The Lying Game

by Miller, Mickey

  I stop chewing mid-bite as a realization hits me. One of the few benefits of Carter being so harsh most of the time is that I know he’s not bullshitting me. If he thought I sucked, he would just give that info to me straight.

  “Fine. You want to know how I know? I know because you love what you do. You were a dancer before you even knew what it meant. Remember in the park, after we played basketball that one day—I don’t remember how old we were. But you insisted on teaching me the dance moves you’d learned.”

  “You remember that?” I breathe, my vocal pitch rising.

  Carter nods. “I told you how it changed the way I played forever.”

  I shake my head. “We were just kids then.”

  “Yep.”

  Swallowing a lump in my throat, I breathe out and consider not saying what’s on my mind. But I must. I brace myself. “So, if you can admit we were just kids then, why do you still hold a grudge against me?”

  Carter’s entire posture instantly stiffens. “I still can’t get over some of the stuff you’ve done. I don’t know if I’ll ever make it past that.”

  “So,” I swallow. “What are we doing, then?”

  Taking a long sip of his wine, Carter looks away and then brings his gaze back to me. “You’ve got this energy to you, and it’s fucking magnificent. You know why I cooked for you tonight? Because I wanted to spend a little more time with you. This may make me an asshole, but you know as well as anyone I don’t like wasting time with girls. There’s something about you that drives me up the fucking wall and back down. But I also don’t think you let everyone see this side of you. You walk around with your guard up. And that’s fine, I guess. But for fuck’s sake. You’re ranked thirty-ninth of forty? I call bullshit on that. I’m guessing that dance, like basketball, is a lot more mental than you’d like to think. And something’s blocking you, clear as day.”

  I twist around in my seat, suddenly uncomfortable. My wine buzz hits me a little, and I feel bold.

  I pinch my eyebrows together. “Carter, who the hell do you think you are?”

  Carter leans back. “The fuck is that supposed to mean?”

  “You’re telling me I have something blocking me from the past?” I bite out. “Talk about projection.”

  “I don’t follow,” he says evenly.

  I heave a deep breath. “I don’t really want to go here, but I have to. This is what you do! Any time—like today—you’re getting anywhere near addressing your father issue, you change the subject.”

  “That is not true.”

  “Yes, it is! You’ve been avoiding that subject for almost a decade. And now you’re just going to keep avoiding! I keep trying to bring it up with you and you keep dodging my questions.”

  “I don’t think now is the time to address my stupid deadbeat dad.”

  My whole body feels heavy, hearing his excuse. “Oh! So when is? You’ve got some real problems, Carter. Do you think it’s fucking normal to send a picture of your cock—along with my ass, which I did not consent to, by the way—to a person’s ex? Is it?”

  Carter stands up. “I don’t know why you give a shit about what that guy thinks any more! How long did you date? You planned your life in the city with him, and he bails at the last second! Sounds like a real piece of work if you ask me! I didn’t include your face in that picture on purpose, by the way. You’re fucking welcome. I mean, sure, I could pick your ass out of a lineup. But no one else is going to know that’s you!”

  “I just don’t like the idea of a naked picture of me being out there! Wai. . . did you just say you could pick my ass out of a lineup?” I stand up, and through my anger I stifle a giggle.

  Leave it to Carter to insert comedy even into this ridiculous situation.

  “One-hundred percent. I’d bet my life on it. I have every nook and cranny memorized. You have a little birthmark on the side of your right cheek,” he winks.

  “Nook and cranny?! What the fuck is wrong with you!” I shake my head.

  “Well it’s true! Try me!”

  Standing up, I bite my tongue.

  I think back to Norton’s message.

  He honestly thought Carter had just taken a screenshot of a random girl and guy from a porn site.

  I mean, Carter does have porn-worthy equipment.

  But also, it’s clear that Norton couldn’t pick my ass out of a lineup.

  A strange warmth spreads in my heart. And even that warmth angers me.

  Why am I so into the man who’s also the most emotionally unavailable? It’s ridiculous.

