The Lying Game

by Miller, Mickey

  Also, good thing Carter’s bed is king size, since he sleeps so spread out.

  And now, I think I deserve a little morning cuddling time for putting up with him all night. I spin away from the window, toward Carter’s side of the bed.

  My heart drops when I feel nothing on his side—though it’s still warm. I swallow, rushing to check my phone.

  Barely past seven A.M. on a Sunday. Where would he go?

  I bolt up and look around the penthouse, but there’s no trace of him. Almost without my consent, rage fills my heart, along with foolishness, and a realization. I’m just his little plaything, aren’t I?

  “Fucking asshole,” I mutter out loud.

  No girl he’s met in his entire life has been able to change him. Why should I be so cocky as to think I could? My mind floods with more thoughts.

  What am I even saying? Change him?

  But why must the most satisfying sex I’ve had in my entire life be with a man who is quite possibly the most emotionally distant in the universe?

  Yet that undercurrent of ‘Good Carter’ is in there, somewhere.

  I shake my head, shower off, and give Lance a call.

  “I was worried you’d be with your boyfriend all morning,” he says.

  “Boyfriend? Pssh.”

  “Right. What’s that word even worth these days?”

  “Preach.”

  “We’re going to Thirteen Eggs at eight-thirty for breakfast. You in?”

  “It’s early. But I’ll make it. See you there.”

  * * *

  After what turns into a multiple hour eating marathon, I walk home through the city streets of Chicago for hours. I figure I should walk off my buzz so I’m not totally hungover come tomorrow.

  Lance and I make a no-drinking pact—that starts tomorrow, naturally—and I resolve to fully concentrate on dancing. No distractions.

  But is Carter a distraction?

  Maybe.

  A beautiful distraction.

  I walk along the Chicago river, then head under the bridge and make my way along the Lake Michigan beach. People are out in droves sun-bathing, playing volleyball, and swimming in the lake.

  My stomach is in knots thinking about Carter. Plus all the stuff I admitted to Lance and Joseph. I just needed to tell someone about my situation.

  All along the beach, I see happy couples walking hand in hand. Others lie on the beach. I pass a giant boat on North Avenue, and see a guy picking up a girl who I assume is his girlfriend and threatening to throw her in the lake in spite of her protests.

  A smile pulls at my lips. That would definitely be Carter and I. Even if we ever did become something more, I don’t think he’d ever let up on me. That asshole side of him is too strong.

  And I’m headstrong too.

  A young dad and mom walk by with their toddler, each holding one of his hands. The kid laughs, letting his feet off the ground as he pretends to air walk, holding on to his parents for support.

  If Carter and I ever become a couple, that would be us. In spite of everything, I just know it. I know Carter’s a good man underneath his hard shell.

  My heart drops a little. We’d never make it as a couple. I stop dead in my tracks, and reconsider the thought, almost trembling.

  A couple?

  What does that even mean? Why on earth am I considering Carter as boyfriend material after one weekend of sex?

  This is a whirlwind romance, and I need to stay focused on dance, anyway. To take my mind off him, I pull out my phone and text my mom to see how she and my dad are doing.

  She texts me back quickly, and I let her know I miss her. She texts me some smiley emojis. Moms are so cute when they text emojis.

  Feeling slightly better—and less buzzed—I start to walk in the direction of Carter’s apartment using the GPS for guidance.

  As I’m walking, I notice a funny-looking storefront, with a blank door. I head inside, curious.

  As soon as I’m in, I realize why the storefront was blank and the windows dark.

  It’s a sex shop in the middle of Chicago.

  I’m shocked at what I see.

  Plenty of porn dvds, sex toys, and lingerie. Lace, satin, leather.

  I sheepishly maneuver around the store to look at everything.

  In one of the corners, a certain piece of lacey lingerie sticks out.

  It’s bright red set of a thong with a strap, a braless thing that goes around the breasts, and a freaking set of devil horns.

