A Charmed Little Lie

by Sharla Lovelace

  She was flawless. And wrapped around him like a tumor. A hot, sexy tumor.

  Dark, perfectly lined eyes drifted my way, and I suddenly wished for a large pair of tweezers to pluck me right out of the picture.

  “Hi!” Tara said, letting go of Nick and walking toward me with one hand trailing behind along his abs. Her face was smiling, but that move was on purpose. He’s mine, it said. Interesting that I was thinking that very thing just moments earlier. She held a hand out at the bottom of the stairs, which propelled my feet to keep moving that direction. “I’m Tara McKane.”

  McKane.

  Another good zinger on her part. Throwing out those possessive vibes. Staking her territory.

  “Lanie—McKane,” I said, tempted half a second in to go with Barrett and then spun it back, adding a chuckle for bonding.

  “Wow, that sounds weird,” she said, laughing, turning back to Nick. I looked at him for the first time since I entered the room, and the pure what-the-fuckery in his expression kicked me in the gut. I saw the under the skin thing. Right there. Because if he were really over his ex-wife, he would have stopped her at the door and said he was busy. Servicing his new wife. Or hey, how about he would have never told her where to find him in the first place.

  “Not really,” Nick said, his tone flat as he locked eyes with me in a look I couldn’t read. “I’ve gotten used to it.”

  What was he talking about? Oh yeah. McKane. Were we still there? Hadn’t it been like a week?

  Ralph licked her fingers and pushed at her hand, and she looked down, scratching at his head and cooing. “Hey, big boy, what’s your name?”

  Ralph melted. As probably most men did.

  “That’s Ralph,” I said.

  “Hi, Ralphy,” she said. No. Ralph. “Well, it’s nice to meet you.” Tara looked up and shook my hand genuinely. “Nick had great things to say about you last weekend. He’s very fond of you.”

  Number three…ding ding ding!

  Fond.

  Generic like, as in I’m fond of chicken fried steak. The girl was good. She was charmingly putting me in my place and making me feel smaller and more insignificant by the second, and in my own house.

  “Well,” I said with the only smile I could find in my now numb face. “The fondness is mutual. He’s a great roommate.”

  Probably not the most slamming cut I could have come up with, but the oxygen was still trapped in my head from five minutes ago when he was sucking on my tits and about to fuck me into oblivion. So wittiness was a bit foggy.

  “So, did I miss something about your coming here?” I asked. “I’ve been crazy busy lately so I might have.”

  Hint.

  Aunt Ruby would have said something snarky about unexpected guests and diarrhea, but I was slightly more tactful.

  “No,” Nick said, shaking his head free of the kicked-in-the-nuts look. “I had no idea. Tara, why are you here?”

  Tara smiled back at Nick as if they shared a secret. “I had a couple of days free and thought it would be nice to come chat a little.” She tilted her head in a way that said they had intimate private talks. “Maybe finish our last conversation?” She gave a quick inhale and pasted on a smile for me. “And come meet the woman that’s helping out my baby girl.”

  I just smiled back. Our last conversation.

  Was it anything like ours?

  I couldn’t think through the slamming my heart was doing. I had to get out of their line of vision.

  “Who wants coffee?” I managed to push out as I walked past both of them into the kitchen, taking my first deep breath since Nick pulled me into his arms—literally minutes ago.

  Minutes.

  Tell me what you need, baby.

  The coffee pot landed a little hard on the countertop.

  Don’t cry. Don’t you dare fucking cry.

  “In the middle of the day?” Tara asked, chuckling as she walked in behind me.

  “I wasn’t suggesting spiking it,” I said. Okay, dial back the snippy. I grinned to soften it. “I can drink coffee any time.”

  “She can,” Nick said, following her in, pulling a T-shirt over his head that he must have had tucked in a secret hiding place reserved for when crazy ex-wives come to call. “Never seen anyone as—fond—of coffee as Lanie.”

  My eyes shot up to meet his on the word. He was giving me something. A new definition for fond to match my coffee addiction. Okay, that was sweet, but still, grow some damn balls, dude. Problem with the kid? Of course the ex comes into play. You are always parents. You are always connected. But this?

  No.

  “Great house,” Tara said, perching on a stool.

  I’ll bet. “Thanks,” I said. “I grew up here.”

  “That’s what Nick said.” She rested her elbows on the bar and looked around. “So much life and character here.”

  “That it has,” I said. “Along with broken plumbing and finicky air conditioning.”

  “And Ralph!” Tara said, rubbing his head when he laid it against her leg.

  Traitor, I sent to him telepathically. Just in case. Aunt Ruby’s house and all.

  “Ralph came with me,” I said, letting my gaze drift back to Nick. “And he’ll go with me when this is over.”

  It was my own zinger, and I’m the one who felt the stab as I watched his eyes. I had to give it to him. This woman was by far possibly the most beautiful person I’d ever seen, and Nick wasn’t looking at her at all. He was leaning against the far counter, arms folded over his chest, staring deep burning holes through me. Well, hell, why not? Wet hair and rained/cried/kissed off makeup, bulky robe—what on earth was there not to feast your eyes upon?

