“When are you seeing him again?” she asks.
“Tomorrow. We’re meeting for lunch at The Southern Bean.”
She rolls her eyes. “Oooh, a lunch date. How sexy.”
I throw up my hands. “What wouldyouhave me do? Make out with him in the back row of a movie theater like a teenager?”
She smirks. “I mean…yes.”
25
LINDSEY
Bells.Why are there so many freaking bells? The noise pries me from my dreams as I wipe sleep from my eyes.
The sound stops, and I feel for my phone on the nightstand. I peer at the screen through slits. It shows seven unread texts and four missed calls, all from Oliver, and that it’s now 8:03 p.m.
I shoot upright, my breathing turning shallow as my phone rings again. Oliver’s name flashes across the screen.
“Oliver, I’m so sorry,” I answer immediately.
“Oh, thank God,” he says, and I can hear the relief in his voice. “Are you okay? I started getting worried when I didn’t hear from you.”
“Yes,” I say quickly, trying to think of any excuse to make this okay. “I’m fine. We had an emergency…um, at the clinic. Someone brought in a dog with…uh…a broken leg.”
“Wow. Really?” he asks.
I clear my throat. “Yep. That’s right. Poor thing took a tumble off the bed. Anyway, I’m just about to leave now and grab a change of clothes, and then I’m headed your way.”
The line goes quiet, and I think we’ve been disconnected. “Oliver?”
“That’s weird because I’m outside the clinic right now, and no one’s here,” he says, and my heart sinks. “I finally drove over when I didn’t hear anything. I was worried something was wrong—that you had a flat tire or God forbid, an accident on the way home.”
My throat goes dry, and my stomach churns. “I’m sorry. It’s not what it looks like.”
“Really?” he asks, the hurt in his voice so palpable I can feel it oozing from the phone. “Because what it looks like is that you lied to me.”
That’s exactly what I did, but it’s not for any of the awful reasons he probably thinks.
“Oliver, please. I can explain?—”
“Are you hurt?” he asks.
“No,” I answer.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes.”
“Good,” he says softly. “Did you lie to me?”
Tears well in my eyes, blurring my vision. I can’t bring myself to answer. To hurt him more than I already have.
“Okay,” he says.
“Please forgive me. I swear, it’s not what you think,” I plead. “Let me make it up to you.”
“The thing is, it’sexactlywhat I think. I’m sure you have a reasonable explanation, but instead of giving it to me, you lied. You lied like it was easy. And honestly, my experience with people who lie is that they usually do it because they have something to hide.”