  It’s also waterproof, according to the label.

  I bite my lip, looking at it, and my thoughts are of Carter.

  I bet I could surprise the hell out of him if I used these for him.

  And I sure am not going to use the tainted lingerie I have that was meant for Norton. I should just throw that out, anyway.

  Sheepishly, I buy the lingerie set, not looking the cashier in the eye as I take it.

  When I get back to the apartment, Carter’s still not home.

  I dig deep into my suitcase and pull out the set of white lingerie that I’d bought for Norton.

  I shake my head and stuff the thing into a white plastic bag. I spent days researching this piece for him online. I was so nervous when I ordered it that my mom would find it, I began racing home after teaching my dance classes in Blackwell to beat my mom to the house and see if it had been delivered.

  All that meticulous research out the window.

  I pick up the red devil lingerie. Carter would freak if I wore it for him.

  I shake my head thinking of all the things I’ve done for him. Would do for him.

  Sighing, I walk the plastic bag to the main trash bin in the dining room. I need to get rid of the evidence, and preferably push it so far down in the trash, Carter would never think to find it.

  I fling open the trash with my foot.

  I hesitate before I throw it out, because the first thing I see is a Dark Matter paper coffee cup right on top of the trash. It seems to be leaking.

  It’s not even dirty, so I pick it up. The order label is from this morning, and it’s still half-full. And it looks to be a cappuccino.

  I furrow my brow, as a strange feeling overtakes my gut.

  Why would Carter order a cappuccino? He hates cappuccinos . Or so he said.

  Did Carter come back with a coffee for me this morning?

  It makes no sense. Why would he do that? He wasn’t even here when I woke up. Weird. Probably a mistake from the coffee shop?

  I shrug and throw out the bag of lingerie, making sure it can’t be seen from the top of the trash.

  Tired, and possibly still a little buzzed, I head into Carter’s room to make sure he’s not there.

  He’s nowhere to be found. I grab my ereader and head to my bed.

  * * *

  I sleep straight through the night, which is good.

  Because on Monday, we start twelve-hour rehearsals to get ready for the show.

  Carter texts me saying that he has to travel to Philadelphia for a charity tournament, and to take care of the place until Saturday night when he gets back.

  The man is still an enigma when it comes to communication. You’d think he’d put his schedule on a calendar or something. Then again, before I moved in with him it was just him in his apartment, so it’s not like he needed to communicate with anyone to let them know he was going to be out of town.

  I breathe a sigh of relief knowing he’s gone, although I miss him at the same time.

  I miss him a lot, actually.

  Part of me wonders—considering the timing of his travel—if he didn’t just get freaked out that I was going to finally try and talk to him about his father—which I am. From what I gathered, the tournament was a sort of optional thing for the team.

  Heading into the big bed in his room, I lay on the bed, starfish, and think about him.

  For a guy who is such an asshole up front, Carter has a surprisingly soft and tender side. Oddly, his pep talks have made me more confident
when I’m on stage.

  Or maybe it’s the post-sex glow that makes me feel more confident.

  I take a deep breath. I could use some post-sex glow tonight. Eying my dresser, I have a naughty thought.

  Maybe I’ll put on the lingerie I have and do a sexy photo shoot for him.

  Just the thought of him getting turned on turns me on.

  26

  Carter

  All week while I’m away, she’s all I can think about.

  I’ve never been consumed by thoughts of a girl. But as I’m staying in the hotel room in Philadelphia for a summer charity tournament, I’m tormented by thoughts of Lacy.

  Then I remember she ran away Sunday morning. I got a fucking cappuccino for her and she wasn’t even there to accept it. Maybe for some guys, that’s a small gesture. Not for me.

  I thank God I have basketball to take my mind off life. But this has been, honest-to-God, the weirdest week of my life.

  First, I resurrect a relationship I thought was long dead.

  Second, I just sent in one of my hairs to a genealogy company.