  “And when is it over again?” she asked.

  Her expression was open and innocent, but I didn’t just fall off the turnip truck.

  “We have a little less than two months to go,” I said. “Then everybody gets what they want.”

  I didn’t look at him that time. I couldn’t bear to look at him and see that confirmed.

  Tara just nodded.

  “So I saw a sign for a festival on the highway,” she said. “Along with probably twenty more in town.” She laughed. “Small town charm.”

  I wanted to guffaw.

  “Something like that,” I said quietly.

  “Can we go?” she asked. “It sounds fun.”

  I did look at Nick then, hoping like hell he’d catch my subliminal message, but he was already shaking his head. Thank God.

  “We just got back from there, actually,” he said. “I’m beat.”

  “So tomorrow, then?” she asked. “Do y’all work tomorrow?”

  My jaw dropped. Or in my head it did. Did she just—?

  “Are you staying?” Nick asked, the lines above his nose deepening.

  “Well, I’d love to,” she said with a brilliant smile. “I brought a little bag just in case, but if you don’t have room, I can grab a hotel.”

  There were no words.

  My mouth opened and closed like a guppy, and the only thing that saved me was the ringing of my phone. I didn’t even look to see who it was because it didn’t matter. I would have answered a call from the devil himself to remove myself from this conversation.

  “Don’t waste time being jealous, my girl. You got the same pants to be glad in as anyone else.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Call me a chicken shit, but I didn’t go back. Carmen’s call allowed me to make my escape to my room, and I just stayed. Put on one of my tank tops with no bra and some shorts just because, and curled up in my bed with a book. He was a big boy, and she sure wasn’t here to see me. He could entertain his own damn guest.

  Forty-five minutes later (I’d wagered myself an hour, so he did at least surpass that expectation) my door opened. No knock. Just a walk-in.

  “And if I’d been getting myself off?” I said, not looking up from the book that I hadn’t turned a single page of.
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  “I would have stood here and watched,” he replied, sitting at the foot.

  “Well, I’m not sure what you’re expecting,” I said. “But if you came in here to take up where we left off you’re gonna be disappointed.

  “Don’t insult me,” he said, his voice edgy. “I came in here to check on you.”

  “I’m not breakable,” I said, pulling my eyes up to meet his.

  “You didn’t come back.”

  “I don’t think she’s here for me, Nick,” I said. “I figured since you have a conversation you need to finish—”

  “Don’t,” he said. His voice was low and irritable, like he’d been arguing already. “Don’t play games, Lanie, you’re better than that.”

  “Okay then I’ll shoot straight,” I said. “Why is your ex-wife in my house?”

  “I didn’t invite her here.”

  “You didn’t tell her to leave, either,” I said. “You stood there like a broken puppet, while the woman that always gets under your skin batted her eyes and pulled your strings.”

  “Jesus,” he said, getting up and pacing. “Of course you’d latch on to that. Do you want to know what happened last weekend?”

  I laughed bitterly. “No thanks.”

  “Nothing,” he said. “For the first time ever.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “You—want a gold star for not hitting the sheets with your ex-wife? That’s kind of not normal.”

  Nick ran a hand over his face. “I’m not saying that, I’m saying things usually get weird with her. That’s why I avoid her. But this time—” He shook his head. “This time, you want to know who I couldn’t get out of my head? You.”

  I blinked, my thoughts pinging all over the place.

  “And not just because of the boob flash, either,” he said. “Before you go there. I found myself missing you. Wanting to get back here—to you. You want to know why she’s really here?” He laughed. “To check you out. Because I didn’t want to fuck her.”

  “That’s twisted,” I said, while mentally filing away the missing me comment. I couldn’t enjoy it right now, but I could pull it up and pet it later.

  “Well, that’s Tara.” He stopped pacing and sank into the chair across from the bed. “She’s got a different way of thinking about things. And it usually has very little to do with Addison and very much to do with her ego.”

  I met his troubled gaze. “You told her where we live. Where I live. Where I may or may not still be when this is over—”

  “You are all about pointing out the end of this, aren’t you?” he said.

  I let a couple of beats pass. “That’s when you get your money,” I said softly. “When you’re free.”

  Arms crossed over his chest again. “And you?” he asked. “What does the end look like to you?”

  I looked away. I couldn’t answer that. Not anymore.

  “So is the first Mrs. McKane spending the night?” I asked, trying to ask that without an attitude or reaction.

  “I’m not making that call,” he said. “This is your house. You tell me.”

  “Oh my God, Nick, make an executive decision,” I said, swinging my legs down and getting up. “If you want her here—”

  “I don’t want her here,” he said, suddenly standing in front of me. “I didn’t tell her to leave because—she may look sweet, but she’s not. She would march right down the street to whoever would listen and sell us down the river.”

  I nodded, my arms crossing over my body. I needed space and he was blocking me. I needed to not need him. To not need to walk into his arms and bury my nose in his neck and inhale the very Nick-ness of him. To not need to feel his hands in my hair and mine going up the back of his -shirt, but all of that was all over me and I didn’t trust myself to get close enough. I couldn’t do that now. We’d already crossed that line but I didn’t need to jump over it fully. Not when his feelings for the supermodel downstairs were questionable.