  I clench up, feeling like a wind-up toy about to explode.

  I step up to Carter. “And Lance!? Really? Why did you have to send a picture to him?”

  Carter shrugs. “For comedic relief because I knew you’d be pissed about me sending one to Norton. And also, because I knew Lance would appreciate it.”

  I open my mouth to speak again, but nothing comes out.

  He’s so openly ridiculous—and unashamed, it’s just impressive.

  I want to slap him. And I want to jump him.

  “Carter,” I say through gritted teeth.

  “Laces.” He imitates me, giving me a sideways grin.

  “If we were playing kill, fuck, or marry right now, you’d win two out of the three options. You want to guess which ones?”

  He flashes a cocky smirk, then brushes my hair behind my ear. “You know I’d pick the same two for you.”

  I rest my hand on his abs, heaving heavy breaths. “This isn’t over,” I say softly.

  “I agree.” He brushes his lips against my ear. “But right now I’m feeling a lot like I need to fuck you so hard I might even stop hating you for a minute.”

  “Shut up. You don’t still hate me. I don’t believe you.”

  He tips my chin up toward him. “Shut your mouth and get in the damn bedroom,” he growls.

  I run my tongue over my lips, and swallow. “Yes, Sir,” I say.

  Lifting me over his shoulder like a fireman, he carries me to the bedroom.

  24

  Carter

  Thankfully, Lacy doesn’t interfere with my starfishing in bed. I don’t think I’ve slept so soundly in months.

  Mindblowing sex has the tendency to launch you into that deep R.E.M. sleep, so I’m not surprised.

  When my alarm goes off at six A.M., I silently curse my coach out for inventing early morning Sunday practices, especially in the off season. Supposedly, they’re meant to keep our team from partying too hard. Like that’s ever stopped a group of twenty-something guys.

  I rouse myself from bed and steal a glance at Lacy while she sleeps.

  This time, she’s sleeping in one of my Chicago Wolverines jerseys. An urge wells up in me to kiss her on the cheek before I go, but I squash it.

  Glancing at the time on my watch, I realize something.

  My twenty-four hour rule. She’s coming damn close to breaking it. We’ve been hanging out non-stop since yesterday afternoon. Does the clock still run on the twenty-four hours if she’s sleeping in my bed, but I’m not here?

  I sling the strap of my gym bag over my shoulder, when another realization crosses me that Lacy’s getting into my head. The twenty-four hour thing isn’t real. It’s an arbitrary rule I made to kick girls out when I feel like it.

  And I hope she’s still lying in my bed like this when I get back.

  Not in the mood to drive, I call a Lyft and head out the door to practice.

  After our warmup, we head to the gym for an early morning lifting session, then to the court for a scrimmage. I wonder what exactly we’re supposed to be simulating with a scrimmage at eight A.M., since all of our games are at night.

  I ask the coach a simple question about his early practice philosophy, but he takes it the wrong way.

  “Alright, you don’t want to scrimmage? Get on the motherfucking baseline, then,” he yells.

  “That’s not what I—”

  “Baseline!” he quacks, louder this tim
e.

  Everyone on the team mean-mugs me, and I shrug.

  “The fuck’s the matter with you?” Chandler quips. “We all went out last night until like four A.M. Where the hell were you anyway? You didn’t answer a single text.”

  I shrug. “Dinner with Lacy.”

  He stares at me, shaking his head. “I knew it.”

  Our first wind sprint interrupts the flow of our conversation, and to be honest I’m thankful for the break.

  Probably since I’m the only guy who wasn’t out all night for the second night in a row, I come in first easily. Although I was certainly doing some cross-training of my own with Lacy last night.

  She really is a naughty girl. You wouldn’t know it from looking at her from the outside though. Or maybe she’s only like that with me.

  Before we can fully catch our breath, we do another sprint. To half court and back. Then full court and back. After several more, some of the bigger guys are wheezing.