  I float on a raft in the hotel pool, soaking in some rays of sun as Chandler explains the test, since he already did it.

  “The way it works is that they’ll tell you what your genetic make-up is by origin of country. And if you have relatives who have also taken the test, they’ll be able to let you know who those people are by cross-referencing their database.”

  “Sounds creepy and intrusive, in a way.”

  He shrugs. “It is, a little. If you’ve got something to hide.”

  “So you found out who your father was by running this test?”

  “Yep. A little over a year ago. Me and Amy went down to southern Illinois in some little podunk town, Murhpysboro. I tell you man, I was both pissed and relieved once I finally knew.”

  “What if the results come back and I still don’t know?”

  He pauses, taking a sip of his cocktail. “Man, I don’t know. Maybe ask your mother.”

  A chill rocks through me at that. “No. We don’t talk about those things.”

  He raises his eyebrow. “Hey I get it. Touchy subject.”

  “You have no idea, man.”

  “Try me,” he scoffs. “If you can top my own fucked-up story, go for it.”

  “Alright,” I say, my skin starting to tingle a little bit. I realize there is not one other person in the world who knows the full version of this story, other than me.

  And Lacy.

  “Up until I turned eighteen, my mom told me my dad had died, and that he’d suffocated on a pillow when she was pregnant with me. I thought it was a weird story, sure, but I guess I just went along with it. Kid stuff, you know. The day I turned eighteen, I heard her talking to a man on the phone late at night. She sounded scared, so I asked her what was the matter. Tears in her eyes, she said ‘nothing.’ I got angry all of the sudden. I told her she needed to tell me right now. That she needed to stop lying. She straightened up, pulled out a cigarette, and started to smoke. She only really smoked when she was stressed, you know? And she told me the whole story about how she met my father. She said she had a one-night stand in Vegas. That she’d gotten pregnant—with me—by the man she was talking to on the phone.”

  Chandler stares at me, wide-eyed. “That is fucked up, man.”

  “That’s just the beginning. So apparently, this guy—my father—had demanded my mom not have me when she was pregnant.”

  “He wanted her to—”

  I hold up my hand. “Terminate the pregnancy.”

  Chandler nods slowly, and swallows. The look on his face is dark as what I say sets in.

  I continue. “To him, I was some aberration from a one-night stand where he didn’t wrap it up. He would have preferred I had never been born. I was a mistake baby. My mom told me all of this that night, tears in her eyes. She must have smoked half a pack of cigarettes while she did. She said that my dad had some very powerful friends protecting him. And that now, since I was turning eighteen, my dad was worried I would try and find him and his family. This could cause a life-altering scandal for him, apparently. I think he works in politics--or business, maybe.”

  “My fucking God. What a fuckhead.”

  “Yes. That’s one of a few words I’ve used to describe him over the years.”

  Chandler shakes his head slightly. “Who the fuck is he, that he’s so worried about a scandal he can’t acknowledge his own son?”

  “No fucking clue. I never sought him out.”

  We both fall silent for a few moments. There’s only the gentle sounds of the pool water lightly running around us.

  Finally, I go on. “My mom showed me the text messages. They were only labeled Him. I didn’t even learn his name. I didn’t ask. I didn’t want to know. He threatened my mom. So I called him up. I told him I didn’t want shit to do with him, and called him some more names. I’d only heard him answer with one word. ‘Yeah?’ That voice still haunts me to this day. After I’d gone off on him, he just hung up.”

  Chandler leans in, then glances at some of our teammates who are lying on the side of the pool.

  “Carter, this is fucking mind blowing. Have you ever told anyone about this?”

  “Not a person. Only Lacy knows.” I said.

  “Lacy? Why does she know.”

  “Because she found out before me, when my mom was at her house.”

  Chandler’s eyes widen substantially. “And she didn’t tell you?”

