    He just rolls his eyes, his hands up in the air as if in surrender. I notice for the first time that Grant is in scrubs and he has a name tag on him that reads Dr. Grant Feel-You-Up Cleaver. “She didn’t explain. I didn’t ask.” With a mumble, he adds, “I don’t want to know what the fuck is going on under this roof.”
    “Here! Try these. They’re delicious!” As usual, Reagan quickly changes to a new topic, this time to a bowl of gummi bears. Sometimes I picture a bunch of squirrels chasing thoughts in her brain like they’re nuts. I’m hoping the furry rodents keep their acorns far from Ashton or she’s liable to blab, in her state.
    With a sigh, and a mutter of thanks, I thrust my hand into the bowl while my eyes scan the kitchen and any other room in my sight, looking for his dark hair while I hold my breath.
    “Do you like them?” Reagan chirps as my mouth puckers against the cold, juicy texture in my mouth. Strange . “They’re full of rum! They’re like Jell-O shots!”
    New kryptonite. Fantastic. Then again, if I eat enough of these, I’m sure I’ll tell Ashton anything and everything without reservation.
    “Gidget! Focus!” Grant barks as he’s downing another shot. It gives her just enough warning to place the lime between her teeth before he smashes his mouth into hers to suck on it, his hand shifting under her short skirt for good measure.
    I turn away from the blatant foreplay. Reagan did threaten payback . . .
    “Wow, Livie!” I jump back as a set of glassy green eyes appears five inches from mine.
    My heart sinks with disappointment. I was hoping to avoid him tonight. “Hey, Connor.”
    “I’m Batman tonight, babe,” he states as his arms stretch the cape out on either side of him, accidently knocking someone’s drink out of his hand in the process. He’s oblivious, though, too busy sliding his gaze down the length of my body. “You look great.” Arms wrap around my waist to pull me against him. His breath smells like a mix of beer and hard liquor and he’s slurring badly. “I mean . . .” Hands landing on each of my ass cheeks with a squeeze makes me jolt. “Really great.”
    I can’t blame him. He’s drunk and I’m dressed like most guys’ fantasy, so I guess it’s to be expected. Still, it makes me squirm away in discomfort, a scowl no doubt on my face. I somehow manage to break free of his grasp and slowly edge away to create some space between us.
    “Great, party, huh?” He casts a hand out in the general direction of the crowd and I follow it, taking another small step back.
    “Yeah. Looks like it.”
    “You’re a little late to the festivities, though.” And . . . he’s back in my space, his mouth directly on my ear. Whatever edge two shots of tequila and a mouthful of rum-soaked gummi bears had taken off is back.
    I flinch as he yanks one of my pigtails. It gives me the chance to shove him playfully and step around him. “I had a hard day at the hospital.” My future, basically crumbling before my eyes.
    “I’m sure you’ll feel better tomorrow.” He takes another sip of his beer as his head tilts to the side to get a better angle of my legs. I just shake my head. I know I shouldn’t take anything Connor says or does seriously right now because he’s drunk, but that was a typical Connor answer, alcohol or not. You’ll be fine. You’re smart . You’re strong. You’re blah, blah, blah. Such generic and dismissive responses .
    I don’t know if it’s because I saw my future life when I met his parents or because of Ashton or because I cried the entire way home from the hospital as my dreams vanished, but I feel like a fog has lifted and I’m thinking straight for the first time. Connor is feeling more wrong by the minute. He looks perfect on the outside—smart, sweet, good-looking, charming. He does cute things like send me flowers and call me throughout the day to say hello. He’s never pushed me into sex or anything aside from kissing, which, now that I think about it, is just plain weird for a college guy. Maybe he’s gay and I’m the perfect cover for his parents? Either way, it worked out well, because I’ve never had the urge to go farther with him. That in itself should have been a red flag for me.
    No . . . the guy I grew up picturing in my head is definitely Connor. I just know that I don’t belong in the picture with him.
    Ty bursts into the