  “That’s fine. You guys weren’t ready to play today anyway. And as you all know—”

  “Champions are made in the offseason,” we complete Coach’s often-cited motto.

  “Right. Now get the fuck out of here.”

  On the way out, Chandler pulls me aside. “Hey man. We’re going to breakfast. You coming?”

  “When and where?”

  “We’re going to The Big Fork. In Lincoln Park.”

  “Oh, nice place. Yeah. I might make it,” I say as we start our stride into the locker room.

  “Might make it? What the fuck does that mean?”

  I shrug. “Just what it means. I’m not sure.”

  “Don’t give me these bullshit halfway millennial answers, Cart. The fuck’s up with you? It’s a yes or no question.”

  I don’t say anything as we arrive at our lockers. The truth is, I’m picturing Lacy back in my bed. I’ve been thinking about what Lacy said to me about my father. And she’s right. I’ve got a big hang up when it comes to the man I’ve never met.

  For once, I think this morning actually might be the right time to talk with Lacy about that. And there’s no one else I can talk to on the same level. Chandler’s the only one on the team who has any clue about my fucked-up past.

  So this is one morning I’d prefer to spend with her.

  I wrap a towel around my waist and eye Chandler.

  I don’t say any of that, though. Because it’s not relevant to the discussion.

  “Okay. No, I won’t be coming to breakfast today.”

  His gaze tells me he’s disappointed.

  “It’s not a team breakfast, right?” I add. “So what’s the big deal?”

  “It’s not not a team breakfast. But do whatever you want man.”

  * * *

  On the way home, I have my Lyft Driver stop at Dark Matter Coffee.

  I get a black coffee for me and a Cappuccino for Lacy. Part of me thinks I’m nuts. I’m not the guy who gets coffee for a girl. But I’ve got this picture in my mind of Lacy and I sitting out on the balcony this morning, sipping our coffees and getting our caffeine buzzes rolling.

  Maybe we’ll even get into some deep conversations.

  I ride up the elevator with the two coffees in hand.

  A cute brunette who once tried to flirt with me at a building party gets on as well.

  “Hi Carter,” she says.

  “Marisa,” I say dryly.

  “Two coffees? I thought you don’t let girls sleep over.”

  I pinch my eyebrows together. “What makes you think this coffee is for a girl?”

  Rolling her eyes, she responds. “So you get Cappuccinos for your guy friends? Give me a break.”

  I nod. “You’re good.”

  She puts her hand on my wrist. “I used to work in a coffee shop. You know you can depend on me if you ever need me to come up and,” she wiggles her eyebrows, “make an espresso. Or anything like that.”

  “No thanks. I’m good.”

  Thankfully, the elevator dings at my floor, and I get off.

  A sigh of relief escapes me at being out of Marisa’s reach.

  I guess she’s sort of right. I have cultivated a reputation as the guy who will give girls a night of pleasure they’ll never forget. Right now, I just want to relax, though.

  Opening the door to my penthouse, I call out. “Lacy? You awake yet?”

  I set our coffees on the island and walk down the hall toward my room. I smile, pausing before I head inside. For once, I feel ready to talk about my dad with Lacy, like she’s been asking at me to do.

  My body tenses. What if she’s right? What if I have expended years of energy hating her for how she lied to me, when she was just a pawn in the grand scheme of things? A pawn—just like I was.

  I open the door.

  She’s gone, although her scent still lingers in the room. I check the shower. Her room. Her shower. Gone.

  I dump the cappucino in the trash and dial up Chandler.

  “What the fuck do you want?” I can hear him smirking through the phone.

  “Is it too late to come by?”

  * * *

  I park, get out, and walk to The Big Fork, where I see Chandler and Amy sitting at a table. I pull up and sit next to them.

  “What happened to team breakfast? And hi Amy,” I add.

  “Good to see you again, Carter,” she says sweetly.

  “After you bailed, everyone else did too. See, this is why I wanted you to come. You’re the glue of the team, man! Why’d you change your mind anyway?”

  “No reason,” I lie. “Just got hungrier than I thought I’d be after that workout.”