  “No.” I continue. “So anyway, I sent in the test. I’m excited to find out what kind of ancestry I have. But mark my words: I don’t ever want to meet my father. Fuck him. I’ll never forgive him, no matter what. He never wanted me to be born.”

  “Fuck him,” Chandler agrees.

  I look off into the distance, staring at the Philadelphia skyline. “Lacy had known for an entire year. And we were…” I swallow. “We were dating at the time. I flipped out on her. After that, I wanted nothing to do with her.”

  Chandler nods. “Man, I’m no doctor, but you have some fucking issues. You should probably go to a therapist or something.”

  I run my hand over my throat. “So did I beat you?”

  Chandler rolls his eyes. “Yes, you beat me with your messed up story, Mr. Competitive. I admit it. And I’m going to beat your ass tomorrow in the dunk competition.”

  “Not possible.”

  Chandler splashes me. “Come on man! Give me a fighting chance. I’ve got a kid on the way now. That does something to you, man. Trust me.”

  I shudder. “Not to everyone, apparently.”

  “By the way, are you coming to the wedding? You know you have to send in the paper RSVP. There’s no special treatment for you. Amy asked.”

  “Of course I’m coming.”

  “With a plus one?”

  “I didn’t know I had one.”

  “Well maybe if you ever read your damn mail you’d know. Honestly though, please don’t bring one of your French model slampieces. If you bring Lacy, that’s cool. Amy said she has good vibes. But I don’t want to have another fiasco like at the Wilson wedding last winter.”

  I scrunch up my face. “Hey, it’s not my fault my date thought she could consume alcohol on par with a man twice her size.”

  Chandler shakes his head. “Watching her get drunk and make a scene was like watching the Titanic go down. It was also like the Titanic in that we’ll never again let that happen! Besides, what’s the deal with you and Lacy?”

  I tense up. “What do you mean?”

  “Don’t be a dense dipshit. You know what I mean.”

  “Can’t say that I do.”

  He shrugs. “Well when you get a clue, let me know. Preferably by next week, considering RSVPs were due a month ago and Amy has been asking me about yours every other day.”

  I slide off my float. “Oh, has she?”

  “Don’t you fucking dare. I’m finally dry.”

  I wink as I flip his floaty and d
unk Chandler.

  He stands up in the water, hair like a wet dog’s and shakes his head. “I thought we were having a moment.”

  I shrug. “I don’t like to have moments.”

  “I’m serious about that therapist. Amy’s got a good one.”

  “I don’t do therapy.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah, it’s for pussies. And so is yoga. Got it. Like I said, you win the award for most fucked-up father and upbringing. Congratulations. I’m pretty sure that also comes with a few years of therapy as the prize.”

  27

  Carter

  I text Lacy on and off during the week, to see how she’s doing. And how Smokey is doing. By the time Friday rolls around, I’ve had my fill of the hotel pool. The team jet is heading back on Saturday morning, but I ask the coach’s permission to head back late Friday after the game, citing the fact that I need to deal with some personal family stuff.

  He doesn’t have to know that by ‘personal family stuff,’ I mean I miss the fuck out of Lacy.

  I get into Midway airport around ten on Friday night and take a Lyft to my place.

  I stop at the front desk before I head up, to pick up my mail. The attendant tells me that my roommate already picked up the mail, so I head up the elevator. I burst through the front door, and once inside I notice that there is a cluster of mail on the marble countertop. I thumb through the stack, looking for Chandler’s wedding invitation, when a piece of Lacy’s mail falls out, already opened.

  Narrowing my eyes, I pick it up and look at it. I blink a few times when I see that it’s a credit card bill for Lacy with well over five figures of credit card debt.

  Well this is news.

  I hear a faint noise and glance up.

  “Lacy? You here?”

  My voice echoes through the house, and for a moment I think it might be empty. I drop my bag on the floor in the living room and stand silently for a moment.

  I hear music on the balcony. And the low rumble of the hot tub jets bubbling up. She’s on the balcony. Probably in the hot tub.