  “Then I guess she stays,” I said.

  That topic being settled, I saw the change in his expression.

  “Lanie—”

  “Good night, Nick,” I said, sliding past him.

  “Lanie.”

  It was loud and forceful and full of look at me vibes. I shook my head, looking at the chair he’d just vacated instead.

  “No,” I said. “I’m not—this is why I don’t do this.”

  “Don’t do what?”

  “This,” I said, thumbing between us. “Getting—involved. Giving a shit. It’s never a good idea.”

  “You give a shit?”

  I closed my eyes and counted backward while I cursed my inability to—

  His lips were on mine in less than two seconds, followed by hands holding my head. My first reaction was to balk and be indignant, but that one was quickly squashed by the coup my body threw. My hands moved up his chest and around to his back before my brain kicked in and poked me.

  I pulled back and he leaned his forehead against mine, not letting go.

  “I’m not—”

  “I’m not asking you to,” he said softly. “I’m just kissing you.”

  Just kissing.

  With Nick, that was like saying the Grand Canyon was just a ditch.

  “Why?”

  He gave me a look. “You say the damnedest things.” I raised an eyebrow and he sighed. “Okay so maybe I give a shit too.”

  It was possibly the sexiest thing any man had ever said to me.

  * * *

  I was up early for coffee. Partially because I didn’t sleep well, and partially to see if Tara was a coffee person. And what she looked like with morning hair.

  I sat outside at the patio table and fiddled with the little peg game Nick had left out there one day when he challenged me to a competition (that he always won). Ralph had come downstairs meekly and was now lying on one of my feet.

  “I know what you did,” I said under my breath. “You never came to bed last night.” Ralph’s little Groucho eyebrows took turns going up and down. “I know where you were.”

  Ralph settled his head a little higher up on my foot.

  “Yeah,” I said, sipping my coffee. “Men. Snuggle up a little more and all is forgiven, right?” Ralph’s tail thumped. “What I thought.”

  The door opened to my right, and out came Mr. Hot Stuff, in a gray muscle shirt and shorts, ready for his run. The butterflies that hit my stomach I chalked up to being hungry and not caffeinated enough yet. Not the result of yesterday’s antics and last night’s kiss that kept me up all effing night replaying it all on long loop. God, when did I become such a girl?

  Be normal.

  “Morning,” I said. “Looks like the rain is go—”

  My words were interrupted by the door swinging open again and producing a female version of Morning Nick. The perfect hair was slicked back into a shiny ponytail, a bright blue sweatband that looked like it had never been sweated on held back the tiny hairs. Matching blue tank top that possibly grew from her skin, black running shorts, and a face that still looked perfect while free of makeup. She could have tried out for high school cheerleader right now, and probably make it.

  Of course she’d be a runner too. Why wouldn’t she be? They were like brunette Barbie and Ken.

  “How far do you go?” she said, bending over to stretch and literally touch her nose to her knees. “Distance or time? Morning Lanie,” she said, glancing my way as if just realizing the lump in the chair was breathing.

  “Cheers,” I said, halfheartedly holding up my cup.

  “Since when did you start running?” he asked. “You used to be all about sleeping late.”

  “That was the old me,” she said with a smile, propping a leg on a chair to stretch it. “I’ve gotten into healthy living lately.”

  “Really,” he said, his tone insinuating he didn’t believe her.

  “Actually, why don’t you just see if you can keep up,” she said to Nick,
tossing that ponytail with a wicked grin as she took off from the patio and disappeared around the side of the house.

  He blew out a breath and landed his gaze back on me, where I just held up my cup again.

  “Have a good time.”

  “Her idea of healthy living usually involves carrot cake as a vegetable,” he said.

  “Well, if she can live on carrot cake and still look like that, more power to her,” I said. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve already shared too many words for this time of the morning. Go be energetic somewhere else please.”

  There. That sounded a little disconnected and not bothered at all by the circumstances, didn’t it? Like I wasn’t jealous of her or affected by him or any of the monumentally stupid things people start doing when they—give a shit.

  My phone dinged with a text as he disappeared around the corner. Carmen.

  Are you up?

  Unfortunately.

  Does she drink coffee?

  Sigh. She just took off running with Nick.

  Ugh. That’s just wrong.

  If she comes back looking better than she left, I give up.

  * * *

  She did. She even pulled off sweaty and messy as more of a healthy flush and shine. I would be red-faced, splotchy, wet hair sticking to my face, and probably dry heaving in the corner.

  Nick walked past her, pulling off his sweaty shirt as he did. Both of us watched. Hell, I couldn’t blame her for that. Not that many people had exes who looked like him.

  “I’m taking a shower,” he said, as he always did. Every morning.

  “Me too,” she said.

  “You have to wait till he’s done,” I said. “The plumbing goes on strike when two showers are going at once. Or my dead aunt likes to play with the pipes.”

  “She haunts your pipes?”

  “I wouldn’t put it past her,” I said.

  “I’ll be fast,” he said. “I have to get to work.”