  “You’re telling me. I could eat like two omelettes.”

  The waitress comes by, and we order a ridiculous amount of food for brunch. She scribbles quickly, and I think lingers an extra few seconds to make sure we’re serious about how many sides of bacon we ordered.

  “Yes, four sides of bacon,” I confirm. “We had some rough workouts this morning.”

  She gives us a funny look and then walks off to put in our order. When she leaves, a silence falls on the table for a minute. It’s not awkward—Chandler and I are beyond that. But we all notice it, I think.

  Amy breaks it, looking at Chandler. “So . . . how’s Lacy? Did you invite her?”

  “Oh, I figured this was a team thing,” I lie, omitting the fact that she was nowhere to be found in my apartment, and had essentially ditched me.

  “Oh, that’s too bad. I like her. We should do a double date or something or. . .”

  “They’re not dating,” Chandler cuts in, then looks at me. “Right?”

  “Right. Definitely not.” And that’s not a lie. We’re sure fucking, but we haven’t been on a date yet.

  “Ah. Okay. Hard to tell with you two.”

  I sip my water, trying to think of a subject change. “So what’s the deal with Coach Fable? Like he’s got a stick up his ass, right?”

  “No idea.” Chandler squints, then looks at me. “Hey. Did you think about what I said the other night? I couldn’t tell how drunk you were.”

  “About the genes ancestor tree test, you mean?”

  “Yeah. You should do it.”

  Amy rubs Chandler’s back. “It helped Chandie a lot, seeing what a loser his Dad was.”

  I squint. “I do remember you saying that now.”

  “I’ll send you the link to the test I did,” Chandler adds. “It’s totally fucked up—people like you and me—who don’t know their real father, but I think closure is important. It’s a loose end you need to tie off.”

  I swallow a lump in my throat. My nostrils flare, and I clench my fists. “If I ever meet my father, I don’t know what I’d do. Knock him the fuck out, maybe.”

  “Like that song, a Boy named Sue.”

  “Exactly.”

  Chandler puts his hand on Amy’s knee and leans back in his chair. “It’s our job as men to be better than our fathers. I’ll tell my son that some day.”


  “Your. . . son?”

  Amy rubs her tummy. “He says it’s a boy for sure. Too early to tell, though.”

  “Holy shit. Guys, congratulations!” I cock my head. “Wait, what about the wedding?”

  Amy smiles. “I’m tiny as it is. I figure maybe being pregnant can add some curves. Maybe my boobs will get bigger.”

  Chandler rubs the back of her neck. “Shush, Squirt. You know I love your. . .” he stops himself, and looks at me. “I was just about to say something very inappropriate, but I didn’t. You’re welcome, Carter.”

  “Seriously, congratulations, guys. And also, you still disgust me with how lovey dovey you are.”

  “Thanks!” Amy says, and I’m not sure what else to say. “So are you going to take the test? You should find out about your family! Oooh, what if you two are brothers?!” She says, joking.

  I laugh, and our food arrives.

  Amy lets out a screech of joy and claps quietly.

  Chandler reaches across the table and grabs Amy’s plate from the server.

  She locks eyes with him as he hands it to her, and her hand lingers on his forearm. “Thanks, Babe,” she whispers softly, in a voice not meant for me to hear.

  “Thanks,” I say, turning to the waitress, who glances passive aggressively at the four plates of bacon on the table, as if to prove she got the order right.

  As we dig in, an emotion sets in as I watch Chandler and Amy that I’ve never felt for another couple in my life: envy. I want what they have.

  Maybe not today, but someday. And I’ve never wanted that.

  It would take one hell of a woman for me to fall in love, though.

  25

  Lacy

  The morning light streams into Carter’s room, making me stir. I’m sore all over.

  I’m a flexible girl, but my legs are sore, and I’ve got an idea why. That’s what happens when you get pretzeled into an array of different positions over a marathon fucking session into the wee hours.

  Not to mention how sore I am between my legs. I might have to ice myself down.